(The chapter is in third person POV from the night of Mehendi.)

"You were so unhappy with the prospect of marrying Jija Sa, and now suddenly, you don't seem as opposed to the idea. You were practically wailing like a banshee, locking yourself in your room, refusing to eat just because you didn't want to marry him. But now... it looks like you've accepted it," Revaan teased, his sharp gaze fixed on Nivya as she frowned, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the deep red patterns of her mehendi.

Nivya said nothing at first, her attention drawn instead to the night sky visible from the window. The stars twinkled faintly, and her lips curled into a bittersweet smile. Her father used to tell her that stars carried dreams to God, and while many dreams went unanswered, the stars had become her solace in their pursuit.

Chuckling softly, she threw her hair back, her eyes glimmering with mischief. "What do you see on my face?" she asked, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head toward him.

Revaan made a mock gagging expression, then smirked. "Most Unwanted Idiot," he said, dodging her half-hearted smack to his bicep.

The room she'd escaped from was bustling with Nitya, Kashvi, Mahi, and Esha, who were gossiping endlessly. Nivya, however, had slipped into Revaan's quarters—his sanctuary that he guarded fiercely, locking out any unwanted guests. Only she knew the password to breach his fortress.

"Revaan," she began softly, the teasing gone from her tone. "I can't just sit and cry. Will it change anything? Will it stop the marriage?" She looked at him, her voice laced with melancholy.

Revaan's playful demeanor shifted as he studied her.

"I know I don't want this marriage. And it's not just because of Nirvaan. I feel I'm too young for this responsibility. I wanted to explore, to travel, to buy a little house of my own." Her voice softened, and her eyes seemed to drift to another world.

Her mind briefly flickered to the house Nirvaan had bought in her name. Even though she wasn't his wife yet, he had taken that step.

"I wanted to go trekking, scream my name from the top of a mountain and hear the echo. I wanted to chill on a beach, bungee jump, paraglide, skydive, scuba dive, finish my master's degree, and ride a bike without fearing anyone stopping me. But all of it... it felt so distant." She sighed, shaking her head. "No, I thought it was distant."

Revaan frowned in confusion.

"A few days back, I got drunk. Remember when I gave you those sports shoes?" she asked, playing with the threads on her wrist.

"Ivaan Bhai handled you?"

"No, it was Nirvaan," she admitted, her voice almost incredulous. "He didn't complain, not even for a second. He carried my heels in his hands, didn't say a word to Bade Dadaji, handled the media, and lent me his shoulder when I couldn't even stand properly. And... he said I would fulfill all my dreams myself."

The memory was hazy, but with time, it had sharpened. Nirvaan's words had struck a chord deep within her.

"I never expected that from him. The kind of person he is... I thought the next day, he'd run to Bade Dadaji to complain. But he didn't. Not once. I don't even think he cares for me—not as his fiancée, anyway. Maybe because of Ivaan, but not for me as a person."

She paused, her fingers clutching the fabric of her lehenga.

"I don't know how our married life will be. Will it be like Chacha-Chachi's? Or Maa-Papa's? Or Yashvi Bhabhi Sa and Advik Bhai Sa's? I have no clue. But in the end... I have to marry him. And I've come to terms with that. I've accepted it now. It doesn't hurt as much as it did before."

Her voice trailed off, her gaze distant. Deep down, she knew she and Nirvaan were like two parallel lines. Neither was the kind of person the other dreamed of, but fate had forced them to walk together.

"Remember that dialogue?" she asked, leaning towards the coffee table, picking up the huge packet of namkeen mixture, and tearing it open. Revaan shook his head, passing her the spoon as she quickly took a spoonful before shoving it into her mouth. The spicy and tangy flavor made her take another spoonful.

"Jab life band baja rahi ho na toh naach lena chahiye, aur upar se mujhe toh banda bhi itna hot mila hain. Mera toh naachna bhi banta h ," she said, winking at him, lightening the mood. {When life is playing the drums of chaos, you might as well dance to it and on top of that, I've been paired with such a hot guy. I absolutely have to dance.}

Looks weren't something she cared about immensely, but just to put Revaan at ease, she said this.

