Falguni's POV:
The door closed behind me, and I exhaled deeply. Silence. Finally.
I slipped out of the outfit, carefully folding it, got freshen up and changed into a soft, faded cotton kurta. Comfortable. Familiar. Mine.
I sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, phone in hand.
Falguni:
"I made it out alive."
Aarush:
"Proud of you. Rate the pain: relatives vs lectures?"
Falguni:
"Relatives win. Hands down. At least lectures end on time."
Aarush:
"Want to debrief, or just exist quietly for a bit?"
(How do he always know everything what I want...)
Falguni:
"Exist quietly... but with company."
Aarush:
"I'm here. No speeches, no expectations. Just... company."
For a moment, I let myself breathe in the quiet comfort of his words.
The noise from downstairs, the chatter about jewellery, dresses, and plans.felt miles away.
It was strange how just a few texts could make me feel seen, even when surrounded by so many voices telling me who I should be.
I stared at my phone screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Falguni:
"You know, I didn't even get to pick the ring."
I hesitated. Was it okay to say it out loud, even here?
Aarush:
"Sounds like you're just a guest star in your own engagement."
"If I were there, I'd make sure you got to choose everything, starting with the ring."
I smiled despite myself. His message feels heavier than it should.
Falguni:
"I wish. But my family's already planned everything, even maa has bought my lehenga for the engagement day."
Aarush:
"That sounds really tough. You should have a say, it's your life, after all."
Falguni:
"Sometimes it feels like I'm just playing a part everyone wrote for me."
Aarush:
"Well, maybe you can rewrite some scenes. Starting with saying no to things that don't feel right."
I thought about that, a flicker of hope in the quiet room.
Falguni:
"I hope I find the courage."
Aarush:
"I'm here whenever you need backup."
I stared at the screen long after his last message. *Backup.* The word felt like a promise, a lifeline in the middle of everything I wasn't sure I could handle.
Maybe courage wasn't about being fearless. Maybe it was just about finding someone who believed in you when you didn't believe in yourself.
I closed my eyes and leaned back on my bed, letting the quiet wash over me.
Just then, a soft knock came at the door.
Maa's voice (gentle):
"Falguni, beta, come downstairs? Everyone's waiting for you"
I took a deep breath, and stood up.
The moment to return had come.
But for the first time, a small spark inside me whispered that I wasn't completely alone.
-----------------------
Back downstairs, the chatter had shifted to clutches and colour choices for the engagement ceremony. Maa and the aunts debated over designs while cousins tried on bangles and necklaces, laughter filling the room.
I smiled politely, offering quiet responses but feeling miles away.
My mother was calling my name every five minutes to check the blouse fitting, and some distant cousin had already set up camp in the living room. Everyone moved like bees in a hive, humming, buzzing, working.
Dinner followed, simple and warm, with everyone sharing stories and plans. The room buzzed with excitement, but I ate slowly, lost in my own thoughts.
Finally, when the evening wound down, I slipped away to my room, grateful for the familiar comfort of solitude.
As I closed the door behind me, I pulled out my phone and smiled softly at Aarush's last message.
Sometimes, even a quiet day feels like a small victory.
I laid on by bed hugging coco, before switching off the lights, I sent one last message to Aarush.
Falguni:
"Thanks for being here today. It helped more than you know."
His reply came almost instantly. Is he always on his phone or he knows when I'll text him?...
Aarush:
"Always. Get some rest, Falguni. Tomorrow's a new day."
I smiled, feeling a little less alone as I closed my eyes.
But while sleep slowly pulled me under, miles away, someone else was wide awake.
Aarush's POV:
The screen dimmed in my hand, her last words still glowing faintly in my mind. "Thanks for being here today. It helped more than you know."
I stared at the black screen where her words used to appear. For someone I'd known barely weeks, she'd carved herself into my thoughts like she'd always been there.
I leaned back against the cold wall of my room, staring at the ceiling. She said it so casually, like I was some background presence she could count on. And maybe that's all I was to her. Backup. A stranger-turned-company in the quiet.
But what about tomorrow?
Would she still talk to me once the rings were exchanged, once her life was handed over neatly to someone else's keeping? Or would tonight become the last night she ever needed me?
The thought clawed at me in ways I couldn't explain. I shouldn't care this much. She wasn't mine, never was, never could be. And yet, the idea of watching her laugh at someone else's jokes, share her quiet fears with another man, let him become her comfort...God, it unsettled me.
I hated how easily families dismissed their children's voices in the name of "tradition." They called it love, but wasn't love about listening too? Understanding? Why was it always about duties, reputation, and control?
I clenched my phone tighter.
If only she could see herself the way I did, someone who deserved to choose her ring, her clothes, her future. Not just play the role they assigned her.
But then another thought stabbed at me, what happens after tomorrow? After she's engaged, will she still talk to me like this, freely, openly? Or will I just become a name she avoids, a chat she clears, a memory she pushes away because her new life won't allow it?
I don't even know what kind of man he is. Her fiancé. Is he kind? Will he notice the way she talks when she hides sadness? Will he ask her what makes her happiest, like I did? Or will he just play his role, the way families want, without ever really seeing her?
Families always talk about the "best match." But best by whose standards? Safe, stable, practical. They think of futures like equations, but they forget hearts don't follow math. I've seen it too many times, children living someone else's choices, quietly breaking inside. And Falguni, she's too careless with herself, too willing to bend just so no one else breaks.
But tomorrow... tomorrow she'd step even further into the script her family had written. Engagement. Gold rings. Smiles for photographs.
Would she still text me when she's sitting next to him? Would she still laugh at my teasing, still send me little pieces of her day?
Or would I just become an unfinished sentence, a chat she couldn't open anymore because someone else was looking?
I wondered about him, the man at the other end of this engagement.
Was he soft-spoken or sharp? Did he like books, coffee, long walks? Would he ever know how Falguni talked to God under her breath before taking a decision, or how her hands trembled just before she pressed send on a risky text?
Would he even see her at all, or just the girl in the lehenga her mother bought?
I hated myself for thinking it, but part of me wanted to be selfish.
To pull her back, to say don't go, don't do this, choose yourself.
But who was I to say it? A name on her phone. A voice that arrived too late...
So instead, I stayed.
A quiet backup in her corner, a lifeline she might never call again.
And if one day she stopped, if she became someone else's, at least I'd know that somewhere in this small space of texts and midnights, she once knew what it felt like to be chosen.
But how long before she shatters?
I rubbed my face, exhaling into the silence. Maybe I'm selfish for wanting her to keep talking to me. Maybe I'm just afraid of vanishing from her life once the rituals tie her to another.
Still... I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. That she deserved more than the part written for her. And if no one else saw it, at least I did.
I set my phone aside, though the urge to type again, to ask, to warn, to beg her not to disappear, burned in my chest.
Instead, I whispered to the dark, "Don't lose yourself, Falguni. Not to them. Not to anyone."
And for the first time in a long while, sleep refused to come...
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