Do comment your thoughts about them<3

Nirvaan Singh Rathod

I sat on the edge of my bed, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on my chest. This wasn't like me—losing control, reacting impulsively. I've always been calm and composed, but the way I lashed out earlier wasn't right. Above all, doubting Nivya? That was an insult to her character. No matter the circumstances of our marriage, I know she would never betray me. Her morals are far too strong for that.

Grabbing my phone again, I zoomed in on the photos, scrutinizing every detail. The background seemed familiar—Serenity Sips, the well-known café in Veerkut that Ivaan frequents whenever he's in town. I live in Amritvan, about a half-hour drive from Veerkut, as the prince of the region, fondly called "Kunwar Sa" by the locals. Though my father and grandfather are still alive and hold the official titles, most of the decision-making has fallen on me.

My focus shifted to Nivya's expressions in the photos. In one, her face seemed clouded with anger, her body language tense, as if she was trying to move away from his touch. That one image allowed me to breathe again, the suffocating doubt beginning to fade.

I picked up my phone and dialed Akshat.

"Meet me immediately," I said curtly before hanging up.

Moments later, Akshat entered my room.

"Cease the CCTV footage of Serenity Sips from yesterday," I ordered, handing him the phone. "Also, track down the owner of this number and ensure all traces of these photos are wiped."

Akshat studied the images briefly, his frown deepening as he nodded.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"Nothing for now," I replied.

He hesitated for a moment before adding, "The preparations for Haldi are done. Everyone's asking for you downstairs."

I nodded, glancing at the yellow kurta still hanging neatly. With a final glance at the photos, I stood and prepared myself to join the celebration.

The Haldi ceremony was a mix of tradition and chaos, evolving into something akin to a pool party, but with turmeric, oil, and milk in place of water. By the end of it, I was dripping, my skin painted golden from the haldi. My cousins had taken it upon themselves to throw anyone and everyone into the water, their laughter echoing through the air.

I retreated to my room afterward, craving solitude. After a quick shower, I changed into a black t-shirt and sweatpants, letting the calm of the quiet room settle over me. My thoughts, however, remained restless. There was too much on my plate, and entertaining guests was the last thing I wanted to do.

A while later, Akshat returned, his expression sharp.

"Here is the footage, but it has no audio," Akshat said, barely containing his anger as he handed me the tablet. I played the recording, starting an hour before Nivya arrived at the venue. As I had suspected, it was Laksh proposing to Nivya, but her body language and facial expressions showed clear denial and disgust.

Bastard. How dare he propose to my fiancée and then shamelessly show up at our mehendi ceremony?

"After my marriage," I said, my voice low but laced with fury, "the first thing you will do is terminate his employment. Make sure no one dares to hire him again. And if someone does, ensure they face severe consequences." My jaw clenched as I gripped the tablet tightly, barely resisting the urge to hurl it across the room.

"And who sent me these photos?" I asked, handing the tablet back to him.

"It was sent using a burner phone. The SIM card is registered to a man who's already dead, and the phone has been destroyed," Akshat explained, making my eyebrows arch in surprise.

Laksh doesn't strike me as someone capable of such meticulous planning. How the hell did he manage this?

"Someone doesn't want me to marry Nivya," I whispered softly, my voice barely audible as I stared at the darkened screen of the tablet. But a sliver of doubt crept in—what if Nivya herself didn't want this marriage? What if this was her way of escaping it?

No. I dismissed the thought almost immediately. Nivya isn't like that. She's fierce and sharp, yes, but beneath that exterior, she's soft. Plotting and scheming aren't in her nature. And even if she didn't want this marriage, she wouldn't stoop to such levels—especially not when the wedding is just two days away. She's reckless at times, but not to the point of destroying both our reputations and families.

The thought of all this made my head throb, the pressure building behind my temples. I pressed my fingers to my forehead, trying to soothe the ache that was quickly taking over.

"Leave me alone, Akshat," I muttered, my voice heavy with fatigue and frustration. Without a word, he nodded and quietly left the room, leaving me alone with my spiraling thoughts.

I called through the telecom, asking for a glass of lemonade as I rummaged through my drawer, pulling out a balm to ease the pounding in my head. Gently, I applied it to my forehead, muttering under my breath, "Zindagi mein chain hi nahi hai." {There's no peace in my life.}

After finishing the lemonade, I set an alarm, deciding to grab some much-needed rest. The weight of everything—work, family, and the chaos around the wedding—was dragging me down. But just as I began slipping into slumber, my phone buzzed, snapping me out of my brief reprieve.