"Leave all that. When did Nirvaan turn into Jija sa for you?" she asked, wriggling her eyebrows teasingly. Revaan gave her a soft smile, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something gentler.

"I feel it might really not be as bad as we thought," he said quietly, taking her hand in his as he knelt in front of her.

"Dii, remember the food I fed you during the mehendi ceremony?" he asked, gently caressing her fingers with his thumb, his smile warm and genuine.

"Yeah. It's the first time you literally filled the plate with everything I like," she chuckled, looking at him with affection.

"I didn't," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Jija sa did."

Her eyes widened in surprise, disbelief flickering across her face. "What?" she asked, her voice almost inaudible. She couldn't believe what she'd just heard. Nirvaan? The man she thought never noticed her? How could he have known her favorites?

Revaan nodded, his expression sincere. "He came to me with the plate already filled, asking me to feed you since you were hungry. Honestly... I'd forgotten about it. I was caught up in something else at the time," he admitted, his tone apologetic by the end.

Her thoughts raced. Maybe Ivaan had prepared the plate, she reasoned. But deep down, she didn't believe it. Ivaan knew her preferences, sure, but he wasn't meticulous enough to arrange everything so neatly, ensuring every single item was to her liking.

This small, thoughtful act left her reeling. Could Nirvaan truly have done that? Was she misjudging him all along?

"He is weird, Revaan," she murmured, her voice barely audible as she stared at her mehendi-stained hands. "Sometimes, I feel I might have a normal married life—not one filled with love, but maybe care, affection, and teasing. But then I look into his eyes. They seem warm in color but so cold in the way they stare at you. I don't know what to expect," she admitted, her fingers gently tracing Nirvaan's name in the intricate patterns of her mehendi.

Revaan listened silently, his gaze fixed on her as she poured out her thoughts.

"He's so cold," she continued, her voice laced with frustration. "Not once did he call me in these two months. But he bought a house under my name. The one we're supposed to live in. Ivaan always said Nirvaan hates the idea of leaving the palace, and now, just because he's marrying me, he's willing to leave that house. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to expect." She sighed heavily, the weight of her words leaving the room in silence.

Revaan gently took her hand again, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in reassurance. "It's your relationship, Dii. If you want to put in the effort, then do it. If not, focus on yourself and your career. Either way, remember this—I'll always be by your side."

His words brought a faint smile to her face, and she nodded, her heart warming at his unwavering support. But deep down, an ache remained. She might accept Nirvaan someday, but forgiving her family for making her feel so helpless—for blackmailing her into this marriage—was a different matter altogether.

"You sleep here. I'll take the other room," Revaan said softly, standing and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She nodded again, still tracing Nirvaan's name absentmindedly as he walked toward the door.

The sound of the door clicking shut went unnoticed by Nivya. Her mind was too preoccupied with the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her—uncertainty, frustration, and a faint glimmer of hope. Her fingers lingered on the letters of his name, tracing them as if searching for answers hidden in the delicate strokes of her mehendi.

-----

The next day, Nivya sat in her room, adorned in a yellow saree with accents of off-white and pink roses, complemented by gypsy flower jewelry. Her hair was neatly tied in a braid, which rested gently over her shoulder, falling down her front. She wore minimal makeup—just lipstick and kajal—and yet looked effortlessly beautiful. Nitya had taken countless photos of her, planning to create an entire folder dedicated to Nivya's pre-wedding moments.

After the haldi ceremony, Nivya was ushered into her room to rest and freshen up after her shower.

"Look at this," Kashvi said, sitting beside Nivya and showing her the photos on her phone.

"These are from Bua's Bhaat Nyotna ceremony," Kashvi explained, swiping through the images. The Bhaat is a formal ritual where the bride's mother visits her family's home to formally invite everyone for the wedding by performing a tilak ceremony. Nivya's mother had gone to her place nearly two weeks ago, and Kashvi had gotten the photographer's shots.

