9:56 PM

The highlighter in my hand had dried at the tip.

Like it was tired.

Or forgotten.

Maybe both.

My desk was a graveyard of bare legal pads, loose sticky notes, and open modules. A page from Direct Taxation peeked out from beneath my Audit scanner, daring me to look away even for a second.

But I already had.

I wasn't staring at the answers anymore. I was staring at my hand.

More specifically- my left one.

The ring caught light from the study lamp. Deceptively calm for the storm it symbolised.

Engaged.

I was engaged.

And that day- the day this ring slipped onto my finger- was etched in my body like muscle memory, though I hadn't dared to revisit it since. I wasn't going to now either.

But my thumb moved before I could stop it. A loop that had started absentmindedly and refused to end.

Grazing over the metal. Holding it between two fingers. Like I was testing whether it still felt alien. Whether it still didn't belong to me.

This isn't what I was supposed to feel.

I was supposed to recoil.

I was supposed to feel foreign in this skin, betrayed by it.

I wanted to hate it. Hate the ring. Hate what it meant.

But I didn't.

I wasn't calm. Not exactly. But I wasn't angry either.

And that-

That unnerved me more than anything.

Because indifference was dangerous.

It meant I had accepted something I swore I wouldn't.

I had spent the last two days buried in audit reports, tax reforms, the new finance bill, GST amendments, and case laws with names longer than my attention span.

I had tried. God, I had tried to drown the noise.

Every time the room got too still, I'd flip another page. Every time the air got too heavy, I'd underline a new section. I convinced myself that studying wasn't just preparation- it was protection.

That if I stayed busy enough, buried deep enough,

I wouldn't have to admit what was quietly blooming beneath the chaos:

Acceptance.

Not love. Not joy.

But this... soft, confusing middle ground.

Where I didn't want the ring-

But I didn't want to rip it off either.

And that felt like betrayal.

To myself. To everything I'd believed.

Because I knew better.

I had reasons. Boundaries. Rules.

I had an entire manifesto built on the foundation that I didn't want this.

Didn't believe in it.

Didn't dream of it.

So why did my hand look so... still with it?

Why wasn't I flinching?

I hated that question.

Almost as much as I hated how natural it looked on me now.

Like it hadn't been forced on.

Like I hadn't been cornered into saying yes.

I looked at it again.

Flickering under the study lamp. Quiet.

Almost gentle.

And for the first time since that stage,

I wondered-

Was I becoming okay with this?

Or had I just stopped fighting?

I didn't have the answer.

So I picked up the highlighter again.

And underlined the next section like it mattered more than the war in my chest.

Lost in the cluttered quiet of my thoughts and the pages that refused to end, I barely registered the first vibration.

My phone buzzed once- twice- lighting up with an unknown number.

I glanced at the screen but didn't pick up. I rarely did. Unknown numbers meant spam, or worse- small talk. I don't answer strangers. I don't invite detours.

So I let it ring and returned to my notes.

Flipping the page, I sank back into the labyrinth of case laws and provisions, pen dragging margins like my focus depended on it.

After ten minutes,

there was a knock on my door.

Soft. Hesitant.

My door creaked open and Maa stepped in, phone in hand, screen still lit.

I blinked up at her.

"Beta, Tanya wants to talk to you."

The name didn't land at first.

Tanya?

My brows furrowed. I gave her a look- half questioning, half waiting.

She clarified, like she knew the pause was inevitable.

"Misha's mother."

Oh.

Oh.

Suddenly, I wasn't holding a pen anymore. The words on the textbook faded.

And all I could hear was the quiet echo of that tiny voice, that giant marigold, and the girl whose arms had melted around mine like they belonged there.

Maa placed the phone in my hand and stepped out, closing the door behind her.

I stared at the screen for half a second longer than I should've.

Why is she calling me at this hour?

A flicker of panic lit up in my chest, sharp and sudden.

Was Misha sick? Did something happen? Was she okay?

I pressed the phone to my ear, my voice coming out faster than thought.

