Reawakening ✔

39-Newer Beginnings

Khushi looked at the packet curiously. It was wrapped simply, no ribbons, no drama—very unlike Nani ji. She accepted it with a shy smile.

"Isse kholiye, bitiya," Nani ji urged, eyes twinkling. (Open it bitiya)

Khushi carefully opened the wrapping.

Her breath caught.

It was her scrapbook.

The very same one she had thought was lost somewhere between broken trunks, shifting homes, and forgotten cupboards. The corners were worn, pages slightly yellowed, but it was hers. Her dream wedding. Her childish handwriting. Her impossible hopes.

She looked up sharply at Arnav.

He was already watching her—quiet, unreadable, but his grip on her hand tightened just a fraction.

"I found it when I..." he paused, voice dropping, "...when I was recovering." He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. "I didn't know it was yours at first. Then Payal told me."

Nine months since she had found her Arnav ji dropped unconscious at her front door, they had come a long way since.

Khushi flipped the pages with trembling fingers.

The cut-outs were all there—bridal lehengas she had once laughed over, mandap decorations circled in red pen, a badly pasted photo of jalebis with must-have written beside it. And then the recipes—notes about kheer, puris, special chaat for the guests.

Her eyes welled up.

"I thought..." she whispered, "I thought I would never—"

Arnav leaned closer, his voice low so only she could hear. "I know."

He swallowed. "And that's why nothing today was an accident, Khushi. The flowers. The menu. Even the damn color of the dupatta."

She looked at him, stunned.

"You wanted these," he continued simply. "So we did it your way. No risks. No compromises."

Across the room, Payal watched them, one hand resting protectively over her belly. Akash stood beside her, arm around her shoulders, his eyes soft. She smiled—relieved, grateful, at peace. Two miscarriages and Akash did not want to take any changes, even though she was  safe in her second trimester.

Buaji sniffed loudly. "Hai re Nandkishore... aaj toh sab ladkiyon ko rulane ka irada hai." (HRN Is it going to be a day of making my girls cry?)

Anjali wiped her own tears, smiling. "Chote, tum sudhar gaye ho." (Chote you have transformed)

He didn't respond. He was too busy watching Khushi clutch the scrapbook to her chest like it was the most precious thing in the world.

She blinked back tears and laughed through them. "Arnav Singh Raizada," she said, shaking her head, "aap sach mein—" (Are you really)

"—your husband," he finished, smirking. "Get used to it."

She smiled then—wide, radiant, complete.

And for the first time, sitting amidst the noise, the rituals, the chaos of Shantivan, Khushi felt it deep in her bones.

This wasn't just her dream wedding.

It was better


Dearies,
 Sorry for having left it in a limbo all these years..

We have come to the end of this story.

Hope you have all like it.