Nivya Sekhawat

My room was a complete disaster. Clothes were scattered everywhere—piles of dresses, sarees, suits, and indo-western outfits my mother had recently bought for me. Half of them were already packed and sent to Nirvaan's new house, the one he insisted on shifting to after marriage. My mother was particularly thrilled about that decision.

I understood her happiness, though it irritated me. She'd spent her entire life serving her in-laws without a single word of appreciation. And what did she get in return? Absolutely nothing. My relationship with her had been strained lately, mostly because I couldn't understand why she didn't stand up for herself. If she knew the truth—that Dad had threatened to leave her if I didn't marry Nirvaan—it would crush her. But would she even fight back? No, because her answer would always be the same: "Tumhare papa mujhse pyaar karte hain." {Your father loves me.}

Achaar daal lo unke pyaar ka. (Make pickle out of his love.)

I hated how weak she seemed when it came to Dad's so-called love. It frustrated me beyond words. Couldn't she see how unfair it all was? I had accepted this marriage, but a small part of me still wondered—if I had refused, would Dad really have left her? Could he abandon a relationship of twenty-four years just like that?

But then again, both my parents lacked the spine to take a stand for what mattered. Maybe I should've lent them some backbone earlier. Who knows, maybe then I wouldn't be sitting here, packing for a wedding I never wanted.

"Mam, I've packed your footwear in this blue bag," the househelp said, placing it carefully near the growing pile of bags. I gave her a small nod as she left the room.

The space that had always felt like mine no longer did. My room had been stripped of its personality. All my photo frames, fairy lights, and trophies were packed away, leaving the walls bare. Even the cute, quirky wallpapers I'd stuck up over the years were gone. My dressing table, once cluttered with all my essentials, now held just a single lip balm, claw clip and a wooden comb. For the wedding functions, a beautician had been specially hired, so I didn't even need my own things anymore.

Today had been chaos, to say the least. Distant relatives had started pouring in. My cousin Kashvi was sharing the room with me, buzzing with excitement. She'd been chatting non-stop, her energy barely wavering. My bua had arrived too, bringing along her second son and daughter-in-law. The house was packed—rooms overflowing, voices echoing through the hallways.

The last time I'd seen this many people gathered here was during Nitya's naming ceremony. The difference was, back then, the atmosphere had been light, joyous, and carefree. Now, it felt overwhelming.

"Why didn't Yashvi Bhabhi come?" Nitya asked, resting her chin on the pillow as she glanced at Esha Bhabhi, Adarsh Bhaiya's wife.

"She's pregnant," Esha Bhabhi replied gently, showing me the pictures from Yashvi Bhabhi's godh bharai ceremony. "She'll be here for the main function."

Yashvi Bhabhi and Advik Bhaiya truly made the perfect pair. Even after all these years of marriage, Advik Bhaiya still looked at her as though she were the only woman in the world. And let's not forget, Yashvi Bhabhi was simply stunning.

"Everyone's so excited about the baby, especially Bhaiya and Bhabhi. They've waited so long for this blessing," Esha Bhabhi said, her voice soft with affection. I couldn't help but smile at the warmth between them.

"They seem like the ideal couple," I murmured, my eyes lingering on a photo where Advik Bhaiya was tenderly kissing Yashvi Bhabhi's temple, and she was blushing with a smile that could melt anyone's heart.

"They are. They're absolutely perfect for each other," Esha Bhabhi replied with pride in her voice, before handing the phone over to Kashvi, who eagerly took it with a bright smile.

"My name's similar to hers, so I should get a husband just as perfect as Advik Bhaiya," Kashvi declared with an exaggerated sigh, her eyes wide with excitement as she scrolled through the pictures.

Esha Bhabhi chuckled, shaking her head. "Kashvi, a perfect husband like Advik Bhaiya isn't found easily. You'll need to bribe a hundred gods for that."

Kashvi rolled her eyes dramatically, plopping down beside me. "Then I'll bribe two hundred. Look at her glow! I want that. And a husband who looks at me like I'm the only one in the world."

I laughed softly, watching Kashvi's dreamy expression. "Keep dreaming, Kashvi. Men like Advik Bhaiya are rare species. You might need to settle for a slightly flawed version."