"Is everything okay? Is Misha okay? What is she doing?"

No hello. No breath. Just questions- rushed, tumbling over each other, born from that split second of fear I hadn't even had time to name.

"Hey hey, calm down," Tanya's voice came gently from the other end, slightly amused. "Misha is absolutely fine. She's fast asleep."

I hadn't even realised I was holding my breath until it whooshed out of me. Relief flooded every corner of my chest.

"Hi. Sorry. I just-" I rubbed my forehead.

"It's okay," she chuckled. "I called to tell you... Misha turns one tomorrow."

I smiled, even though she couldn't see it.

"I spoke to Anita aunty. She told me she won't be able to come. Wedding prep and all."

Ah. Right. Mom had been buried in guest lists and lehenga selections.

"But you have to come."

"I-"

The word lodged itself awkwardly in my throat.

If it had been anyone else, I would've refused.

Birthdays aren't my thing. I don't like parties, I don't like crowds.

But this wasn't just anyone.

It was Misha.

And the thought of saying no didn't feel like an option- even if I wanted to.

"Atharv will pick you up," Tanya added casually, like it was already planned.

"I'll book a cab, it's okay," I said quickly. Too quickly.

There was a pause. And then a grin in her voice.

"Do you want me to send Vedant bhaiya instead?" she teased.

"NO."

I said it too fast, too loud, too horrified to recover gracefully.

Absolutely not him.

Tanya giggled, clearly entertained. I wanted to vanish.

"I have work tomorrow," I added hesitantly, trying to sound polite. "Would it be alright if I join after six?"

"I know you have work. That's why the party starts at 7."

Oh.

There was a quiet thud in my chest.

She knew.

She'd made room for me.

"I'll be there," I said Quietly.

"Wish Misha from my side when she wakes up," I added.

"I will," she promised.

A beat.

Then, as if the call hadn't already pushed me to the edge of emotional gymnastics-

She said casually- far too casually, "Do you want to talk to Vedant bhaiya?"

My soul physically left my body.

No.

No.

No.

Why would I want to do that?

I clutched the phone tighter, trying not to panic at the casual ambush.

"Nope. I'm hanging up," I said in a rush, not waiting another second before ending the call.

The call ended, but the echoes lingered.

I set the phone down gently, almost like it was still carrying her voice- like it might ring again if I moved too quickly.

The room returned to its usual rhythm.

The quiet hum of the fan.

The ticking wall clock that sounded louder now, like it had something to prove.

But I didn't go back to studying.

I just sat there.

Eyes still on the blank space in my notes, thoughts spiraling elsewhere- tangled up in birthday invitations, in baby giggles, in a name I wasn't ready to say out loud.

Vedant bhaiya.

Just hearing it made something clench quietly inside me.

Why did her voice sound so casual when she said it?

Why did mine sound so shaken?

It wasn't fear. Not really.

It was... dissonance.

The way his name still felt like a foreign word in my mouth, even though we were engaged. Even though I wore the proof of it on my hand.

My fingers found the ring again-spinning it slowly, like it might offer answers if I turned it the right way.

It didn't.

It just sat there.

A glint of metal and meaning I hadn't chosen.

A promise I hadn't made with my heart.

And yet... somehow, it no longer felt like a stranger to me.

🪔

I wrapped up work at 3:45 PM. Not a minute later.

There was still something left to do-something more important than ledgers and tax clauses.

I hadn't bought Misha's gift yet.

Well... I knew what I was getting.

I had known it since last night, when sleep refused to come and I found myself scrolling through the catalogue like it would settle something in my chest.

I gathered my things, the usual end-of-day shuffle. Stepped out of the office with my heart strangely full. Booked a cab. Slipped into the backseat like muscle memory. And told myself to breathe.

The city outside was all noise- honks and summer heat and lives overlapping.

But inside me? It was quieter than usual.

I reached the jewellery store in twenty minutes. Stepped in with purpose.

I didn't browse. Didn't glance around.

