The morning sun broke over the Shamshabad farmhouse, spilling thick, golden pools of light across the hardwood floor of the master bedroom.
The estate was quiet, save for the ambient, joyful noise currently occupying the center of the massive king-sized bed.
Siddanth Deva sat cross-legged against the plush headboard, wearing a t-shirt and loose cotton track pants. Propped open across his lap was a illustrated children's board book.
Flanking him on either side were his students.
"Alright, focus," Deva instructed softly, tapping the thick cardboard page with his index finger. "Let's do the English alphabet first, and then we switch to Telugu. What is this one?"
He pointed to a large, brightly colored letter 'M' next to a picture of a monkey.
Aadhya didn't even look at the shape of the letter. She looked at the picture, her eyes widening in recognition. She bounced hard on her knees, sending ripples across the thick white duvet.
"Monkey!" Aadhya shrieked at the top of her lungs, throwing her hands in the air. She looked at Deva, thrilled with her own speed, demanding immediate validation. "Nana! Monkey!"
"It is a monkey, yes," Deva smiled, gently reaching out to pat her messy, sleep-tousled hair. "But what is the letter, Aadhya? What letter starts the word?"
Aadhya frowned, She pointed at the monkey again, gave it a firm, affectionate tap, and then looked around the bedroom to see if there was anything else she could shout at.
On Deva's right side, Rishi was leaning closely over the book, his small face mere inches from the page. He extended his tiny right index finger and carefully, methodically traced the sharp, angled lines of the letter 'M' printed on the cardboard. He followed the downward slope, the upward peak, and the final downward line, committing the geometry to memory.
He finished tracing it, sat back slightly, and looked up at Deva with dark, serious eyes.
"Mmm," Rishi sounded out quietly, perfectly mimicking the phonetic sound Deva had taught them the previous day.
"Perfect, buddy," Deva praised. He ruffled Rishi's hair. "That's exactly right. Now, let's flip to the back. We need to practice the Achulu."
He turned the heavy pages, bypassing the English section and opening the spread dedicated to the foundational vowels of the Telugu alphabet. The beautifully rounded, curling scripts of the language filled the page.
"Okay," Deva said, tracing the first, elegant curve. "A."
"A!" Aadhya yelled immediately, deciding she liked this game again.
"Amma," Rishi added softly, pointing to the picture of the mother holding a child next to the letter.
"Yes, 'A' for Amma," Deva nodded. He pointed to the next letter, slightly more elongated. "Aa."
"Aavu!" Aadhya shouted, pointing at the picture of the cow. She then proceeded to let out a loud, surprisingly accurate "Moo!" and collapsed into a fit of giggles, throwing herself backward onto the soft pillows.
Deva chuckled, watching his daughter roll around. He turned his attention back to his son.
Rishi was already moving ahead. He placed his finger on the third letter. "I," he murmured, tracing the complex, circular shape. He moved to the next one. "Ii."
"You have a photographic memory, don't you?" Deva murmured, amazed by the boy's retention. He watched Rishi systematically identify the shapes, realizing that his own mind had been passed down.
"E! Ee! Ai!" Aadhya suddenly chimed back in, popping up from the pillows. She had lost track of where they were on the page, but she was competitive and refused to let her brother get all the attention. She began shouting random vowels at maximum volume, bouncing on the mattress again.
"Okay, okay, that's enough studying for one morning," Deva laughed, closing the heavy board book and tossing it safely onto the bedside table.
Aadhya, realizing the book was gone, immediately looked at Deva with a glint in her eye. She let out a loud battle cry and launched herself at his chest.
Deva caught her effortlessly, falling backward onto the mattress and pulling her down with him. He immediately began tickling her ribs. Aadhya erupted into laughter, squirming wildly as she tried to escape his grip.
Rishi watched the chaos for two seconds before deciding he also wanted to participate in the violence. He crawled rapidly over Deva's legs and threw his small body onto Deva's stomach, joining the dogpile.
Deva wrapped his massive arms around both of his children, rolling them across the wide expanse of the king-sized bed in a tangle of limbs and blankets. He pressed loud, exaggerated kisses to their cheeks, playfully biting their small stomachs, drawing joy from them.
The sound of their laughter filled the room.
Krithika walked out of the adjoining bathroom, a towel wrapped around her damp hair, her face fresh and glowing. She stopped near the edge of the bed, crossing her arms over her chest, watching her husband currently being defeated by two toddlers.
"If you break the bedframe, you are sleeping on the floor," Krithika warned, though her voice was laced with fond amusement.
