I groan inwardly. “Don’t start, Choti.”
“Oh, I already have,” she says, straightening up with mock seriousness. “Do you have any idea what the media outside will be calling this? ‘A Royal Rescue.’ Oh, or ‘King Marries Princess Left at Mandap.’ It’s like a bad movie.”
“Then it fits,” I mutter dryly, walking toward the sideboard. My throat’s dry; I pour myself a glass of water just to buy a few seconds.
Ma sets her cup down with a quiet clink. “You don’t look surprised.”
“I’m not.”
She studies me for a long moment. “You decided quickly.”
“Because there was no decision to make,” I answer, meeting her gaze. “It felt right.”
Ma’s expression softens in that way it does when she’s proud but trying not to show it too much. “You always were decisive. Even as a child, you’d pick a toy, and while the others were still choosing, you’d already have built something out of it.”
Yagini groans dramatically. “Please don’t tell the ‘toy story’ again, Ma. We get it, he’s the perfect son.”
“Hardly,” I say, taking the seat opposite them. “Perfect sons don’t give their mothers heart attacks by announcing they’re getting married in three hours.”
Ma smiles faintly, unoffended. “At least you’re marrying. I’d almost given up hope.”
I blink, surprised by her teasing tone. “You say that like I’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”
She arches an elegant brow. “You might as well have. Thirty years old and still deflecting every rishta I’ve shown you.”
Yagini grins. “That’s because he already liked someone, Ma.”
I close my eyes briefly. “Choti.”
She feigns innocence. “What? It’s true. Everyone knows you have a soft spot for her. You can’t hide that golden retriever face when she’s around. Which, by the way, no one would believe considering you are the grumpiest man ever.”
I lean forward, voice low. “You are never mentioning that again. Especially not in front of her.”
Ma chuckles, hiding her amusement behind her cup. “You like her, then?”
The word like feels too small, but I nod. “I always have.”
Yagini squeals like a ten-year-old. “I knew it!”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Can we please behave like adults for at least one conversation?”
“Adults?” she echoes. “Says the man who just turned someone else’s wedding into his own.”
“Enough,” Ma chides gently, though she’s smiling too. “Let your brother breathe.”
Yagini huffs but falls silent, flopping back onto the sofa.
Ma looks at me again, her gaze sharper now. “Are you sure, Dhruv?”
The question lingers in the air, heavier than her tone.
I nod once. “Yes.”
She studies me, the way only a mother can—like she’s peeling back every layer I try to hide behind.“You told me once you’d never marry.” Ma’s words hang between us.
My fingers trace the rim of my untouched tea, the porcelain smooth against my skin. I did say that. I said it like a vow, like a shield. Because I saw what marriage did to her—the way Father’s voice could silence a room, the way Ma’s laughter faded into careful smiles, the way her opinions became echoes of his. I saw how love could curl into control, how devotion could become a cage.
Yagini’s teasing grin slips, her eyes flickering to Ma. The air thickens.