I knew what I was here for.

I told the saleswoman exactly what I needed.

She smiled- walked to the back- and returned within seconds.

Of course they had it.

I'd checked thrice last night. I had zoomed in on every pixel of that photo until I could imagine it in my palm.

A delicate gold chain.

And a tiny evil eye pendant resting at its center- simple, soft edged, almost fragile.

But there was power in it.

A kind of strength only small things carry when they're meant to protect.

I chose this for her.

Not because it was pretty. Not because it sparkled.

But because it meant something.

Something she may not understand now, but one day, maybe-

When the world gets too loud.

When the shadows feel closer than the light.

When she needs something to hold onto-

I hope she reaches for it.

I hope it reminds her she is safe.

I hope it becomes her anchor.

A charm that whispers strength when she feels small.

A talisman that keeps the world's sharp edges a little softer.

Because life... it's not always kind.

And though I pray the storms never reach her-

If they ever do...

Let this be the thing that steadies her.

Just like Nani's pendant did for me.

For years, that little diya shaped charm carried parts of me I didn't have the strength to carry myself.

It wasn't just jewellery.

It was memory etched in gold.

It was the warmth of her voice, the comfort of her embrace.

It was home I could wear around my neck.

But not anymore.

I lost it.

Somewhere between fluorescent lights and traffic signals.

Between rushing out of office doors and locking mine at home.

And I know- I'm never getting it back.

The grief almost pulled me under again.

It always does. Like waves- never quite gone, always waiting.

But I closed my eyes.

Exhaled.

Let the ache roll over me, then past me.

Not today.

Not while I'm choosing something for Misha.

She deserves joy.

She deserves protection.

She deserves to have someone believe in her quiet strength before she even knows it exists.

So I looked at the pendant again.

Smiled softly.

And whispered to myself-

Let this be her light.

I paid at the counter, watching the cashier fold the bill with practiced ease, slotting it into the envelope like it was any ordinary transaction- when for me, it was anything but.

They packed the pendant carefully, nestling it inside a velvet box, then tucking it into the store's soft white carry bag with golden handles. Clean. Neat. Almost ceremonial.

Then I stepped out of the jewellery store, the sunlight a little softer now, the air carrying that faint hum of nearing evening.

Next stop- something a little less gold, a little more giggle.

I walked into the kids' store, and the world exploded into colour.

Shelves overflowed with pastel plushies-bears, bunnies, and creatures I couldn't name, all stitched with sleepy smiles and button eyes that followed you.

Rattles hung like wind chimes, catching every breeze and turning it into a soft jingle. Toy cars zipped in loops on a demo track, a plastic puppy barked in the distance, and a tiny keyboard played itself into madness.

Lights blinked in rhythms only children could decode, and bubbles floated from a corner machine like tiny translucent moons.

The aisles curved like little mazes- built to mesmerize the small and momentarily bewilder the tall.

I didn't know what I was looking for, not exactly.

A doll?

My hand hovered over a few. Pink, lacey, with too many sequins.

But no... everyone else must've thought of that.

Her shelves would probably be bursting with long lashed plastic faces by tomorrow.

I wanted something else.

Something a little closer to her.

Then-

my eyes landed on it.

A small, soft brown bear, almost hidden between louder, flashier toys.

No blinking lights. No sound. Just... there.

Gentle. Unassuming. Like it didn't want to be picked, just noticed.

But it made me stop.

Masha and the Bear.

She had watched it on my roka day.

Quietly. On Tanya's phone. Her tiny face lit up with fascination while the rest of us drowned in rituals and noise.

She didn't even blink during the bear scenes.

Eyes wide, fingers curled around the screen like it was sacred.

And this one-

this little plush bear came with something special.

A recorder.

You could record your voice into it.

And every time the cherry red bow at its neck was pressed, it would speak.

Your voice. Your words. Echoed back.

As if you left a piece of yourself behind for when you couldn't be there in person.

A presence in your absence.

I held it in my hands.

