Raizada Mansion
Sunlight tiptoed through the ivory drapes of the Raizada Mansion. The diya scent still lingered from last night's prayers, mingling with the fresh pages of the day's newspaper, now lying open on the coffee table like a declaration of fate.
They gathered around it-Nani, Anjali, Mami, Aakash, and even Lavanya from the shadows, all stitched together by worry, wonder, and something fragile but blooming.
On the front page:
🗞️ "Gupta Boutique x AR Designs: A Diwali To Remember"
Below it, a photo:
Arnav, caught in a rare, unguarded laugh.
Khushi, her hand over his heart.
Unaware. Undeniable. Unwritten love, caught mid-breath.
Nani leaned closer, her spectacles trembling ever so slightly. Her voice cracked, but her pride did not.
> Nani (whispering, teary):
"He's never smiled like that. Not even as a child. Not even before the grief."
Anjali, clutching her rudraksha beads, traced the edges of the photo with her finger.
> Anjali (softly):
"It's her. She's not just his muse... she's his sanctuary. His afterstorm."
Mami, wiping her eyes with the edge of her sequined dupatta, still managed to be her dramatic self.
> Mami (sniffing):
"Hamre ASR on the front page! But hello-ji, where was Manorama's interview?! I'm emotional and ignored!"
Aakash, arms crossed but eyes warm, chuckled.
> Aakash:
"I always said they'd set the world on fire."
From behind, a softer voice. Lavanya. The woman who once held hope, now offering it to others.
> Lavanya (quietly):
"They did. And from those ashes... something rare rose. Like a phoenix born from ashes."
A hush fell. Not grief. Not shock.
But awe.
> Aakash (smiling sideways):
"Looks like Bhai's heart finally made front-page news."
> Lavanya (smiling gently):
"And hers? Hers wrote the headline."
Hospital Room
Khushi, adjusting Arnav's pillow with gentle fingers.
Arnav, bruised but breathing, watching her like she was sunrise after decades of darkness.
No diamonds. No declarations. Just her hand brushing his cheek like a prayer.
Outside, cameras flashed.
Reporters whispered.
But inside?
No lights.
Just love.
And on the windowsill, the wind fluttered through the edges of that very newspaper-soft, almost reverent.
---
One Week Later
The air smelled of fresh paint, marigolds, and second chances.
Khushi stood in front of her boutique-now adorned with fairy lights, fresh rangoli, and a handmade "Welcome Back" banner stitched by the neighborhood kids. The glass windows were polished like dreams. A diya flickered in the corner, and right next to it?
The framed newspaper article.
> 📰 "Gupta Boutique x AR Designs: A Diwali to Remember"
And beside it, a new sign:
> "Thread by Thread - Boutique of Stories"
The door opened.
Journalists. Neighbors. Clients. Investors.
And then-her first interview.
---
Interviewer (smiling, mic out):
"Khushi ji, how does it feel to reopen the boutique after such... a dramatic Diwali?"
> Khushi (soft smile, calm power):
"It feels like breathing again. Like I'm not just stitching clothes-I'm stitching pieces of myself back."
Interviewer:
"And the accident... your partner-"
> Khushi (with fire and softness):
"Arnav didn't just save my life. He gave me space to become this version of me. The bold one. The brave one. This boutique is our second chance stitched into fabric."
The crowd claps.
Camera flashes. Lavanya dabs at her tears.
Buaji yells from behind:
> "Ab bolo! Our Khushi bitiya is a fashion ki Katrina Kaif!"
---
Raizada Mansion-
The front door creaked open.
Khushi stepped in first, gently guiding Arnav-still limping slightly but walking tall. The hospital discharge file clutched under her arm, her dupatta wrapped protectively around him like he was the world's last precious artifact.
The house was dim.
Silent.
Suspiciously so.
> Arnav (frowning):
"Why is it so quiet? Did we get robbed while I was in surgery?"
> Khushi (smiling mysteriously):
"Only your patience."
Suddenly-lights exploded.
Fairy lights overhead. Floating candles lining the hallway. Rose petals falling like soft confetti.
And from the shadows?
Both families stepped out-cheering, clapping, and grinning like mad people.
🎉 SURPRISE!!! 🎉
---
Garima, Buaji, Bauji, Payal from one end.
Nani, Mami, Anjali, Aakash from the other.
Even HP wore a kurta with sequins (and looked very proud about it).
> Anjali (beaming):
"Welcome home, Chhote. We missed scolding you."
> Garima (emotional):
"Hamari bitiya told us everything. You're family now-no returns, no exchange!"
> Buaji (dramatic):
"He's more than family! He's a hero courier boy turned dulha material!"
> Mami (wiping tears under false lashes):
"Hamre Arnav bitwaa is back! Alive and dashing-like Shah Rukh with share prices!"
They ushered the couple into the dining area where-
🎂 A two-tier cake waited:
> ✨ "Thread by Thread - Officially Unbreakable" ✨
With edible thimbles, silver fondant stitches, and tiny icing jalebis on top.
> Mami:
"And NO! It's not sugar-free. Arnav bitwaa needs sweet after so much thookra drama!"
> Aakash (deadpan):
"You mean 'trauma'?"
> Mami:
"Same thing!"
> Aakash (deadpan):
"You got hit by a car and still look better than me after 8 hours of sleep."
> Arnav (smirking):
"That's genetics. Sorry, bro."
> Mami (smacking him lightly):
"No more road stunt, haan? Or I'll tie you to the bed next Diwali!"
Nani gave him his father's old pocket watch.
Buaji presented a giant steel tiffin of ghee laddoos.
Lavanya handed Khushi a custom sketchbook labeled: "Thread by Thread: Next Collection."
> Lavanya (softly):
"Because you both stitched magic together."
Arnav easing onto the sofa, Khushi beside him, his arm wrapped around her.
Outside, the wind danced with marigold petals.
Inside, his family laughed, cried, and celebrated like they'd been given a second chance.
And on the wall?
That newspaper clipping framed above the mantel.
> 📰 "A Diwali to Remember"
"He left the hospital with scars. But came home with love stitched around every one of them."
---
The wind outside carried a whisper of winter, tugging gently at the curtains. Wind chimes tinkled near the balcony like a lullaby. Somewhere, a diya flickered softly, left over from the Diwali nights that changed everything.
Inside, the world was slower.
Softer.
And Arnav Singh Raizada was... home.
No boardroom. No chaos. No press.
Just cotton clothes, lemon water, and a woman who hovered like the most beautiful, maddening monsoon.
---