Kashvi pouted. "Nivya Di, you're already settling with Nirvaan Bhaiya, so you shouldn't talk. Who knows, maybe he'll turn out to be the perfect one."

Esha Bhabhi smirked, raising an eyebrow. "She's got a point. Sometimes the ones we least expect surprise us the most."

I rolled my eyes, tossing a cushion at Kashvi. "You two are impossible."

As the room filled with giggles, I glanced at the photo of Yashvi Bhabhi and Advik Bhaiya one more time. Their love felt so pure and unshaken. A tiny thought sparked in the back of my mind—could Nirvaan and I ever have that? Or was it just wishful thinking?

I immediately shook my head, banishing the thought. Nirvaan doesn't even spare me a single glance, let alone make me his entire world. The idea seemed so far-fetched, almost laughable. And as much as I tried to imagine it differently, reality always pulled me back.

Tomorrow is Ganesh Sthapana, a day filled with blessings and prayers. After that, the male members of my family will head over to Nirvaan's residence for the Tilak ceremony. Later in the evening, the mehendi will take place, marking yet another step in this whirlwind journey. It's all happening so fast, and yet, it feels surreal. The rituals, the celebrations, the people—all seem like pieces of a dream I never wanted to be part of. But here I am, moving through it all.

My closet is overflowing with the traditional outfits carefully picked out by my mother and chachi. They're stunning, no doubt—rich fabrics, intricate designs, and bright colors. But they're also heavy. I've been trained to carry such clothes with grace, to move as though the weight doesn't exist. But today, I'm not sure if I can pull it off. Every time I look at them, doubt creeps in.

The Sangeet day after tomorrow is going to be even more intense. Apart from the performances and the music, there's also the ring exchange. It feels so formal, yet so necessary, since the proper engagement was never done before. It'll be a moment where everyone's eyes will be on us, judging how well we fit into the roles we've been assigned—fiancée and groom. The idea of it all feels so overwhelming.

By appearance, we surely complement each other. We look good together, but deep down, I know people think I don't deserve him. I haven't achieved nearly as much as he has. I don't have any monumental successes to my name. The things I enjoy—architecture, dancing, singing, driving, and sleeping—don't compare to what he's accomplished. While I've lived a life filled with simple pleasures, he has built an empire.

Nirvaan, at just seventeen, joined his family's business while still in his second year of college. He balanced both—studies and business—exceptionally well. He's always been that prodigy, excelling at whatever he set his mind to. It's as if he's been specially blessed by God himself. People call him "God-gifted," and it's not hard to see why. Professionally, he has the world at his feet, and yet personally, it seems like he has no life of his own. He's a man who's achieved greatness but has sacrificed his own happiness along the way. And here I am—feeling like I'm not enough to fill that gap for him.

Nirvaan and I are complete opposites. Sometimes, I feel like I have no special talents, while he seems to be overflowing with them. He's exceptional in everything he does. But if there's one thing I can say about myself, it's that I have determination. Once I set my eyes on something, there's no turning back. I will achieve it, no matter the cost.

Take my scholarship, for example. Growing up, I was never a top student—never the brightest in the class, but always somewhere in the top ten. When Bade dadaji made it clear that he wouldn't support me financially if I chose architecture, I didn't back down. I worked harder than ever to secure that scholarship. It wasn't easy; it took countless sleepless nights and a lot of sacrifices, but I did it. And when I was awarded that scholarship in front of everyone, I felt like I had finally achieved something meaningful. It's one of the few accomplishments I will always be proud of.

It's not that I don't deserve Nirvaan—I honestly believe I deserve someone far better than him. Someone who is more empathetic, kind, and warm. Someone who notices the little things about me, the small details that make me who I am. Nirvaan doesn't have time for that. He doesn't have the time to really see me.

One thing I've learned is that money can only bring momentary happiness—it can't give you the kind of happiness that lasts. The kind of happiness that comes from care, love, and small, thoughtful gestures. That's the kind of joy that fills the heart and stays with you, unlike the fleeting satisfaction of material things.

