I barely had a moment to breathe.
The front door flung open like a theatre curtain, and there she was — coral chiffon, tangled curls, twenty bangles per wrist, and a high-pitched squeal that could've shattered crystal.
"SE-RI!"
Rhea charged toward me like a Bollywood heroine on espresso — barefoot on stone, already crying, already smiling.
I had just enough time to brace myself before she collided into me — perfume, chaos, laughter, and eyeliner that was definitely not waterproof.
"You're late," she sniffed, stepping back just far enough to judge my outfit. "And perfect. I hate you."
"I was early," I said flatly. "You know I hate weddings."
She rolled her eyes, already grabbing my hand. "Come. Now. Inside. You're not escaping this. You owe me sister duty times a thousand."
The doors closed behind us, and the volume tripled. Voices. Laughter. A sitar in the corner trying to compete with someone's Bluetooth speaker blaring remixed Jagjit Singh. Marigold garlands drooped from the mezzanine like the place was exhaling florals. Somewhere, someone popped a champagne bottle. A server nearly walked into me with a tray of pomegranate cocktails.
Chaos. Controlled. Glittering. Expensive.
This was my family.
The Singh Multiverse — population: too many.
Rhea dragged me through the crowd like I was luggage, waving at relatives I barely recognized, shouting greetings over floral arrangements and shoulder blades.
She led me straight to my grandfather's room, where both he and Dadi were waiting.
"Se-Ri, you're late," Dadaji said in that deep, expectant voice.
I touched his feet like a good sanskari granddaughter and smiled sweetly. "I had a meeting to wrap up."
He rose from his chair and gave me the Look — the you-know-what's-coming look. "You should think of marriage now. Like your sister. You've settled your company — now it's time to settle down with a family."
I rolled my eyes. "Please, Dadaji. Not now. Let me enjoy Rhea's wedding first. I haven't even met half the guests yet."
Dadi interrupted, waving him off. "Let her breathe. Get married when you want," she added, smirking at me. "Go on now — Amisha's waiting."
I smiled gratefully at Dadi, shot Dadaji a look designed to irritate him just enough, and slipped out of the room.
Dadaji is the head of the family — strict, disciplined, never misses his 5 a.m. walk or his 9 a.m. opinions. And of course, he's earned it. He built everything we have today. Still... I love him. Even when he makes me want to scream.
But Dadi? She's, my heart. After my mother died, she raised me. Smoothed the ache. Made the ache useful.
We walked toward the mandap, where Amisha was already waiting, arms open.
She hugged me tightly. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," I sighed. "And still single."
"Seriously? What happened to the last one?"
I adjusted her hair. "I don't want to talk about it. He was too controlling."
"Se-Ri, dear, you won't find anyone if you're this picky."
Before I could answer, Rhea jumped in. "Amisha, don't be so mean. Not everyone marries their childhood sweetheart. And Se-Ri — even I'm starting to worry. What is this, boyfriend number... fifteen?"
I groaned. "Don't count."
But she wasn't wrong. I had dated too many men and felt nothing lasting for any of them. Too lazy. Too obsessed with sex. Too into money. Too traditional. Too something.
Amisha is the lucky one between the three of us. She found someone who just fit.
She pouted dramatically. "Please get married soon. Otherwise, I'll have to wait, and I don't want to die unmarried."
We all burst out laughing.