Dhaagey: The Ties that Bind Us [Tere Bin FF]

62. a maybe

Author's Note: Hello! The header gives away what this chapter is about, but I hope you enjoy the journey to that point. See ya on the other side!

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Rumi would never admit it out loud. Not even under duress, not even if someone threatened to take away her chocolate stash. But she was getting a little tired of weddings.

Not marriage, no. Marriage was adorable. Marriage meant love and drama and sappy declarations. But wedding planning? Wedding timelines? Wedding logistics?

It was a level of chaos that made her want to drown herself in a vat of glitter and disappear forever.

But that was a secret she'd take to her grave.

For now, she let herself breathe. Deeply. Slowly. The crisp mountain air wrapped around her lungs like a balm, cool and impossibly clean. She sighed, tipping her face to the sun like a sunflower, letting the warmth soak into her cheeks.

This at least, was worth the madness.

Everywhere she looked, there was magic.

The lake shimmered like melted glass, cradling the reflection of pine trees that lined its curved edges. Lower Kachura Lake, nestled like a jewel in the valley, utterly still, like it was holding its breath. Beyond the water, the Karakoram Mountains rose, silent and colossal, their snow-dusted peaks bathed in golden light, as if kissed by the sky itself. Every breeze carried a crisp clarity, rustling through the pine needles and the wide green canopy like nature humming a lullaby.

The Shangri-La Resort stretched around the lake like something out of a fairytale, all sloped red rooftops, Swiss-inspired chalets, and wooden bridges arched gently over garden streams. A pagoda sat proudly at the lake's edge, reflected perfectly in the water beneath it. Birds trilled somewhere in the canopy. Flower beds burst with color along the stone paths. And behind the villa cottages, the event lawn was already coming to life, fairy lights being strung between trees, embroidered cushions scattered on rugs, the soft ring of laughter as someone tested a dhol.

Rumi sighed again, this time dreamily. "Okay fine," she muttered to herself. "Weddings aren't so bad when they're here."

The entire resort had been booked for Maryam and Armaan's wedding. No expense spared, no aesthetic unchecked, no vendor left behind. Event planners swarmed the grounds like very fancy bees, draping fabric here, arranging flowers there, setting up giant stage structures that would host performances and sappy speeches, but sadly there would be no epic dance numbers.

She sighed as she turned, walking down one of the winding stone paths.

"Why would they get a room all the way on the other end?" she grumbled.

The "they" in question, of course, was none other than Meerab and Murtasim. The newlyweds-slash-menaces whose stand-alone villa sat at the farthest edge of the resort, practically its own private island. It had seemed like a very smart idea at first. Give them space. Privacy. The ability to bask in their marital bliss without traumatizing everyone.

Because despite all the square footage and doors and well-intentioned distance in Hyderabad, Rumi had still heard things she could never un-hear.

She cleared her throat, firmly shoving those thoughts to the side and picking up her pace. Her eyes caught on the gazebo by the lake, the white wooden structure wrapped in marigold garlands, and her heart squeezed.

Last night had been... lovely.

Just the eight of them. Her, Hamza, Maryam, Armaan, Ajiya, Arsalan, and of course, the newlyweds, all curled up around a roaring fire in that very gazebo. Blankets piled high, mugs of hot chocolate steaming, stars overhead so close they looked like they could be plucked out of the sky. They'd laughed until their stomachs hurt, shared stories, teased each other. It had felt like something out of an old Bollywood film, wholesome and ridiculous and perfect.