Meher hears it and arches a brow. “Almost?”
“What? I didn’t say anything,” Vihaan replies, eyes dancing with mischief.
“You never do,” she deadpans, her lips twitching.
I can’t help it—I laugh. The sound escapes before I can stifle it, and they both look at me. For a second, I want to shrink into the floor, but Vihaan’s answering grin makes it impossible not to smile wider.
Later, the music starts. Soft, melodic, something about it coaxing people toward the small dance floor. Couples drift thereslowly, and before I can find an excuse to vanish, Vihaan turns to me.
“Dance?” he asks, extending his hand.
My heart trips. “I… don’t really—”
“You’ll be fine,” he says, voice low, coaxing, the barest curve of a smile on his lips. His fingers brush mine lightly, and against all logic, I let him lead me to the floor.
The first few steps are awkward. My lehenga weighs a ton, my heels threaten betrayal, but Vihaan’s hand settles at the small of my back, his other holding mine firmly, and suddenly the world narrows. Just him. Just us.
“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine.
“I’m trying not to trip on you,” I whisper back, earning a quiet laugh from him.
“Even if you do, I’ll catch you,” he says softly, his voice dipping like a promise. His hand tightens ever so slightly around mine, like he means every word.
The music swells, and for a moment, everything else fades—the glittering hall, the murmurs, the flicker of chandeliers. It’s just the warmth of his hand, the steadiness in his gaze, the faint curve of his smile like a secret meant only for me.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch Bhai-sa taking Meher’s hand, leading her toward the center as the lights dim slightly. The crowd parts instinctively, giving them space. He kneels—actually kneels—holding out a velvet box, and the room erupts in cheers.
Inside, a necklace gleams—emeralds and diamonds catching the golden glow like fire. Meher gasps, her hands flying to hermouth, tears welling as Bhai-sa fastens it around her neck before pressing a kiss to her forehead.
The room hums with awe, whispers weaving through the crowd like threads of envy and admiration.
My throat tightens unexpectedly. Not because of the necklace—it’s beautiful, yes—but because of what it means. The ease in their love, the way it’s worn like second skin, natural and effortless. Will I ever have that? Will Vihaan ever look at me the way Bhai-sa looks at Meher, like she’s the only person in the room worth breathing for?
I glance at Vihaan. His eyes aren’t on the necklace. They’re on me. Soft. Steady. Something I can’t name glimmering in their depths.
“Poorvi,” he murmurs, like a tether pulling me back to the present. “You okay?”
I nod quickly, forcing a smile. But inside, questions swirl like storm clouds I can’t outrun.
CHAPTER 12
Storm Warnings
VIHAAN
I lean back in the cushioned chair, swirling the glass of water in my hand as Sitara keeps tapping furiously on her phone, lips pressed into a thin line. That little crease between her brows? It only shows up when she’s either planning trouble or worrying about someone else’s. I’m betting on the latter this time.
“I got a message from Jyotika,” she announces finally, her voice clipped, and for a second, all of us look up from whatever distraction we were pretending to focus on.
I raise a brow. “And…?”
“She said Lalita Maasi-sa is coming.”
The glass pauses midair in my hand. Veeraj groans loudly, throwing his head back like the world’s ending. “When will this torture end?”
I can’t help the laugh that bursts out. “Dude, that sounds bad,” I tease, giving him a nudge with my elbow.
He sits up straighter, frowning. “What? You know how cunning she is.”
