Author's POV
The day felt less like a celebration and more like the inevitable collision of fate, a moment where the scent of flowers and the weight on their fingers confirmed that their solitary path had ended, giving way to their shared trajectory—it was, finally, their engagement day.
Aakash's POV
It was our engagement day—the day the universe decided our two separate trajectories would finally merge.
The air in the grand ballroom was a rich tapestry woven from the heavy, sweet scent of Mogra garlands and the subtle, expensive complexity of hundreds of perfumes. The guests, figures of silk and gold, settled quickly, forming a luminous, expectant amphitheatre around the floral-decked stage.
Rose petals carpeted the pathway where I walked, adjusting the knot of my black tie with a hand that was anything but steady. The nervous smile on my face was a betrayal of the carefully constructed calm I usually maintained. My mother and cousins escorted me, their proud chatter a muffled counterpoint to the thunder in my chest. Seated in the front row, I felt Rajesh Uncle approach. His warm, solid hug felt like an acceptance, a true welcome into their fold. As he introduced me to their relatives, one by one, my politeness was a mere facade for the relentless scanning of the hall. I was searching, impatiently, for the missing piece of the scene: Esha.
When I was finally summoned to the stage, I knew. Her moment of arrival was near.
The vast hall's lights softened to a warm, intimate amber. My palms prickled with sweat, yet my posture remained perfectly composed. From the outside, I was the unshakeable man of steel everyone admired. Inside, I was a battlefield of chaos.
Why does my heartbeat sound like a dhol right now?
As my gaze dropped to the decorated pavement, a soft murmur rippled through the crowd. Instrumental music hummed, a gentle, soothing melody that felt like the prelude to a moment that would shatter and reshape my world.
She had arrived.
Esha stepped through the archway, and in that instant, the world dissolved. The crowd, the music, the lights—all faded to background noise, leaving only her, luminous and solitary. Her sisters and cousins accompanied her, but my eyes saw only the queen in their midst.
Her lehenga was a celestial creation, a blend of blush pink and shimmering silver. The fabric didn't just catch the light; it seemed to generate it, a gossamer creation woven with starlight. Each intricate geometric pattern shimmered with threads of pastel light, sweeping the floor in waves of elegance that whispered secrets with every graceful step. The soft, cape-like sleeves gave her an ethereal look, as if she were a goddess descending from a dream. Against the delicate rose-gold embroidery of her bodice, her emerald necklace rested, a perfect contrast that stole my breath.
My lungs forgot how to work. I had conjured this vision in my mind a thousand times over the last month, but the reality of her—so radiant, so calm, so heartbreakingly beautiful—eclipsed every fantasy. As she walked toward the stage, she commanded the light to follow her. And when her eyes found mine—filled with the same thrilling, fearful excitement I felt—the physical distance vanished. We were two souls, profoundly aware that this moment wasn't just about a promise; it was the final, triumphant convergence of two lives.
My trance was broken only when Diya, my little maternal cousin, coughed delicately and nudged my elbow. The world rushed back in.
"Bhai, aap jaakar Bhabhi ko receive nahi karenge? Bechari Bhabhi, itne seedhiyan kaise chadegi?" Diya chirped, a notoriously wicked smirk splitting her face.
(Bhai, why don't you go and give Bhabhi your hand? Poor Bhabhi, how will she climb so many stairs?)
A ripple of laughter swept through those nearby. Flustered, I turned to Maa, a silent plea for permission in my eyes. She nodded, a knowing, teasing smirk echoing Diya's own.
Trying to appear neither too eager nor too excited, I walked toward the stage stairs. I stopped there, and our eyes met once more. But this time, we couldn't hold the gaze; not in front of a hundred teasing smiles. She looked down, a vibrant blush colouring her cheeks like a watercolour painting. As she reached the final step, I offered her my hand. Her touch was hesitant, yet warm and perfect. She accepted it, and a fresh wave of colour flooded her face. A silent, shared joy passed between us as we ascended to the centre of the stage.
Esha's POV
After hours spent in a whirlwind of silk and soft brushes, I was finally ready. My cousins, my beautiful, chaotic crew, worked around me—one meticulously placing my emerald drop earrings, another finessing the intricate braid.
Inside, my heart was a hummingbird. If hearts could sprint marathons, mine was already claiming medals. My hands, despite all the effort, retained a slight, persistent tremor.
I was gazing at my future, a man I already knew so intimately, yet felt so foreign to marry. The typical girl-on-her-wedding-day questions swirled: How will he look? Will he genuinely like my appearance? Will we stand gracefully together on that stage? What if he notices my shaking hands during the ring exchange? I felt like a girl standing on the edge of a new, marvelous world, about to step into it—not alone, but with the anchor of my life.
"Kiske khayalo mein khoi hain tu, Eshu?" Abhijeet Bhai asked, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder, a familiar smirk playing on his lips.
(Whose thoughts are you lost in, Eshu?)
"Kisi ke nahi, Bhai. I was thinking," I murmured, looking out the window, pretending to be utterly preoccupied with the garden.
"Nervous?" he pressed gently.
"A little bit," I answered with a small, honest smile. He chuckled.
