Author's POV
They returned to the living room, the air inside feeling heavier now, filled with unspoken thoughts and the quiet relief that the hardest part—at least for today—was over. Shruthi walked with small, measured steps, her gaze lowered, but she could sense Arjun's presence beside her, steady and calm.
Arjun resumed his seat, his mind still reeling from their private conversation on the balcony. Shruthi sat across from him, hands folded neatly in her lap, fingers fidgeting with the corner of her dupatta, stealing glances at him when no one was watching.
Arjun's father broke the silence, his voice warm, hopeful. "So… are you two okay with getting married to each other?"
The words hung in the air for a breath before both Arjun and Shruthi responded, almost in perfect unison, their voices soft but clear. "Yes."
The sound of their agreement seemed to lift a weight off the room. Subbarao smiled, his eyes crinkling with genuine joy. He laughed softly, as if trying to ease what tension remained. "Good. All the best to you two."
He turned toward Shruthi's parents, who now looked visibly relieved, their smiles brighter, their posture more relaxed. "I would prefer the wedding to be in Hyderabad," Subbarao said, tone practical but kind. "Most of our family is here. And… preferably before the second week of July. I'll be transferred to Mumbai after that."
Shruthi's father, who had been nervously adjusting his watch strap, nodded eagerly. "Of course, that's fine. That's absolutely fine. We'll begin arrangements right away."
Her mother chimed in with a tight, rehearsed smile. "Yes, we'll make sure everything is ready in time."
The polite, formal words passed back and forth between the parents, sealing the deal in the language of agreements and logistics. But Arjun barely heard them. His thoughts were elsewhere—still on the balcony, still on her face, still on that moment when she'd whispered Sure and he'd felt something in his chest shift.
Arjun and Subbarao stood to leave. There were murmured goodbyes, polite nods, and promises to stay in touch about the dates and details.
As they reached the doorway, Arjun paused, some instinct urging him to glance back one last time. His eyes found Shruthi's immediately. She stood in the hallway, just beyond the living room, quietly watching them leave. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her posture demure but her eyes—those eyes—held so much. A hundred questions, a dozen emotions, and something fragile and unspoken that tugged at his heart.
Their gazes met for a brief second, but it felt longer. Felt like something had been acknowledged between them, even if neither had the words for it yet.
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In the car — Arjun's POV (third person)
Arjun slumped into the back seat of the car as his father started the engine. The city lights flickered past the windows as they drove through familiar streets, but his mind wasn't on the road, or the chatter of people outside, or even on the wedding his father had just helped arrange.
What the hell just happened? The thought ran circles in his head. His heart hadn't quite settled back into its usual rhythm. His ears still felt warm, his palms damp from nerves he didn't know he could feel.
"Shall we get married?" he groaned inwardly, covering his face with one hand. Who says that? Who says that like it's some dramatic movie dialogue? I actually looked into her eyes and said it. Like some hero. And I even smiled. And—oh God—I complimented her. What was I thinking?
He leaned back, fingers threading through his hair, trying to cool the heat burning his ears. Who am I? He barely recognized himself in that moment.
But then his thoughts softened, returning to the way she'd looked at him—so nervous, so uncertain, but so genuine. He could see it again: her lips slightly parted, as if she'd wanted to speak but didn't know how, her eyes wide, shimmering with questions she was too shy to voice.
She's beautiful. The admission made his chest ache, both sweet and terrifying at once.
Subbarao glanced at him through the rearview mirror, a knowing glint in his eyes. "What did you talk to her about?" he asked, voice light, casual—but Arjun knew his father was fishing for details.
Arjun shifted uncomfortably, staring out of the window as if the night sky might save him. "Nothing," he mumbled, hoping to sound disinterested.
But his father chuckled, seeing right through him. "Hmm. Nothing, is it?" The amusement in his tone was unmistakable. "You were both out there long enough to plan the honeymoon."
"Dad!" Arjun groaned, covering his face with both hands now, his cheeks burning hotter.
Subbarao laughed, patting the steering wheel. "I'm happy, son. She's a good girl. And you—well, I can see it. You'll take care of her."
Arjun let his hands drop to his lap, sighing as he stared out into the night. The city blurred past, but his mind was filled with the image of pink silk, soft lips, trembling fingers, and those eyes that seemed to see right through him.
I think… I think I'm going to fall in love with her. The realization was quiet, but it struck deep.
And it scared him.
And I'm scared it'll happen faster than I expect.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the night breeze from the window wash over his face, trying to calm the storm brewing quietly inside him.
Shruthi's POV – That Night
The front door had closed. The murmur of departure faded into silence. And still, Shruthi stood by the hallway, long after Arjun's car had driven off, her fingers gently twisting the edge of her dupatta, eyes still staring at the spot where he had stood.