Soft, warm. Familiar.

This was it.

This was the one.

I smiled to myself, already imagining her curious fingers pressing the bow.

Already hearing her giggle the first time it spoke back.

I didn't even need to think twice.

This wasn't just a toy.

It was something that would talk to her when no one else was around.

And maybe, just maybe-

when the world was too big, too confusing-

she'd press that little bow, hear the voice inside, and remember that someone out there adored her fiercely.

I took it to the counter, heart fuller than it had been in days.

The next stop was Durga Mandir- a quiet turn my day didn't just take, but needed. There was something sacred in that detour, something intentional.

I wasn't ready to place the pendant in Misha's tiny hands without first placing it in divine ones. I wanted Durga Maa to see it- this gold that held more than just shine. I wanted her to bless it before it ever touched Misha's skin, before it came close to the heartbeat it was meant to guard.

I needed the goddess to see her- to watch over her in ways the world might forget to.

Especially after that day.

So I stepped out of the store, the paper bag in my hand light but weighted with meaning.

I reached for my phone, thumb already hovering over the ride app.

The streets were starting to hum with the quiet chaos of evening-

cars blinking, temple bells faint in the distance, the sky bruising at the edges.

Just as I was about to book the cab-

my phone buzzed.

Unknown number. Again.

My instinct flared: decline.

But then...

a flicker of guilt.

Last night.

Tanya.

I'd ignored her call- without knowing it was hers.

This could be her again.

So this time, I picked up.

Lifted the phone to my ear, but didn't speak.

Because there's a rule. My rule.

If you call first, you talk first.

Or we both end up in a silent stand off- what I like to call a breathing competition.

Especially if your number's not saved in my phone.

A few seconds passed.

Just breath, static, maybe hesitation.

Then-

A voice.

Deep. Measured.

Soft around the edges like velvet hiding steel.

Too familiar.

"Hello."

I stilled.

That voice did something strange to the air around me.

Like it remembered something I hadn't told it.

I blinked once.

Then asked, quiet but clear,

"Who's this?"

A pause. And then-

"Me."

I stared at the ground, lips parting in disbelief.

Seriously?

I tilted my head, my tone turning dry, annoyed, slightly amused in that tired, why am I even entertaining this kind of way.

"Am I supposed to guess who you are, Mr. Me?"

Who says that?

Who answers a question with a riddle when they're the one interrupting my evening.

A beat.

A pause thick enough to cut through the noise, slice through the moment, and land squarely in my chest- like it knew exactly where to hit.

Then-

"Vedant," came the reply.

Just that. One name. No explanation. No warning.

And I-

I didn't just freeze.

I fractured.

Mid step. Mid thought. Mid breath.

Everything in me stilled, like someone had slammed a pause button inside my chest.

Mr. Malhotra.

How did he? Why would he?

My grip on the phone tightened.

The sound of the street faded, like the world was politely stepping back to give me space to unravel.

"Where are you?" he asked.

His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the fog inside my mind.

I blinked, trying to assemble my thoughts-because inside, it was a mess.

An entire tangle of what is happening and why am I panicking like this from just a call.

"I-why?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

It was the only word that made it past the knots in my throat.

"I'm coming to pick you up."

Just like that.

No question. No hesitation.

Just a quiet certainty that he would.

I flinched. "No. I'll do a cab. Just send me the address."

I tried to keep my voice even, firm- like I hadn't just stuttered through air at the sound of his name.

There was a soft exhale on the other end.

Not annoyed. Not tired. Just... steady.

"Where are you?" he asked again.

I wanted to scream.

Why is he like this?

Why does he ask a question like it's a command wrapped in concern?

Why can't he ever just listen?

I said I'll take a cab.

Why was that not enough?

But instead of all the thousand things running through me, I just said the truth.

"Blue Birds," I murmured, almost sighing it, "Green Park."

And I hated how small my voice sounded.

Like part of me already knew he was coming.

And the rest of me... was just pretending I didn't want him to.