"Now who is it?" I groaned, reaching for my phone. Without even glancing at the caller ID, I answered, only to hear Ivaan's voice, sharp and urgent.

"Bhai, where is the engagement ring?" he asked, skipping any formalities. My eyes flew open, the realization hitting me like a brick. 

Damn it.

I sighed, running a hand down my face, the fatigue weighing heavier now. The balm on my forehead barely helped, and now this?

Peace is a luxury I clearly cannot afford.

"Engagement ring?" I repeated, sitting upright as the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. In the whirlwind of responsibilities and emotions, I had completely forgotten. "I'll handle it," I replied firmly, masking my panic.

"But, Bhai, the ceremony is tonight! Do you even have something in mind?" Ivaan's exasperation was evident.

"I said I'll handle it, Ivaan. Just relax," I snapped, harsher than intended. Ending the call, I exhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose.

I grabbed my phone, quickly searching for the best jewelers in town. The first name that stood out was Mehrotra Jewelers—renowned for their exquisite craftsmanship. This ring had to be perfect, not just any piece of jewelry, but something timeless that would reflect Nivya's elegance. She deserved nothing less.

Without wasting another second, I dialed Akshat. "Meet me in 15 minutes at Mehrotra Jewelers showroom," I ordered. The urgency in my voice was unmistakable. At this point, I couldn't afford to make another mistake. This was the one decision that had to be flawless.

I quickly changed into a t-shirt and pants, grabbing a jacket before heading downstairs. My driver was already waiting for me outside, but just as I walked toward the exit, Dadaji appeared.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he took in my hurried pace. I sighed, bracing myself for yet another round of questioning.

"I have some work," I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady, glancing at the house crowded with guests.

"You're not going anywhere. After haldi, the bride and groom are not supposed to leave," Dadaji insisted.

But I shook my head, determined. "I'm already following all the rituals. This is important work, please excuse me."

Before he could argue further, I turned and walked toward the door, quickly heading to the car.

When I reached the showroom, Akshat was already there, ushering me inside. Mehrotra Jewelers truly lived up to its reputation. The designs were stunning, and I found myself momentarily lost in the brilliance of their craftsmanship.

The saleswoman showed me a variety of rings in the size Ivaan had messaged, but none of them felt right. They were beautiful, but not quite what I had in mind for Nivya. Her taste was simple, yet undeniably classy.

Then, I saw it—perfect. A rectangular ring with a diamond in the center, bordered by small, rare pink diamonds at each corner. It was exquisite.

"This one," I said, pointing to it. The saleswoman's eyes widened in surprise.

"It's one of the rarest pieces in our collection. It costs around nine lakhs, including additional charges," she said, her voice a mix of awe and caution.

Without hesitation, I nodded. "Pack it," I ordered. I didn't care about the price. It had to be perfect for her. 

The saleswoman quickly went to the counter to pack the ring, and I could see her taking extra care with every movement, as if she knew the importance of this moment.

The saleswoman returned with the ring, carefully placing it into a velvet box. I took it from her, the weight of it in my hand making everything feel so much more real. The ring was beautiful, but it wasn't just about the diamonds or the craftsmanship—it was a symbol. A symbol of my commitment to Nivya, no matter what happened.

Paying for the ring, I could already feel the sense of urgency building inside me. There wasn't much time left, and there were still things to be done. But for now, I held the ring close, feeling a sense of relief that I had made the right choice.

I walked over to my desk, staring at the documents in front of me but not really seeing them. My mind was a tangled mess. It felt like everything was happening on autopilot. The wedding, the expectations, my family's pressure—it all felt so... mechanical. Every decision I made seemed to be dictated by someone else's vision. I couldn't even remember the last time I had actually made a choice for myself.

I glanced at my phone again, checking to make sure Ivaan had picked up the ring from Akshat. There was a nagging thought in the back of my mind that I couldn't shake. What if this wedding isn't just a formality? What if this is where I lose myself entirely?

I couldn't stop thinking about Nivya. She was strong, independent, and capable of standing on her own. She wasn't someone who would settle for being part of a plan or an arrangement. She deserved more than that. She deserved someone who would choose her for who she is, not just because it was the logical thing to do.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I needed to focus on tonight. The sangeet. A night that was supposed to be fun, lighthearted. But the weight of everything pressing down on me was hard to ignore.

