Layers of Us

Chapter 106: In Every Birth, It's You ❤️

Sunday had arrived in full swing, and the Nagrajan household was a symphony of cheerful chaos.

A happy mess, loud laughter echoing through the walls, with the sweet scent of sandalwood and camphor lingering in the air.

Tripura’s mom was already up and ready, talking animatedly with the priest about post-engagement rituals, her voice filled with that trademark motherly enthusiasm.

Tripura, meanwhile, was everywhere — checking on Bhoomi, who was fussing with her makeup team; peeking in on Siya, who was being coaxed into her little dress.

Once satisfied that everyone else was in control, she finally rushed to her own room, grabbed her saree, and darted into the bathroom.

Minutes later, she emerged — draped in elegance, her saree flowing perfectly, pallu pinned just enough to stay but not stifle her movements. Her hair, still in a messy bun, framed her face with effortless grace.

At the mirror, Ram was already there, adjusting his kurta collar with all the seriousness of a man attending a board meeting.

“Ram, move!” she nudged him, squeezing herself in front of the mirror.

He frowned at first, then grinned when he caught her reflection, busy dabbing compact powder and drawing that familiar, sharp kajal around her eyes.

He leaned a little from behind to look at himself in the corner of the mirror while she finished applying her lip gloss.

Tripura opened her bun, letting her hair fall into natural curls — her last-minute “no comb” hack that always gave her volume.

A pair of jhumkas later, she was already at the wardrobe, pulling open the velvet box.

From it, she took her thaali, unhooked the counters, and walked up to Ram.
“Ram, hook this for me na,” she said, sweeping her hair to one side.

He did as told — though not without mischief.

After clasping the chain in place, he bent forward and placed a quick kiss on the back of her neck.

Tripura made a soft tch, trying not to smile. “You never stop, do you?”

He just grinned, pretending to fix his collar again.

Turning back to the mirror, she adjusted the thaali and reached for the sindoor.

Before she could apply it, Ram stopped her. “Ruko… main karunga.”

She blinked through the mirror. “Okay, par jaldi kijiye please.”

Ram took the box gently, pinched just the right amount, and filled the line of her hair parting with soft precision.

Then, as always, he brushed off the extra from her nose, almost like muscle memory.

Tripura looked at herself in the mirror again — the saree, the thaali, the sindoor — everything was perfect.

Yet she sighed softly, her voice low. “Am I looking fine, Ram?”

He smiled, meeting her eyes through the reflection. “You look beautiful, darling. Don’t stress over small things.”

She bit her lip, fussing with the pleats again. “I just want everything to go well… oh god, why am I panicking? I don’t even know.”

Ram reached out, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders — that silent assurance that had always grounded her.
“Everything is going to be fine, baby,” he said simply. “Don’t worry.”