Take Revaan, for example. He knew there was nothing he could do to stop this wedding, but still, he made the effort to meet Nirvaan, to stand by me, to support me in his own way. His actions, even the small ones, showed me what it means to truly care. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes.

I didn't even realize when I fell asleep. The next time I opened my eyes, I saw Kashvi already dressed in a simple kurta and pants, her excitement palpable even in her hurried movements.

"I'm going downstairs. Get a shower, and then we'll have breakfast," she said, grabbing her dupatta before darting out of the room.

I yawned, stretching my arms lazily before slipping on my room slippers. Heading towards the dressing table, I tied my hair back with a claw clip and started my morning routine. The cool water against my face refreshed me, but the thought of the coming days loomed over my mind.

After a quick shower, I pulled on a simple kurta set, the soft fabric comforting against my skin. I stood before the mirror for a moment, letting out a long sigh.

Three days. Just three days, and I'll be a married woman.

Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I grabbed my phone and stepped out of the room. The hallway was alive with voices and laughter. The faint aroma of fresh parathas and chai wafted up, making my stomach grumble in protest. As I descended the stairs, I saw Kashvi chatting animatedly with Nitya while munching on something.

The dining table was buzzing with activity. My mother was instructing the help about today's Ganesh Sthapana preparations, her voice calm yet assertive. My chachi was arranging sweets in a large tray, while my bua was busy fussing over decorations.

"Nivya, come eat quickly. You've got a long day ahead," my mother said without even looking up, as though sensing me enter the room.I nodded and took a seat beside Kashvi, who immediately handed me a plate of hot parathas. "You'll need the energy for all the running around today. And don't forget the mehendi trial later," she reminded me, grinning.

"Mehendi trial?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, for tomorrow's Sangeet! You've got to decide the design. Obviously, it has to be something extra, right? You are the bride," she teased, winking.

I chuckled softly, shaking my head as I broke off a piece of paratha. Kashvi's excitement was contagious, and for a moment, I allowed myself to get swept up in it. Maybe these small moments would be the memories I'd cherish later—the laughter, the teasing, the chaos of family all around me.

An hour later, the beautician arrived with two assistants, and I was promptly ushered inside the house. I couldn't understand the fuss—this was just the Ganesh Sthapna, after all. A simple lehenga and light makeup would've sufficed, but apparently, everyone else had other plans.

It took a full hour and a half, but when I saw the result, I couldn't deny it was worth the time. The makeup was understated yet stunning—softly smudged kajal that accentuated my eyes, a hint of blush, and pink lipstick that added a touch of charm.

I was dressed in a delicate pink-and-orange lehenga, the embroidery catching the light subtly. My dupatta was elegantly pinned at the waist and draped over my shoulders, falling in pleats down my back. My wrists jingled softly with matching bangles, and a simple kundan necklace adorned my neck, paired with circular earrings. A small pink bindi graced my forehead, while my hair was left loose, a few strands carefully pinned back and adorned with tiny fresh flowers.

"Princess, you are so gorgeous," one of the assistants gushed, her admiration obvious as she stared at me with wide eyes.

I gave her a soft smile and thanked them politely. 

"I don't know why, but I feel like the glow and happiness of a bride is missing in you," Kashvi remarked softly, adjusting her earring as the beauticians packed up and left.

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation away, though her words had already planted an unease in my chest.

"A few months ago, I attended one of our cousin's weddings. Hers was also an arranged marriage, just like yours, but she seemed so happy. The glow on her face was radiant, and there was this undeniable contentment in her smile." Kashvi's voice was gentle as she leaned closer, her hands cupping my cheeks. "That glow, that happiness... it's missing in you."

I managed a soft smile, touched by her concern, even as I tried to mask the whirlwind of emotions stirring inside. "Maybe I'm just tired, Kashvi," I said lightly, avoiding the weight of her gaze. "There's a lot going on, you know."

She sighed, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. "I just hope you find that happiness soon, Di. You deserve it."

She rarely called me Di, but today, she did, and it tugged at my heartstrings. A lump formed in my throat as I smiled, pulling her into a warm hug. Her arms wrapped around me made me feel good.