I finished getting dressed, the deep blue sherwani a reminder of how little choice I had in the matter. I applied some moisturizer, ensuring my skin looked its best, but even that felt like a small, meaningless detail in the larger scheme of things. And the lip oil—I always carried it with me, a small act of self-care in a life that often left me feeling like I was merely existing.

The door to my room opened, and Akshat stepped in, giving me a once-over. "You look good, Sir," he said with a grin, cutting off his professional behavior.

I forced a smile in return. "Thanks."

His expression shifted slightly, and he stepped closer. "You okay? You seem... off."

I nodded in no.

Akshat nodded, his eyes understanding. "I get it. But you know, sometimes you just have to keep moving forward, even when it feels like you're being dragged. You'll find your way."

I smiled weakly, grateful for his support. But deep down, I knew the truth: I wasn't sure I even knew where I was going anymore.

As I left the room and headed toward the venue, the noise of the crowd waiting there felt distant, as though I were watching it from behind glass. Nivya, the woman I had been bound to by fate and family, would be there. But for all my responsibility, for all the duty I had to uphold, I couldn't help but wonder if she was truly the one who could make me feel whole. Or if, in the end, all we would be was two people bound together by expectations, with no space to be ourselves.

I sat on the loveseat, waiting for Nivya, my eyes scanning the room as I tried to gather my thoughts. The air was filled with laughter, music, and the soft chatter of guests. The vibrant energy of the sangeet was contagious, but there was a knot in my chest that refused to loosen. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was just playing a role, going through the motions of this marriage without really understanding what it meant.

Soon enough, she entered the room, and everything else seemed to blur in comparison. Nivya walked in, a vision of grace and elegance. Her lehenga was a masterpiece—light blue with delicate specks of green, adorned with intricate stonework that shimmered under the lights. The heavy work on her full-sleeve blouse stretched down to the pearl-adorned cuffs, catching my attention with each subtle movement. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, the strands flowing like a soft river, with a maangtikka resting delicately on her forehead. The heavy jewelry set from my family seemed to amplify her beauty, a reflection of tradition and grace, but even that couldn't outshine the way her blue-green eyes sparkled.

As she walked toward me, I instinctively reached out, but stopped myself, deciding to give her space. She sat down beside me, but not too close. Her presence was calming, and yet, there was something unsettling about it too.

Her mother came over, performing the traditional aarti for both of us, a symbolic gesture of blessing, and we bent down to receive her blessings. I felt the weight of the moment, the seriousness of what we were about to embark on.

The festivities began soon after—Ganesh Vandana followed by an impressive lineup of performances. Celebrities danced, some even sang, and the energy of the evening only grew brighter. But amidst all the music and dancing, I couldn't stop looking at Ivaan, Yug, and Yash. They were radiant, their faces full of joy, and for a moment, I couldn't help but envy their carefree happiness. Ivaan, in particular, looked so at ease, as if everything was falling perfectly into place.

I knew why. He had this unwavering belief that I would fall in love with Nivya, that this marriage would somehow transform me. But I didn't know if I could believe in that. In the back of my mind, I kept telling myself I wasn't supposed to fall in love. Love, for me, seemed like a dangerous thing. A weakness. I had seen how it had consumed my father, how it had hollowed him out when my mother had passed. I couldn't afford to lose myself like that. Not now. Not when everything was riding on this marriage.

I looked over at Nivya again, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the chandeliers. There was something about her—something that drew me in, but I quickly pushed the thought aside. I couldn't let myself feel that pull. Not now. Not ever. I had too much at stake.

But as the night went on, I found it harder to ignore the connection that lingered between us, an invisible thread that tugged at me, even when I didn't want it to.

I was reluctantly pulled onto the dance floor, my gaze on the crowd and then Nivya , who seemed equally uncertain about this. She glanced at me, then quickly shifted her gaze to the camera. The music started, a romantic Bollywood melody that felt almost too fitting for the moment.

Aankhein teri
Kitni haseen
Ki inka aashiq
Main bann gaya hoon

I reached out, offering my hand to her, and after a brief hesitation, she placed hers in mine. I kept my other hand gently around her waist, the delicate curves fitting perfectly in my palm. Her waist was small, fragile compared to my larger frame. She was shorter, thinner than most women I'd seen, but there was a quiet elegance to her. Her eyes, those eyes, they held something that captivated me, something I couldn't quite place. It felt as though the song was written for her, the lyrics a perfect reflection of her.