"Who sent these?" Nivya asked, taking the phone from Kashvi and flipping through the images.

"The photographer. I had to call him a thousand times to get these," Kashvi said, exaggerating the struggle, making Nivya laugh.

"Tomorrow, I'll be in the spotlight too," Kashvi announced, puffing out her chest with excitement. Nivya raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. The Mayra ceremony was the following day, and that's why Kashvi was so thrilled.

"Now, show me your mehendi!" Kashvi exclaimed, pulling Nivya's hand toward her and practically swooning over the dark, intricate designs on Nivya's palms.

"It's beautiful," she gasped, inspecting Nivya's mehendi, before glancing at her own hands, which weren't as darkly stained.

"It's okay," Nivya teased. "I'm sure Ivaan will still like you."

Kashvi's eyes widened at the mention of Ivaan. "No, please, anyone but him!" she cried out, making Nivya chuckle. Kashvi had never been fond of Ivaan, and now, working in the same office as him, her dislike had only grown stronger.

"Anyway, forget that. Have you seen the ring for Nirvaan Jija sa?" Kashvi changed the subject, her tone shifting to something more curious.

Nivya nodded, pulling out her phone to show Kashvi a picture of the ring she had selected for Nirvaan. Her mother had sent her a few options, and after much thought, she chose a simple platinum band with a square diamond at the center, surrounded by tiny diamonds. It was elegant and classy, yet something that could be worn every day without feeling too extravagant.

Kashvi raised an eyebrow, studying the ring. "It's beautiful. Simple but elegant."

Nivya smiled softly, leaning back against the headrest as her eyes fluttered shut.

"I'll be a married woman tomorrow," she thought, a lump forming in her throat. The reality of it all settled in, but then her mind flashed to the small moments of Nirvaan's kindness—his considerate gestures that had, in their own way, eased her anxiety. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in her chest. 

-----

Nivya couldn't help but replay the moment in her mind—the way Nirvaan had picked her up, effortlessly and without hesitation, when he noticed her struggling with her heels. The memory of his hands beneath her arms, lifting her with ease, and that unexpected twirl—it was like something out of a Disney fairy tale. The crowd's cheers and the dreamy swirl of her lehenga added to the surreal feeling, making her wonder if it had actually happened.

Now, as she stood beside Nirvaan, their eyes met briefly before their attention turned to the approaching cousins, Nitya and one of his female relatives, carrying their rings. The exchange felt ceremonial yet intimate, with flower petals raining down on them as everyone cheered enthusiastically. Yet amidst the joy and celebration, Nivya found herself lost in thought.

Nirvaan was an enigma to her. At times, he seemed warm—like in moments when he noticed the smallest discomfort on her face and acted to ease it without her saying a word. Other times, his demeanor was distant, his gaze too cold to decipher. She didn't know what to make of him, but it baffled her how well he seemed to understand her, almost instinctively.

She glanced down at the ring now adorning her finger. It was simple, elegant, and understated—exactly the kind of design she would have chosen for herself. It stood in stark contrast to the extravagant gestures her family usually preferred, which made it all the more meaningful.

The evening progressed with bursts of music and dance by their siblings and cousins, the laughter infectious. Before long, they were ushered to the dining area where a buffet was arranged. Nivya found herself seated beside Nirvaan, surrounded by elders, as servers began placing food on their plates. It was a formal setting, but her thoughts kept drifting, tangled in the contradictions of the man beside her and the whirlwind of emotions the evening had stirred.

"She doesn't like capsicum," Nirvaan said without hesitation, his tone calm yet firm, as the server placed a stuffed capsicum on Nivya's plate. His words broke the flow of conversation at the table, drawing all eyes toward them.

Nivya, momentarily caught off guard, glanced at him, her surprise evident. Her brows furrowed slightly as she tried to make sense of his remark. How did he even know that? she wondered, her thoughts racing. She was certain she hadn't mentioned it to him. How could I, when he never showed any interest? she thought, the frustration mingling with her confusion.

