She shrugs. “I told you, I’m psychic.”
Ma laughs softly, shaking her head. “She’s dramatic, but she’s not wrong. Go change, Dhruv. You’re getting married today.”
The words settle over me, heavy and tender at once.
I’m getting married.
Not because of politics or obligation. Not because it’s expected.
But because when I saw Sitara sitting alone under those lights—her laughter gone, her fire dimmed—I realized I couldn’t bear to watch her face that silence alone.
I turn toward the door again, and for the first time in years, my steps feel certain.
As I reach for the handle, Ma’s voice follows me, soft and steady.
“Dhruv?”
I pause. “Yes, Ma?”
She smiles gently. “I’m proud of you.”
The words hit deeper than I expect. I nod once, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Thank you, Ma.”
Outside, the corridor is alive with quiet activity again—staff whispering, lamps being lit, garlands replaced. The same chaos that started this day now hums with a different energy.
I walk through it slowly, the scent of marigold and sandalwood thick in the air.
In a few hours, I’ll stand in that same mandap again—but this time, there’ll be no waiting, no running.
This time, there’ll just be her. And that feels like exactly where I’m meant to be.
Meeting the Royals
SITARA
If nerves could kill, I would’ve been declared dead before noon. Twice.
I sit at the edge of a velvet sofa, knees pressed tightly together, palms slick with sweat even though the air conditioner hums softly in the background. The heavy bridal jewelry digs into my collarbones, the bangles clink every time I move, and my dupatta has decided to slide down my shoulder for the fifty-seventh time in ten minutes.
And the worst part? I can’t even fix it properly, because my hands are shaking.
Meher bhabhi-sa leans close, whispering, “Stop fidgeting, Sitara. You look like you’re about to go into battle.”
“Iamabout to go into battle,” I hiss under my breath. “You don’t know what it’s like to meet your almost-mother-in-law and sister-in-law on the same day you got abandoned at the mandap and agreed to marry someone else.”
Poorvi hides her laugh behind her hand. “You make it sound like a Netflix drama.”
I glare at her, but the corners of my lips twitch anyway. “If Netflix made this, they’d cancel it after one episode. Too much chaos.”
Before they can reply, the attendant by the door clears his throat. “Rajmata Jyotika Devi and Rajkumari Yagini have arrived.”
I freeze.
Oh God.
Here we go.
Poorvi squeezes my hand once before she and Bhabhi-sa stand to leave. “You’ll be fine,” she says, smiling. “They’re nice. I promise.”