"I'm five minutes away. Stay there," he said-no room for argument, no softness in his voice. It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order.

"No, I can-"

The line went dead.

He hung up.

He actually hung up.

I stared at the phone like it had betrayed me.

What the hell?

Who does that?

Why is he so damn grumpy all the time?

I stayed where I was, arms crossed, brows furrowed, muttering curses in my head while pretending to look unbothered- like I wasn't suddenly aware of every heartbeat in my chest.

And right on cue, five minutes later, a sleek black car rolled to a stop in front of me.

His car.

Of course.

He stepped out. Calm, collected, walking toward me like he hadn't just hijacked my entire plan with one sentence and a dropped call.

I looked up at him, jaw tight.

And immediately regretted it.

Why does he always carry this quiet storm around him?

"I have somewhere to go," I said, tone clipped. "I'll take a cab."

He exhaled- slow, like he was gathering patience from the clouds above. "Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere," I replied, chin lifted stubbornly.

He blinked once, then delivered the line like it wasn't the most irritatingly smug thing ever:

"Am I supposed to guess where that is, Miss Somewhere?"

Deadpan.

No smirk. No teasing lift of his brows.

Just his usual calm menace and a voice so smooth it made my face burn.

Oh God- heat crawled up my neck like I'd swallowed the sun.

Why am I like this?

Why is he like this?

And why does everything have to be this embarrassing when he's involved?

I looked away, wishing the earth would kindly open up and drag me in for a nap.

I didn't reply.

Just turned on my heel and walked toward his car, jaw set like I was bracing for battle.

He followed, of course. Silent. Unbothered.

I reached for the back door- because distance felt safer- but he gave me that look.

The one that didn't need words.

I sighed. Loudly. Dramatically. Because he deserved it.

He was insufferable.

Still, I shut the back door and got into the passenger seat, biting back every sarcastic remark that danced on the tip of my tongue. He slid into the driver's seat without a word.

"There's a Durga Mandir five minutes from here," I said, my voice quieting just a bit.

He didn't ask why.

Didn't press.

Just started the engine and drove.

The silence in the car wasn't heavy, but it wasn't light either. It hung between us like something unspoken, something that knew how to behave.

When we reached, I pushed open the door and stepped out. He did the same, rounding the car like we did this every day.

I left my bag behind, only bringing the small velvet box where Misha's pendant rested.

I glanced at him- tall, unreadable, waiting by the car.

Should I ask if he wants to come along?
Why would he? He is probably regretting every second of this.

But before I could even open my mouth-

"Do you want to go alone?" he asked.

I blinked.

"You can join... if you want to." I replied, unsure.

He nodded.

I walked ahead, toward the tiny shop outside the temple that smelled like flowers and incense. He followed without a word.

I picked up a small basket- flowers, agarbatti, prasad, a red thread, the usual offerings. The kind that makes you feel like your prayer is complete.

And then-
I realized.

I'd left my wallet in the car.

"I'll get my wallet," I murmured, turning to go back-

But before I could take a single step, I felt it.

His fingers, gentle but certain, curled around my wrist.
Not tight. Just enough to pause me.

I looked up, startled-
But he was already stepping forward.

Without a word, he handed over the cash to the shopkeeper.
"Keep the change," he said, voice low, unbothered.

Then he took the basket from the counter and held it with quiet care.
Like it was heavy with meaning he didn't ask to understand, but chose to carry anyway.

And me?

I just stood there. Wrist still tingling, throat suddenly tight.

"Why did you-" I started, staring at him, genuinely offended. "I was going to get my wallet."

He didn't even flinch. Just raised his wrist and tapped on his watch, like that explained everything.

It was already 6. Oh. Right.

But still-

When I didn't stop looking at him- didn't argue- he glanced at me, calm and unreadable.

"You can pay next time," he said, voice low.

No smugness. No teasing. Just finality. Like he'd already decided for the both of us, and all I could do was accept it.

Because what could I say to that?