They had barely shared any personal conversations, their interactions often limited to the formalities dictated by their impending marriage. He had always seemed distant, his guarded demeanor creating an invisible wall between them. And yet, here he was, casually pointing out something so trivial yet personal, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment, but both Nirvaan and Nivya remained composed. He casually gestured for the server to move on, while she returned to arranging her cutlery as if nothing had happened. The guests resumed their chatter soon enough, but Nivya's thoughts lingered.

This. This was the contradiction that left her unsettled. The man whose gaze she often found distant and unreadable seemed to possess an uncanny awareness of her likes and dislikes. His subtle gestures—like noticing her discomfort during the dance or remembering her distaste for capsicum—flashed before her eyes. They painted a picture so at odds with the cold exterior she associated with him.

Her fingers tightened momentarily around the spoon, and she let out a quiet sigh, steadying herself. Offering a silent prayer, she then began eating, stealing a glance at Nirvaan. He was focused on his own meal, as though his earlier remark hadn't meant anything significant.

And yet, to her, it felt like the quietest storm.

-----

After returning, Nivya quickly shed her clothes. It was late, and instead of taking a shower, she quietly removed her makeup, washed her face, and made her way toward the bedroom. Mahi was already asleep, snuggled up against a pillow, while Nitya was engrossed in her phone. Kashvi, too, was fast asleep beside Nitya. Thankfully, Nivya's bed was spacious enough to accommodate all of them, as no one seemed eager to sleep elsewhere.

Letting out a soft sigh, Nivya walked over to Nitya and snatched the phone from her hands, her glare stern.

"It's past midnight, Nitya," she scolded, turning the screen to see what had her so engrossed. It was a video of her dancing with Nirvaan.

"He gave you the princess twirl," Nitya teased, giggling softly as she pulled the blanket over herself, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"Sleep," Nivya snapped, her tone firm, though her eyes lingered on the video. Not even for a moment had Nirvaan's eyes strayed from her. She didn't know what to make of it, her emotions a tangled mess.

Setting the phone aside, she climbed into bed. Nitya immediately scooted closer, wrapping her arms around Nivya's waist and snuggling into her warmth.

"Dii, I know you're not entirely happy," Nitya whispered, her voice laced with emotion. Tears welled in her eyes as she held on tightly.

"But at least you'll get to leave this place. I know it's exhausting—always having to fight for everything," Nitya continued, her voice breaking slightly. Nitya had always been supported by her parents, whether it was for a girls' night out or a trip. Nivya, however, hadn't been as lucky.

"I think Nirvaan Jija sa is good. He seems kind and caring," Nitya murmured, her words hesitant yet sincere.

Nivya nodded slightly, patting Nitya's head. "Sleep now," she said softly, leaning down to place a tender kiss on her sister's forehead.

She didn't want to discuss Nirvaan—not with Nitya. Not when she herself didn't have the answers.

-----

It was nearly two in the night when Nivya's phone rang, pulling her out of sleep. She quickly grabbed it, glancing around at the three women still sound asleep beside her.

"Come to your balcony," Ivaan's voice came through, surprising her as she stifled a yawn.

"Ivaan, get lost," she muttered, irritation creeping into her voice, ready to hang up, but he spoke again before she could.

"I have your favorite noodles and manchurian combo. If you want to eat, come downstairs and open the back door," he coaxed, making her sigh. Her mother had strictly told her to stay indoors after the haldi ceremony, but the thought of the food was enough to break her resolve. Saliva filled her mouth at the prospect of noodles.

She immediately scrambled up to the balcony, climbing down the pillar with practiced ease, grabbing the extra key to the backdoor and pulling on a shawl for cover.

Nivya had perfected the art of sneaking out. The strictness of her environment had made her an expert at lying too, and she could lie with a straight face, never a blink of hesitation. She'd added small holders to the balcony pillar after a fall during one of her earlier escapades, which made it easier for her to descend without anyone noticing.