"It's universal. When I got engaged to Malini, my hands were literally shaking. I hid it well, but I was in a completely chaotic state." We shared a laugh, finding comfort in the recollection of his own clumsy eagerness.
The moment came. I was escorted down. As I walked the long archway toward the stage, I finally saw him clearly. He stood framed by the golden lights and marigold artistry, every line of his posture calm, yet radiating a profound sense of anticipation. His smile was small, but absolute—the kind that always reached his eyes first. For a fleeting moment, our gazes locked, and time felt suspended, a perfect little bubble just for us. I quickly diverted my eyes, feeling my cheeks flush.
My heartbeat echoed the rhythm of a drum beneath the soft jhankar of my anklets. With every step, my breath shortened—not from nerves, but from the sudden, powerful understanding that this walk was not toward a ceremony, but toward a life. He seemed to stand taller as I neared, his eyes tracing my movement with a mixture of awe and possession.
As I finally reached the steps, a gentle breeze, perhaps only in my mind, caressed a loose strand of hair across my face. He offered his hand, and I accepted it. The moment our cold hands met, a silent jolt—a vibrant, undeniable spark—ran through me, leaving my skin tingling. I wasn't sure if he felt it too, but I held his grip tight as we walked onto the center of the stage.
The priest motioned for the central ritual to begin. Aakash reached for the ring. His eyes held mine, and the world seemed to hold its breath. He slowly slipped the ring onto my finger. My breath hitched, and I looked down at the blinding stone, then back to his steady, loving gaze.
I took his ring and carefully slipped it onto his finger. While I did so, I was acutely aware of his soft, focused gaze on my face. The moment the gold settled, the air exploded with hoots, cheers, and thunderous applause.
He took a measured step closer, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper meant only for me: "Congratulations, Mrs. Raichand. Ab tum officially aur hamesha ke liye meri ho."
(Congratulations, Mrs. Raichand. Now, you are officially and always mine.)
My cheeks turned a shade of red so bright I was certain the entire hall must notice. It was a secret title, a feeling of belonging so special it brought tears to my eyes.
Hours later, after the endless rotation of congratulations and photo sessions, the dinner wound down. Exhausted but floating, I was heading toward the quiet sanctuary of the guest room when a firm, warm hand wrapped around my wrist and gently pulled me aside, toward the hotel balcony.
Before I could register it, his arms encircled me from behind. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his breath warm against my ear, the familiar, comforting scent of his cologne enveloping me. The smell of his cologne sent shivers down my spine.
"Just wanted to tell you that you were looking beautiful today, Mrs. Raichand," he whispered, his voice a low, intimate rumble.
My face flushed again, a riot of heat and happiness. I felt a flutter of a thousand butterflies in my stomach.
"You were not less too, Mr. Raichand," I replied, the words soft, and we shared a chuckle.
We stood there, suspended in a bubble of bliss for what felt like an eternity—the cool night air a contrast to the warmth of his embrace. The blissful silence was abruptly and hilariously shattered by a sharp, knowing cough. We sprang apart to see Diya standing there, arms crossed and a victorious, teasing grin on her face.
"Bhai, agar aap dono ka hogaya ho toh Meera Maasi bula rahi hain. Aa jana," she announced with exaggerated innocence before giggling and running off.
(Brother, if you two are done, Meera Maasi is calling. Come soon.)
We exchanged a look of utter, mortified awkwardness, and Aakash, without a word, vanished in the opposite direction. Smiling to myself, I went back to the hall, my heart full and my ring sparkling under the remaining lights, officially the future Mrs. Raichand.
Author's POV
The departure of the last guest left a profound, beautiful silence in the grand ballroom. Only the faint, dying scent of marigolds and jasmine remained, an olfactory memory of the night's magic. Esha stood beside Aakash, neither of them speaking, simply savouring the heavy, wonderful reality: the rings on their fingers.
This was more than an exchange of rings; it was the final, public declaration of a secret, shared destiny. The chaos of the day had settled into an immense, profound peace, a quiet knowledge that they were no longer two individuals merely hoping for a future, but a confirmed unit, bound by the solemn weight of their promise. Looking at Aakash—his exhaustion softened by the sheer, unadulterated joy that lingered in his eyes—Esha knew that every anxious thought, every shaking hand, had been worth this moment of absolute, unshakable certainty.
The engagement was the beautiful bridge crossed; the wedding was the destiny awaiting them on the other side. Aakash took her hand once more, lifting it to press a soft kiss against the ring that now symbolized their shared name. Their eyes met, and in that gaze, there was no nervousness left—only a deep, calm anticipation for the life that was now officially, brilliantly theirs. As they finally left the quiet hall and stepped into the cool night, they carried more than just a ring on their fingers. They were each going home, not alone, but utterly consumed by the other's presence, their minds replaying every glance and every whispered word. The night was done, but their story had just begun.
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Hey Folks!!
The two fates have finally collided. Are you excited about their marriage? For that, stay tuned!!
Hope you like this chapter. If yes, please like the chapter and comment on your favourite part.
Also, comment on the theories you think would happen next. Would love to read them.
Thanks for reading ❤️...