I pressed my lips together and walked quietly with him to the temple.

We slipped off our footwear at the threshold- his leather shoes, my pumps- placed side by side.

The temple stairs radiated warmth, sun-soaked and steady beneath our bare feet as we climbed together. He carried the basket with both hands, careful and composed, while I clutched the small velvet box- the pendant resting inside, light as gold, heavy as meaning.

At the top of the stairs, I reached out to ring the bell- instinct, reverence, muscle memory wrapped in quiet devotion.

But just as my fingers brushed the cool brass-
another hand reached up.

His.

His palm landed softly against the back of mine. Warm. Steady.
My hand stilled on contact, the bell left untouched.

I looked up, breath catching mid motion-startled by how gentle the interruption was.
He looked down, equally still, like he hadn't meant to reach at the same moment, but now that we had-
neither of us wanted to move first.

There it was again.
That suspended moment.
A breath we both forgot to take.
A pull we both refused to name.

Our eyes locked.
His gaze unreadable but unwavering.
Mine- traitorous, flickering with too much.

And then, without breaking the stare-
he moved.
His fingers pressed gently over mine, guiding my hand forward until the bell chimed beneath our touch.

Clang.

A soft, ringing note bloomed through the air-pure, echoing, sacred.

But I barely heard it.

I was too busy noticing the way his gaze lingered-
a fraction too long, like he was searching for something in my face.
Or maybe leaving something behind in it.

I blinked, the moment breaking like thin glass under pressure.
Snapped my hand back. Turned away before my breath could betray me.

I walked ahead, fast enough to escape it.
The kind of pace that pretends composure-
while your heart stumbles just trying to keep up.

As we neared the main sanctum, the fragrance of incense thickened- clove, camphor, flowers- and the soft chant of temple bells wrapped around us like something familiar.

"Jai Mata Di," the pandit ji greeted warmly, his voice echoing across the stone walls.

I turned and looked at Mr. Malhotra.
He stepped forward and handed over the basket.

Then, gently, I opened the velvet box and took out the pendant- Misha's pendant- and held it in my palm for a second longer than I meant to.

"I want to offer this to Maa," I said softly to pandit ji, "It's a gift. I want to charge it with her blessings."

The pandit ji nodded, his expression quiet, understanding. He took the pendant from my open palm with care, then stepped forward and placed it gently at the goddess's feet-nestled among petals, incense, and the soft glow of diyas.

Mr. Malhotra stood beside me, silent. But the way his hands folded, the way his gaze didn't stray from the pendant- it felt... personal.

Like he understood what this meant.
Or maybe, he simply chose not to ask.
And somehow, that meant more.

"Naam bataiye," the priest asked, sorting the offerings with the kind of calm that came from doing this a thousand times before.

"Diya," I said softly, the sound of my own name oddly grounding. Familiar. Mine.

Then he looked up at Mr. Malhotra and asked, "Aur inka?"

I glanced at him without thinking- just for a second.

And then I said it.

"Vedant."

Just that. One word. Two syllables.
But it left my mouth like a secret slipping free.

It wasn't the first time I'd said his name in my head- no, that had happened more times than I was ready to admit.

But this- saying it out loud,
in front of him,
with the weight of a priest's ritual and the goddess watching-
it felt different.
Too intimate. Too real.

Like I had crossed into some invisible space between us,
where names weren't just names,
but acknowledgements.
Like I had just... named him.

And in the pause that followed, something shifted in him.

Not dramatic. Not even obvious.
Just-
the faintest twitch in his jaw.
A blink that lasted a breath too long.
His gaze, suddenly stiller.

It was nothing. And yet- it wasn't.

I didn't know what I had expected. Maybe nothing. Maybe a nod, or that familiar blankness he wore like armour.
But this- this flicker I couldn't read-
it threw me.

Was it discomfort? Was he surprised?
Annoyed?
Did it mean something?
Or was I just foolish enough to think that a name could mean anything.

I looked away first.