"Now come on, give me some good poses! I need to capture my princess looking this stunning," Kashvi gushed, stepping back and cupping her face in mock amazement. Grabbing her phone with excitement, she started clicking pictures of me, giving instructions for the best angles. First came solo shots—soft, aesthetic poses that made me feel like a model. Then, it was time for us together. She pulled me close, giggling as we tried out a variety of fun, candid poses.

Soon, Nitya and Esha Bhabhi joined in, adding to the cheerful chaos. Laughter filled the room as we huddled together, clicking countless pictures—group shots, goofy faces, even some dramatic poses that had us all in fits of laughter. For a moment, the weight of everything lifted, replaced by the simple joy of being surrounded by these amazing women.

A little while later, Maa entered the room. Her eyes softened as she took me in, offering a heartfelt compliment about how beautiful I looked. I nodded and thanked her, but my voice was distant. The tension between us lingered, cold and unyielding. I couldn't just erase the resentment and hurt overnight, not even for a day like this.

She hesitated for a moment, her smile faltering slightly, before stepping aside. I could tell she hoped for a warmer response, but I wasn't ready to give it—not yet.

Later, I was escorted into the living room where the Ganesh Sthapana ceremony was to take place. The house was bustling with energy, the air filled with the soft hum of conversations and the playful shrieks of children darting around. Everyone was dressed to perfection—vibrant colors, intricate jewelry, and wide smiles adding to the festive atmosphere.

I didn't even realize when I was guided outside and seated beside my bua. Despite everything, I couldn't bring myself to resent her. Yes, she was partly the reason I found myself in this situation, but her warmth and kindness made it impossible to hold a grudge. She was the polar opposite of her father. At least she had the courage to defy her parents and marry the man she loved. Watching her now, glowing with happiness, only reinforced how right she had been. Maa often talked about her family being the perfect example of love and harmony.

A plate brimming with delicacies was placed in front of me, and Nitya immediately sidled up, insisting we share it. My little sister looked radiant in her pink Anarkali suit, the net dupatta draped elegantly around her shoulders. I hadn't even realized when she grew up so much.

"Here," I murmured, scooping a morsel of gajar ka halwa and holding it out to her. Her face lit up as she eagerly leaned in, savoring the sweetness. She wanted me to feed her, and I obliged without hesitation. For her and for Revaan, I would do anything. They were the only glimmers of warmth in this otherwise cold and suffocating situation.

Soon, my father along with my grandfather, Revaan and male guests went to Nirvaan's house for the tilak ceremony while I was rushed into room, changed into a simple kurti as I jumped into bed. It was mehendi ceremony by evening and I needed energy to be able to seat straight for hours without harming my back bones due to bridal mehendi.

The mehendi ceremony was scheduled for the evening, and I knew it was going to be a test of patience. Sitting still for hours while intricate bridal mehendi designs adorned my hands and feet wasn't just exhausting—it was a workout for my backbones! I needed this nap to gather every ounce of energy for the evening ahead.

As the beauticians worked their magic, I changed into the blouse of my lehenga. It was a simple yet elegant outfit, thoughtfully chosen by my chachi. She had insisted on something comfortable since I'd be sitting for hours. The green skirt paired with a sleeveless top and a light dupatta struck the perfect balance between simplicity and grace. The makeup, however, was slightly more dramatic, as the evening would bring many guests, including the groom's side, to the Rathod family's seven-star hotel where the ceremony was being held.

Just as I was adjusting my earrings, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Laksh. My frown deepened. That man, who hadn't spoken to me in two months, suddenly wanted to meet me—now, of all times, when I was rushing for my mehendi ceremony.

Without hesitation, I typed back: No. I don't want to meet.

Within seconds, another message popped up: Nivya, please. I promise I won't take much of your time.

I sighed, conflicted. Against my better judgment, I typed back:
I can try, but no promises.

I put my phone aside, unsure if I was making the right choice, and turned back to face the mirror, ready to embrace the evening ahead.

-----

Lets see what is in store for Nivya from Laksh.

How are you liking Nivya so far?

The next few chapters might seem boring because their wedding will happen, and it cannot be chaotic, as it is not exactly a love marriage or a marriage she is doing willingly, so bear with it. Because the ride afterwards is rollercoaster one .

Thankyou<3