Her mother's voice broke the stillness, saying something about dinner and guests, but Shruthi only nodded faintly before retreating to her room—slowly, quietly, as if she were afraid the floor might creak beneath her and give away the storm swirling inside her chest.
She pushed open the door to her room and stepped in, closing it softly behind her. The click of the latch echoed louder than she expected, snapping her out of her daze for a second. She stood there for a moment, just breathing, her back against the door, her heart still not settled.
The ceiling fan whirred above, lazily pushing around the warm air. The familiar scent of sandalwood and freshly washed linen hung in the air. Everything looked the same—her soft pink bedspread, the worn study table, the half-open wardrobe—but she didn't feel the same.
Her legs carried her to the bed, but not before she let her fingers brush the framed photograph on her table—a younger her, grinning wide with Pragathi beside her, the innocence of school days frozen in time. She smiled faintly, but tonight her thoughts weren't with her brother or the past.
They were with him.
Shruthi sat down slowly, folding her legs beneath her, hands resting on her lap. She stared at her own reflection in the mirror across the room, searching her eyes like they might hold the answers she didn't yet know how to ask.
"Are you okay with getting married to each other?"
Her father's voice echoed in her mind.
"Yes."
She had said it. She had meant it. But why did it feel like her heart was still racing from something else? Something much softer, much closer than the formality of an arranged match?
Her cheeks warmed again, a soft flush spreading across her skin.
That moment on the balcony.
She shut her eyes.
His voice.
Low, unsure.
But steady.
"Shall we get married?"
Shruthi pressed her hand to her chest.
She didn't know how to explain it, even to herself. It was such a simple question, asked in such an awkward, almost naive way. But in that moment… it hadn't sounded silly. It had sounded real.
Like a choice.
Like he had chosen her.
And then, that unexpected compliment—"You're actually very beautiful."
God.
Her other hand flew up to cover her mouth as a breathy laugh escaped her. Not because it was funny. But because it made her heart do something it hadn't done in a long time.
Dance.
She dropped back onto the bed, lying down and staring at the ceiling now, her dupatta slipping slightly off her shoulder. Her fingers found the soft cotton of her kurta and clutched at it lightly near her chest. Her heartbeat pulsed beneath her palm.
Why did it feel like he'd peeled back some invisible curtain and seen her? Not just noticed—but truly seen.
No one had complimented her like that before. Not in that way. Not looking into her eyes. Not making her feel like the air between them was humming with something that didn't need words.
She turned onto her side, hugging a pillow now, pulling it close.
Arjun.
The name felt different now. Less like a stranger. Less like the boy her parents had chosen for her. More like… someone hers. She didn't know if that was dangerous to think. But she couldn't help it.
He hadn't just made her nervous tonight.
He'd made her feel safe.
Like when he had waited for her to respond. Like when he hadn't laughed at her awkwardness. Like when he had smiled—genuinely—as if he had been nervous too.
That smile.
That voice.
That softness in his gaze when he said, "I know this is sudden for you… for both of us."
She could still feel it. The warmth of his presence beside her, the way his voice dipped slightly, like he didn't want anyone else to hear what he was saying.
Shruthi sat up again, clutching the pillow now in her arms.
Was she… falling for him?
No, she told herself quickly. It's too early. We've barely spoken. I don't know him.
But the words felt hollow.
Because her heart—her foolish, beating heart—had started reacting to him long before her mind could build any walls.
And wasn't that what falling was?
Not knowing. Not planning. Just feeling.
A shiver passed through her, not of cold, but of something unnamed. Something she didn't dare call love—not yet. But it was something. A shift. A blooming.
Her lips curved slightly as she looked down at her lap.
He said I'm beautiful.
That simple sentence had found a place deep inside her. Not because of vanity, but because of who had said it—and how.
He hadn't said it to charm her.
He had said it like he'd only just realized it. Like it had startled him too.
She wanted to hold onto that.
Shruthi stood up now and walked to the window, gently pulling the curtain aside. The moon hung low in the sky, pale and quiet. She leaned against the frame and looked up at the stars. The night was still, but her thoughts weren't.
She thought of the way he had turned around at the door—looked at her one last time. Like he hadn't wanted to leave. Like he'd wanted to make sure she was still looking too.
And she had been.
God, she had been.
She hugged herself now, letting the breeze brush over her face. And for the first time in a long time, she smiled to herself—not for anyone else. Just for her.
She didn't know what tomorrow would bring. Or next week. Or next month. Marriage was still a word too big to carry in her hands.
But tonight?
Tonight she was allowed to feel.
To remember his voice.
His words.
His nervousness.
His eyes.
And let her heart wonder—just a little—what it might be like to belong to someone who looked at her that way.
To be continued...