Not because I was embarrassed.
But because I didn't trust my face not to give something away.

"Pooja kiske liye hai?" the priest asked next, his voice calm, expectant.

"Misha," I answered. A whisper, barely audible. But it carried every beat of love, fear, hope I hadn't said aloud.

And then the chanting began.

Ancient Sanskrit verses rolled through the air- deep, resonant, eternal.
But there, nestled between those timeless syllables, was her name.

Misha.

Spoken softly by the priest. Repeated with reverence.
Folded into the rhythm of the mantras like a promise.
Like a petition to the gods: Remember her. Protect her. Bless her.

With every repetition, it felt like the temple itself was holding her.
Like the air had wrapped her in light.
Like Durga Maa herself had leaned forward to listen.

The chants didn't just echo- they enveloped.
Her name pulsed through them, again and again, until it no longer felt like a word-
It felt like armor.
Like grace.
Like a prayer with a pulse.

And in that moment, surrounded by incense smoke and sacred sound, I knew-
her name had reached the goddess.

And the goddess had heard.

Midway through the chanting, the priest handed us the incense sticks- thin, unlit, waiting to carry our prayer into the air.

Mr. Malhotra stepped forward, reaching for the matchbox placed near the temple window.
His movements were quiet, deliberate.

He struck the match.

A soft crackle sliced through the hum of mantras for the briefest second,
then faded,
as if even the flame knew not to disturb this sacred hush.

He brought it to the incense in my hand, careful and steady.

The tip caught fire,
glowed for a heartbeat,
and then breathed out a ribbon of smoke-sweet, spiraling, silent.

I lifted my hand to begin circling it clockwise in offering when-

"Haath pakdiye inka," the pandit ji said, directing him softly.

My hand froze mid air.
The smoke drifted up, curling between us.

I glanced at him-
And he was already looking at me.

There it was again. That look. That unspoken question in his eyes.
Seeking permission.

Just like that day.
When the photographer had asked him to place his hand on my waist during the engagement shoot- he had looked at me then too, waiting. Always waiting.

I blinked at him slowly. A silent yes.

He stepped forward, not rushing it, and then his hand found the back of mine- warm, firm, steady.

Together, our hands moved in slow circles, guiding the smoke as it rose like a prayer.

I could feel his presence beside me- not touching more than my hand, but still, it felt like too much.

Once done, I carefully tucked the incense into its holder, pulling my hand back like I needed to breathe without him for a second.

The pandit ji began reciting mantras again-Misha's name woven into the rhythm like a thread of protection.

Then, with a nod, he handed back the pendant.

And just as I turned to take it, he asked the question that sliced straight through the calm:

"Aap dono pati patni hain?"

It hit like the snap of a thread pulled too tight.
My breath caught.
My fingers froze mid motion.

Everything inside me went still.
The kind of stillness that comes right before something cracks.

Beside me, he didn't move either.
I didn't have to look to know he'd gone rigid.

His posture, once calm, had drawn taut- like the question had pressed directly against a nerve.

Neither of us spoke.

Not immediately.
Not instinctively.

Because for a moment, it wasn't just a question.
It was a mirror-
One we weren't ready to look into.

And in the silence that followed, everything we hadn't said hung heavier than the smoke curling between our hands.

I didn't expect him to answer.

Truthfully, I wasn't even sure I wanted him to.

But the silence between us...
it stretched.
Stretched until it ached.
Until it curled into my chest and tugged at something soft, something unguarded.

The priest was still looking at us- expectant, patient.
And I-
I folded under that quiet pressure.

"Fiancé," I said.
Barely.
Maybe I just breathed it.

I don't even know if it reached him.

There was a flicker of confusion in the priest's eyes, like he hadn't quite caught it either.
But before the moment could fray further-

He spoke.

Mr. Malhotra's voice cut through the space. Low. Certain.

"Mangetar," he said.

Then again, slower this time. Firmer.
"Mangetar hain meri."

And just like that-
my pulse stopped pretending it was fine.