Deva paused his wrestling, looking up at her from the mattress, his hair messy and a wide grin on his face. He had Rishi pinned under one arm and Aadhya tucked under the other.
"They ambushed me," Deva defended himself breathlessly. "It was a coordinated attack."
"I'm sure it was," Krithika laughed, walking over to her vanity mirror. "Get them dressed. The sun is out, and they have too much energy to stay indoors. We are going to the lawn."
Two hours later, the sprawling, manicured front lawn of the Shamshabad estate had been transformed into an amateur sports arena.
The late morning sun was warm but pleasant.
Deva walked out of the house carrying a soft, brightly colored, oversized plush football. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Behind him, Krithika and Anjali walked down the stone steps of the veranda, wearing comfortable cotton kurtas, shielding their eyes from the bright sunlight.
"Alright, monsters," Deva announced, dropping the soft football onto the grass. "Let's see the footwork."
Aadhya did not need an invitation.
The moment the ball hit the ground, she locked onto it like a heat-seeking missile. She let out a loud yell and broke into a full-speed, wildly uncoordinated sprint across the lawn. Her arms were windmilling.
She reached the ball, pulled her right leg back and swung.
She missed the ball.
The momentum of her missed kick spun her around. Her feet flew out from under her, and she landed squarely on her bottom with a thud in the thick grass.
Anjali gasped slightly, stepping forward, but Krithika held out a hand, knowing what was going to happen.
Aadhya sat in the grass for a second, blinked at the sky, looked at the ball sitting untouched beside her, and burst into laughter. She clapped her hands together, thoroughly entertained by her own failure, and immediately rolled onto her knees to try again.
"She has zero technique but maximum intent," Anjali noted, laughing as she relaxed back onto her heels. "She plays like David Warner."
"Don't insult David," Deva chuckled, walking over to retrieve the ball.
He nudged the soft football gently across the grass toward Rishi, who was standing a few feet away, watching his sister's chaotic display.
The ball rolled to a stop right at Rishi's feet.
Rishi looked down at the colorful sphere. He took one slow, deliberate step backward. He looked up, making eye contact with Deva to ensure the target was ready.
Then, with surprising coordination for a child not yet three years old, Rishi stepped forward, planting his left foot firmly, and tapped the ball perfectly with the inside of his right foot.
The ball rolled smoothly and accurately straight back to Deva.
Deva stopped it with his sole, genuinely impressed. "That was brilliant, buddy. Perfect placement."
Krithika clapped her hands from the sidelines. "Good job, Rishi!"
Rishi offered a small smile, satisfied with his own athletic competence.
"Okay, enough toddler training," Anjali announced suddenly, stepping onto the grass and clapping her hands together, a wicked, competitive glint appearing in her eyes. She looked at Deva. "Let's see if the old man still has his reflexes."
Anjali lunged forward without warning, attempting to steal the ball from under Deva's foot.
Deva didn't even flinch. He rolled the sole of his foot over the top of the ball, dragging it backward a fraction of a second before Anjali's foot arrived, and then effortlessly flicked it to his left sidestepping her tackle.
Anjali stumbled forward, grasping empty air.
"Old man?" Deva asked mildly, bouncing the ball lightly on his knee.
"Oh, you are going down," Anjali declared, turning around and adopting a wide defensive stance.
For the next ten minutes, the lawn devolved into absolute, hilarious chaos. Anjali chased Deva across the grass, trying every possible tactic to steal the ball. She tried to distract him by yelling, and she even tried to simply tackle him around the waist.
Deva didn't break a sweat. He wasn't even running; he was just walking backward, maintaining control while Anjali exhausted herself trying to catch him.
The twins found this entertaining.
Aadhya began running in circles around them, shrieking with laughter, clapping her hands every time Anjali missed a tackle. Rishi stood next to Krithika, pointing at his aunt stumbling in the grass, a grin on his face.
"Pass it, Sid! Pass it to me!" Krithika called out, deciding to join the chaos.
Deva looked over, smiled, and executed a perfect, lofted pass that sailed cleanly over Anjali's head, landing softly at Krithika's feet.
Anjali stopped running, dropping her hands to her knees, panting heavily. She glared at Deva, winded.
"I hate you," Anjali gasped, trying to catch her breath.
"You challenged me," Deva reminded her casually, walking over to pick up Aadhya, who was demanding to be held.
"Alright, match abandoned due to extreme fatigue of the defending team," Krithika laughed, picking up the football and walking over to her sister. She patted Anjali's shoulder. "Go inside and take a shower. You have a very big evening ahead of you. You don't want to meet your future in-laws covered in grass stains and sweat."