Once outside, she let Ivaan in, his jacket slightly unzipped, the cold air causing him to shiver. She smiled sweetly at him, reaching for the packet of food, but Ivaan held it out of reach, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I want to eat too," he said, stepping inside as he glanced around. He looked toward the shaded seating area, bathed in a warm yellow light. They both sat down as Ivaan opened the container.

"Eat," he said, offering her the fork, his grin wide and mischievous. It was odd—he was offering her the first bite, which was usually his favorite part of the meal to snatch away.

"Tera haq hai. Khale," he added with a playful wink. {It's your right. Eat it.}

Confused but intrigued, Nivya took the fork, scooping up noodles and carefully cutting a manchurian before swirling them together. She took a bite, savoring the flavor as Ivaan watched her with a satisfied smile. She moaned in delight, her eyes closing as the burst of spices hit her taste buds.

"Damn," she sighed, pulling away slightly, "I've had this at so many restaurants, but this one—it tastes so amazing. Everything seems so perfect. Where did you get it from?"

Ivaan's grin widened. "Tere private restaurant se. Mann bhar ke kha. Infact, jab chahe tab kha," he teased, shoveling another forkful into his mouth as he packed another box of food. {From your private restaurant. Eat to your heart's content. Eat whenever you want.}

"Ab mere Pita Shree ne restaurant bhi khol liya?" Nivya asked, confused, savoring another bite. She genuinely liked the taste. It was made just the way she liked, with no capsicum—or if there was any, it was chopped so finely she couldn't even tell. {Now my father even opened a restaurant?}

"Tere pati ne banaya hai, He was in the kitchen preparing these at one in night," Ivaan chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. {Your husband made it.}

Nivya immediately choked, a bit of food falling onto the bench as she stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief. "He can cook?" she asked, her voice rising in shock.

Ivaan raised his eyebrows, an amused smile on his face. "I don't know. Ask him," he said casually, cleaning the table and gathering the empty containers. He packed everything into a paper bag and made his way to the backdoor.

"All the best for your new life, Nivya. I hope you both find happiness in each other," Ivaan said softly, pausing for a moment before turning back toward her. With a small smile, he side-hugged her and kissed her forehead lightly.

Nivya simply pressed her lips together, unsure how to respond. She locked the door behind him and slowly made her way back toward the pillar leading to her room.

Nivya quietly climbed back up the pillar, her movements fluid, the holders she had installed years ago making it seem effortless. She slipped into her room, locking the balcony door behind her, her eyes darting to the three women still sound asleep. Pulling the shawl tighter around herself, she leaned against the wall, her heart still racing from the quick escape.

She sat down on the edge of her bed, the shawl pooling around her shoulders as she stared into the dim room. The taste of the noodles still lingered, the perfect blend of spices leaving her oddly content. No capsicum, perfectly balanced flavors—it was as if someone had tailored the dish just for her. And that someone, apparently, was Nirvaan.

It didn't make sense. Nirvaan Singh Rathod—the man she'd always known to be stoic, distant, almost mechanical—was in the kitchen at one in the night, cooking? It wasn't like him. At least, not the version of him she thought she knew.

She shook her head, trying to push away the strange warmth blooming in her chest. No, she told herself. This doesn't mean anything.

Still, her thoughts betrayed her. Why did this small act feel so significant? Why did it matter if Nirvaan cooked? 

Her eyes drifted toward the clock. It was nearing three in the morning, and she knew she needed rest before the chaos of the wedding resumed. Yet, sleep felt distant as her mind replayed the events of the night.

For the first time in a long time, she felt something stir within her. She wasn't sure what it was—curiosity, confusion, or perhaps something she didn't want to name. Whatever it was, it kept her awake, her heart beating just a little faster than usual.