Maula mere
Maula mere
Maula mere
Maula mere

We moved to the beat, my steps slow and steady, thankful that I knew just enough to not embarrass myself. I'd never danced with a woman before. The sensation of her hand in mine felt strange, like my palm was made for her fingers. Her other hand gripped my shoulder, her touch light but firm, sending an unexpected rush through me. I could feel my heart race, an unfamiliar sensation stirring within me.

Mujhse yeh har ghadi
Mera dil kahe
Tum hi ho uski aarzoo

I twirled her slowly, careful because of the weight of her lehenga, but she moved with grace, her spins as smooth as silk. I couldn't take my eyes off her, captivated by the way she carried herself. She wasn't just pretty—there was a depth to her eyes, a twinkle that reflected something more than just beauty.

Mujhse yeh har ghadi
Mere lab kahe
Teri hi ho sab ghuftgu

I pulled her closer, her body brushing lightly against mine, and her eyes widened slightly. She took a sharp breath, her grip tightening on my hand. I guided her through another step, trying to ignore the way her proximity was affecting me.

Rakh loon chupa ke
Main kahin tujhko
Saaya bhi tera
Na main doon

We swayed together, our movements soft and in sync with the melody. I noticed how she seemed lost in the song, her eyes distant but content. Yet, all I could focus on was her. I didn't want to feel this, didn't want to be this close, but every time I tried to look away, I couldn't.

Rakh loon bana ke
Kahin ghar main tujhe
Saath tere
Main hi rahu

She gripped my hand tighter, her weight subtly shifting toward me. That's when I noticed her heels—beautiful but clearly uncomfortable. Her discomfort didn't go unnoticed. Without a second thought, I adjusted my hold, placing a firm hand at her waist to steady her.

Zulfein teri
Itni ghani
Dekh ke inko
Yeh sochta hoon
Saaye mein inke
Main jiyoon

My fingers instinctively brushed against the strands of her hair that had fallen across her cheeks. Gently, I caressed them before tucking them behind her ears, the touch as natural as breathing.

Maula mere
Maula mere
Maula mere
Maula mere

Holding her firmly by her waist, I twirled her slowly. Her lehenga fanned out in intricate patterns, shimmering under the soft, golden light. It was mesmerizing, the fabric dancing around her like a halo, accentuating the ethereal beauty she radiated.

Her initial hesitation melted into a soft laugh, her lips curving into a smile that seemed to light up the entire room. In that moment, her presence eclipsed everything—the music, the murmurs of the crowd, the weight of expectations. It was just her, radiant and carefree, and me, lost in the moment.

Mera dil yahin bola
Mera dil yahi bola
Yaara raaz yeh usne
Hain mujh par khola

Her wide eyes met mine, their blue-green depths a breathtaking swirl of wonder and surprise. Under the gentle glow, they seemed to hold entire galaxies, pulling me into their orbit. For a heartbeat, the world around us disappeared, leaving only the quiet intimacy of our shared moment.

Her eyes locked with mine, and for a brief moment, there was a softness in them, a quiet acceptance. I continued twirling her, savoring the brief seconds where she was in my arms, where I didn't have to think about the complexities of our relationship.

Ki hai ishq mohabbat,
Jiske dil mein,
Usko pasand karna hai,
Maula mera.

I held her close, her thumb grazing the nape of my neck, signaling me to bring her back down. Her hand moved gently along my skin, and I noticed how delicate her touch was. I lowered her, careful to keep her balanced. She held onto my biceps, a firm grip to balance herself.

Our foreheads touched briefly, a gesture so fleeting yet so intimate that it sent a shiver down my spine. The crowd erupted in cheers, but I hardly heard them. All I could see was her—her eyes, her smile, her undeniable beauty.

The music played on, but it faded into the background. All I could hear was the steady rhythm of her breathing, the quiet syncopation to the loud thumping of my heart. Time itself seemed to bend, the present stretching into something infinite, a moment neither of us would forget.

-----

I love this song and felt like it is made for Nivya.

I honestly didn't wanted to make Nivya a sad bride. I understand what she is going through but when we accept things, we tend to be happier. In the same way, Nivya had just accepted Nirvaan subconsciously and is enjoying herself in wedding. It is once in a lifetime occasion, she can't cry out at every step.

That twirl. please someone twirl me like that.

Thankyou<3