The priest smiled, the answer finally landing.
"Mangetar," he repeated with ease, then let out a soft chuckle- like he hadn't just turned my heartbeat into a drum.

"Accha, woh aapke haathon mein anguthi dekhi toh maine socha puchh lu."

I managed a polite smile, throat dry.

He lifted his hands and blessed us with a chant I wasn't prepared for.

"Bhagwan aap dono ki jodi hamesha salamat rakhe."
May your bond remain unbroken.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he began reciting another mantra- this time with both of our names in it.

Diya.
Vedant.

And I don't know why... but hearing our names together like that, in a space so sacred-
It did something to me.

The pandit ji motioned for us to extend our hands- the red sacred thread, mauli, coiled loosely in his fingers.

He held his hand out first.

With calm, practiced movements, the priest wrapped the thread around his wrist, tying it in quiet precision. No words. Just ritual.

Then the pandit ji turned to me.

I stepped forward and extended my hand, the other still holding the small velvet box. Palm open, breath uneven.
I didn't know why my heart had started echoing in my ears.
But it had.

The thread brushed against my wrist- warm, light, binding.

The knot was simple. Swift. Sacred.

But it settled on my skin like something more.
More than tradition.
More than custom.

Then the pandit ji lifted a small brass bowl, vermilion glinting bright red inside it. He asked me to dip my finger into it. I did.

"Inke maathay pe lagaiye."

We both paused.

I looked up at him.
He looked at me.

And something unspoken passed between us.
Something fragile.
Something terrifying.

Then-
he did something I never imagined he would.

He lowered his head.

Not rushed. Not reluctant.
Just quiet acceptance.
A quiet surrender that stole the air from my lungs.

He placed his right hand gently on the back of his head and closed his eyes, as if surrendering to a moment that wasn't his to control.

My breath caught as I lifted my hand-vermilion shimmering faintly on my fingertip.
I touched it to his forehead, right between his brows.
Soft. Centered. Sacred.

There was still vermilion left on my finger.
So I pressed it to my own skin.
Not for symmetry. Not for ritual.
But because somehow, in that fragile second,
it felt like the only way to make it equal.
Balanced.
Safe.

And then- wordless- we knelt.
Side by side.
Our knees met the cool stone floor as we bowed before Maa Durga,
the silence around us thick with unsaid things.

The priest placed both hands on our heads.
His touch was gentle. Steady. Final.

"Sada sukhi raho. Aap dono ki jodi hamesha bani rahe."

His hands were warm.
His words, warmer.
And yet-
all they left behind in me was a quiet ache I couldn't name.

No protest. No response.
Just a weight that settled beneath my ribs and refused to move.

We rose in silence.
No glances. No words.
Just the whisper of fabric, the rustle of movement, and the strange hush that followed us.

Outside, we slipped our shoes on side by side.
And without a single word-
walked toward the car.

Together.
But not quite with each other.

He opened the door for me.
I slid in, still caught in the silence.

He walked around and got in too.
But he didn't start the engine.

The key just sat in the ignition.
His hands resting loosely in his lap.

And we just... sat there.

Not speaking.
Not moving.

Just suspended in the thick, unbearable stillness of everything we hadn't planned.

Because this wasn't supposed to happen.
This- whatever this was- wasn't part of the day I had mapped out in my head.

I came for Misha.
To pray for her safety.
To offer her pendant to the goddess and ask for something bigger than myself to watch over her.
It was going to be just me.

That was the plan.
That was all it was supposed to be.

But then he called.
And I picked up.
And somehow, we ended up in a temple together.

Together.

A word I hadn't allowed myself to think in relation to him.

And now-
a priest had just tied threads around our wrists, spoken blessings over us, called us a pair.
Said things that shouldn't have mattered... but somehow did.

The silence between us was heavy with the echo of it.

Of his name on my lips.
Of a ritual we hadn't asked for.

And I-
I didn't know what to do with the ache blooming in my chest.

DIYA'S OUTFIT

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐
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