-----

The next morning, Nivya dressed in a vibrant orange and red saree for the Mayra ceremony. Her mother was overcome with emotion, embracing her brother tightly, while Nivya's Mami performed a few more rituals before bestowing gifts upon her. Today was a fasting day for Nivya, and she focused on preserving her energy, detached from the whirlwind of emotions and ceremonial hustle around her.

By evening, Nivya sat in her room, now transformed into a vision of bridal splendor. Draped in a magnificent red lehenga, she looked ethereal. The lehenga was a masterpiece, with intricate handwoven designs crafted by skilled artisans. It had been designed by one of the country's most renowned designers, but its final touch was added by her Chachi, whose passion for stitching and designing had always shone through. Nivya reminisced about her childhood, when her Chachi would lovingly sew her frocks, tops, and pants, which she wore with pride. Today, even her wedding attire bore that heartfelt connection.

The heavy jewelry adorned her gracefully—an ornate mathapatti, a delicate nath, and a shimmering waist chain completing her regal look. Her arms jingled with red bangles interspersed with broad kundan bangles that had once belonged to her late mother-in-law, a legacy passed down with care. Tied to her waist was a potli, a small pouch carrying her phone and a handkerchief, blending utility with tradition.

She looked breathtakingly alluring, her aura a harmonious blend of elegance, heritage, and the bittersweet emotions of a bride about to embark on a new chapter of her life.

Nivya remained detached as the cameraman clicked numerous pictures of her. Everyone around was captivated, stealing glances at her stunning appearance. Relatives from the bride's side peeked into her room, awestruck by her elegance. Tired from the weight of her heavy lehenga and the endless attention, she finally asked the cameraman to leave and settled back onto the bed, feeling drained.

Soon after, Yashvi, visibly pregnant, entered the room. Congratulating Nivya warmly, Yashvi struck up a light conversation, her gentle demeanor and small efforts to ease Nivya's tension leaving the bride slightly less strained. However, as the chatter died down and others exited, her parents entered the room, leaving only Revaan standing silently by the corner.

Her mother leaned down, kissing her forehead and performing a ritual to ward off evil eyes, her gestures heavy with unspoken emotions.

"You look like a princess," her father said softly, cupping her face with tenderness. But as he met Nivya's steely gaze, his hand faltered. Her resentment and anger were palpable, and the realization of her disdain pierced him deeply.

"A captured one," Nivya retorted, her voice laced with quiet sarcasm as she turned her face away, leaving his hand suspended in midair. He withdrew, placing his palm softly on her head in silent remorse.

"He loves you, Nivya," her mother ventured, her voice trembling.

"I don't need it," Nivya snapped, her hands balling into fists over her heavy lehenga. The mehendi on her hands felt like shackles rather than celebration. "Just think of your daughter as dead the moment I marry Nirvaan. I won't maintain any relationship with this family except for my siblings." Her words were sharp, her tone unwavering as she locked eyes with her father.

For the first time in years, she saw emotion flicker in his eyes—guilt, regret, pain. It hurt her more than she cared to admit, but she didn't let it show.

Revaan, silent in the corner, watched his sister with tears brimming in his eyes. Nivya had been his anchor, his guide, and his protector in the palace. Now, her departure felt like the end of an era, leaving him adrift in their cold, vast home.

"You'll have to return for the pagphera ritual," her mother murmured, her voice heavy with sorrow.

"I've already played my part in too many formalities," Nivya replied bitterly, her lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. "What's one more? I'll come—after all, you'll need to flaunt how much you spent on a girl's wedding to the world." Turning her body away, she dismissed them without another word.

Her parents exchanged a defeated glance before quietly leaving the room, their hearts weighed down with regret and unspoken pain.

Left alone with Revaan, Nivya bit the inside of her cheek, struggling to keep her emotions in check. The dam she had built to hold back her anguish threatened to burst, but she wouldn't let it. Not here. Not now.

-----

I feel so bad for Nivya. Girl really tried hard to be happy throughout but on the day of wedding, everything came out.

What do you think about Nivya and Nirvaan as a couple?

Thankyou<3