The mention of the evening shattered Anjali's competitive adrenaline.
Her breath hitched. She stood up straight, the reality of the impending formal gathering crashing over her like a bucket of ice water. The playful younger sister vanished, replaced by a woman consumed by nerves.
"Oh god," Anjali whispered, her eyes going wide as she looked at her sister. "It's today. They're coming today."
"Yes, they are," Krithika said, her tone softening into warm reassurance. "And it's going to be perfect. Go get ready."
Anjali gave a jerky nod and practically sprinted back up the veranda steps toward the house.
Deva watched her go, bouncing Aadhya gently on his hip. He looked at Krithika, a fond smile touching his lips. "She's going to hyperventilate before they even pull into the driveway."
"She will," Krithika agreed, linking her arm through his as they began walking back toward the house, Rishi trailing closely beside them. "Which is why we have to make sure the environment is calm. Tonight is important, Sid. It's the beginning of the rest of her life."
As the afternoon shadows lengthened, the atmosphere inside the Shamshabad farmhouse shifted dramatically.
In the kitchen, Sesikala and Suma were orchestrating a traditional feast, the air thick with the aroma of roasting spices, sweet ghee, and rich curries.
It was approaching six o'clock.
On the first floor, Anjali was pacing the length of the carpeted hallway outside her bedroom.
She was dressed impeccably. She wore a stunning, heavy Kanjeevaram silk saree in a deep, rich shade of magenta, adorned with intricate gold zari work along the borders. Her hair was braided beautifully, interwoven with fresh jasmine. She wore traditional gold jewelry—a delicate necklace, heavy jhumkas, and a stack of bangles that chimed softly as she paced.
She looked breathtaking, the perfect picture of a prospective Telugu bride.
She also looked like she was preparing to walk to her own execution.
She stopped pacing, wringing her hands tightly together, taking deep, shaky breaths. Her heart was hammering against her ribs.
But the formality of tonight—the Pelli Choopulu, the traditional matchmaking meeting where the families would sit together, involve a priest, and officially, formally negotiate the alliance—carried terrifying weight. It was the transition from a modern romance into a sacred, family-bound contract.
She heard a door open down the hall.
Siddanth Deva stepped out of his private office. He was dressed for the occasion. He wore a crisp, tailored, dark charcoal kurta that contrasted sharply with his broad shoulders, paired with simple black trousers.
He saw Anjali standing in the middle of the hallway, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
Deva paused.
He walked slowly toward her, stopping a few feet away. His expression softened like a deeply affectionate presence of an older brother.
"Breathe, Anjali."
Anjali let out a shaky breath, looking down at the carpet. "I can't. What if I spill the tea? What if I trip on the saree? What if his parents look at me today and suddenly realize I am a disaster and tell Arjun to find someone more... traditional?"
Deva took a step forward. He reached out and gently rested his large hands on her trembling shoulders, forcing her to stop fidgeting.
"Look at me," Deva instructed quietly.
Anjali slowly raised her head, meeting his calm, dark eyes.
"You look perfect," Deva told her. "You are brilliant, you are beautiful, and you are the heart of this family. If Arjun's parents cannot see that, they are blind. But they aren't blind. They know who you are."
He offered a small smile.
"Arjun is the one who should be nervous tonight, Anjali," Deva continued, his tone shifting into confidence. "He is walking into this house to ask us to give away our daughter. He is the lucky one. You have nothing to prove to anyone."
Anjali stared at him.
She let out a long, shuddering exhale, her shoulders dropping. She offered a small, watery smile.
"Thank you, Bava," she whispered.
"Don't thank me," Deva smiled, pulling his hands back and gesturing toward the staircase. "Just don't drop the tea tray on your father's lap. He's wearing a new shirt."
Anjali laughed, the tension finally breaking.
Before she could reply, the intercom near the staircase chimed softly. The security detail at the front gate was signaling an arrival.
Deva looked at the intercom, then back at Anjali.
"They're here," Deva said. He extended his arm, offering his elbow. "Shall we?"
Anjali took a deep breath, smoothing the pallu of her silk saree, and gently took his arm. "Let's go."
Downstairs, the grand living room of the farmhouse had been arranged to accommodate the formal gathering.
The heavy front doors of the estate were opened wide.
Arjun stepped through the threshold first. He looked sharp, wearing a tailored, deep navy-blue suit without a tie. Behind him walked his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Reddy, both dressed in elegant, heavy traditional wear.
Accompanying them was a fourth, essential figure. An older, distinguished-looking man wearing a traditional white pancha and carrying a heavy, leather-bound bag—the family Purohit (Priest).
Subba Rao and Vikram stepped forward immediately, their hands folded in a respectful Namaskaram.
"Welcome, Reddy garu. Welcome," Subba Rao greeted, his voice thick with warmth and happiness, stepping forward to gently embrace Arjun's father.
"Thank you, Subba Rao garu," Mr. Reddy smiled broadly, returning the embrace. "It is a beautiful evening. We are so happy to be here."
Suma and Sesikala stepped forward, welcoming Mrs. Reddy, the mothers instantly falling into comfortable, joyful conversation as they guided the guests into the main living room.
Arjun respectfully touched the feet of Subba Rao, Suma, Vikram, and Sesikala, receiving their blessings. When he stood up, he found Siddanth Deva standing near the archway.
The two best friends looked at each other. They didn't need words.
Deva offered a smile, pulling Arjun into a hug, clapping him hard on the back.
"You clean up well, CEO," Deva murmured quietly.
"I am terrified, Sid," Arjun whispered back instantly, proving Deva's earlier theory correct.
"Good. You should be," Deva chuckled, stepping back and gesturing toward the living room. "Go sit down."
The families took their seats. Subba Rao, Vikram, and Mr. Reddy sat together, engaging in polite, conversation about the state of the city and the gradual lifting of the lockdown restrictions. Suma, Sesikala, and Mrs. Reddy sat on the adjacent sofas, discussing the challenges of navigating the past year.
Krithika sat quietly beside Deva, her hand resting on his knee, watching the interaction with a satisfied smile.
Arjun sat perfectly straight on a single armchair, maintaining his respectful, polite demeanor, answering questions whenever the elders addressed him.
But his eyes betrayed him.
Every time the elders turned their attention to each other, Arjun's gaze instantly darted toward the hallway, searching for any sign of Anjali. He couldn't help himself.
Deva, sitting across from him, caught the movement. He caught Arjun stretching his neck slightly to see past a pillar.
Deva leaned back into the sofa, crossing his legs, and offered Arjun a smirk. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking, Losing your mind yet?
Arjun caught the smirk, instantly flushed slightly, and forced his eyes back to the coffee table, trying to look fascinated by the floral arrangement.
A few minutes later, the gentle, rhythmic chiming of glass bangles echoed from the hallway.
The conversation in the living room naturally paused.
Anjali walked into the room. She was carrying a large, ornate silver tray laden with delicate teacups and small, traditional sweets. Her posture was flawless. She kept her eyes respectfully lowered, presenting the perfect image of grace and tradition.
Arjun stopped breathing.
He stared at her, captivated. He had seen her before in saree. But seeing her right now, draped in silk, walking toward him as his prospective bride, hit him like a blow. He looked at her with an expression of awe.
Anjali approached the elders first, gently serving the tea to everyone, murmuring soft, polite greetings.
She finally walked over to Arjun. She offered him a teacup.
As Arjun reached out to take the cup, their fingers brushed against the porcelain. Anjali finally looked up, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second. She offered a warm smile, shattering her nervous facade just for him, before lowering her eyes again and stepping back.
Arjun looked like he had forgotten how to speak.
Deva, watching the exchange, rolled his eyes at the suffocating romance of it. He subtly shifted his broad shoulders, leaning slightly to his left, effectively blocking Subba Rao's line of sight so the older man wouldn't notice Arjun staring at his daughter like she was the only person in the room.
Once the tea was served and Anjali had taken a seat quietly beside her mother, the atmosphere shifted.
Mr. Reddy cleared his throat gently, looking at Subba Rao and Vikram.
"Subba Rao garu, Vikram garu," Mr. Reddy began. "We have all navigated a very difficult, very dark year. But standing on the other side of it, we realize what truly matters. Family. Arjun has found his joy in Anjali. And we could not ask for a more brilliant, beautiful daughter to bring into our home."
He gestured respectfully toward the older man sitting beside him.
"We have brought our family Purohit with us today," Mr. Reddy continued. "With your permission, we would like to look at the Panchangam and see what the heavens have to say about their future."
Subba Rao's chest swelled with pride. He looked at his daughter, then at Arjun, and finally at Mr. Reddy.
"You have our permission, Reddy garu," Subba Rao answered warmly. "Please."
The Purohit stepped forward. He unzipped his leather bag and carefully extracted a thick, well-worn almanac—the Panchangam—along with two rolled parchment sheets containing the astrological birth charts, or Jatakalu, of Arjun and Anjali.
The room fell silent. The only sound was the rustling of the heavy paper as the priest unrolled the charts on the coffee table.
The Purohit put on his reading glasses. He studied the charts, tracing the alignment of the stars, the planetary positions at their respective times of birth, and calculating the specific Nakshatras (birth stars). He closed his eyes briefly, murmuring a quiet Sanskrit calculation under his breath, comparing the charts against the current astrological calendar.
The tension in the room was palpable. Anjali gripped the edge of her silk saree tightly. Arjun stared at the priest's face, waiting for the verdict.
After several long, agonizing minutes, the Purohit opened his eyes. He looked up, a smile spreading across his face.
"Adbhutam," the priest announced, his voice rich and resonant. Wonderful.
He looked at the two sets of parents.
"The alignment is exceptionally strong," the Purohit explained, tapping the charts. "The Gana, the Rasi, and the Nadi match perfectly. It is a highly compatible union. They will bring great balance and prosperity to each other's lives."
A sigh of relief washed over the living room. Anjali let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, looking down with a bright smile.
"That is wonderful news, Acharya," Vikram said respectfully. "What does the calendar say? When are the auspicious timings?"
The Purohit turned to the pages of the Panchangam, running his finger down the columns of dates.
"The current year still carries shadows, and the coming months are not ideal for grand celebrations," the priest noted, referencing the astrological periods. "However, the upcoming summer brings a remarkably clear, highly auspicious alignment. The planetary positions are perfect for a long, healthy, and joyous union."
He looked up, addressing both Subba Rao and Mr. Reddy.
"I have found two perfect Muhurthams," the Purohit declared formally. "The stars dictate that the formal Engagement ceremony should take place on July 9, 2021."
He paused, tracing his finger further down the page, finding the ultimate alignment.
"And the Vivaha Muhurtham... the Wedding ceremony, should be held on July 25, 2021."
July 9 and July 25.
The dates hung in the air, transforming the abstract concept of marriage into a reality. The timeline was set. The future was locked.
"July," Subba Rao repeated, a proud smile breaking across his stern features. He looked at Mr. Reddy. "That gives us nearly a year to prepare. The world will be safe by then. We can celebrate properly."
"It is perfect," Mr. Reddy agreed enthusiastically, reaching his hand out. "July it is."
The two patriarchs shook hands firmly, sealing the agreement.
With the dates officially established, the final, sacred tradition of the evening commenced.
Suma and Sesikala brought forward two large, ornate silver trays. They were the Tamboolalu—the ceremonial exchange plates. The trays were heavily laden with fresh, green betel leaves, betel nuts, whole coconuts, bright yellow turmeric, vibrant red kumkum, and fresh fruits.
Subba Rao picked up his tray and offered it formally to Mr. Reddy. Mr. Reddy accepted it with deep respect, handing his own tray to Subba Rao.
Suma then walked over to Mrs. Reddy. With a smile, Suma took a pinch of the bright red kumkum from the tray and applied it delicately to Mrs. Reddy's forehead, a beautiful gesture welcoming her as family. Mrs. Reddy returned the gesture, applying kumkum to Suma, both mothers embracing warmly.
The alliance was officially confirmed.
The formal tension of the evening shattered completely, replaced by an explosion of joyful, chaotic conversation, laughter, and celebration.
The rest of the evening was a blur of happiness. A celebratory dinner was served in the grand dining room. The two families sat together, no longer acting as formal guests, but as a single, extended unit. They discussed venues, catering options, and guest lists, the excitement of planning a massive wedding eclipsing the darkness of the past year.
Arjun and Anjali were finally allowed to sit next to each other. They didn't speak much to the rest of the table, absorbed in whispered conversations between themselves, their faces radiating with joy.
It was nearly midnight when the Reddys finally prepared to leave.
The farewells at the front door were long, affectionate, and filled with promises to meet again soon to begin the actual preparations. Subba Rao hugged Arjun tightly, fully accepting him as a son, while Suma kissed Anjali's forehead, her eyes shining with pride.
As the Reddys' car pulled away down the driveway, the heavy iron gates of the estate closing securely behind them, the farmhouse fell quiet once again.
The older generation, exhausted by the emotional highs of the evening, slowly retreated to their bedrooms.
Anjali lingered in the hallway for a moment. She looked down at her phone. She had opened her calendar app and was staring at the month of July 2021. She traced the numbers 9 and 25 with her thumb, a soft smile touching her lips.
She looked up, seeing Deva and Krithika standing near the stairs.
She didn't say anything. She just smiled at them, offered a quiet wave, and walked toward her bedroom, her heart lighter than it had been in a year.
Deva and Krithika walked up the wooden staircase, checking on the sleeping twins in the nursery before continuing down the hallway.w