Poorvi suddenly claps her hands. “Okay, enough overthinking. Let’s fix your dupatta one last time and take a few photos before you get smothered by relatives.”
“Great. My favorite part.”
They both laugh, and the room fills with warmth again.
As they help me adjust the veil, I catch my reflection once more. This time, I try to see what they see. Maybe not perfection, but strength. Not confidence, but courage pretending to be confidence.
“Ready?” Bhabhi-sa asks.
I nod, even though my heart’s hammering against my ribs.
As they walk me towards the door, the weight of the lehenga makes every step deliberate. The faint sound of drums fromoutside reaches me—the baraat must have arrived. My palms are sweating, and my throat feels tight.
What if I’m making a mistake?
What if this is how people settle—not because it’s right, but because they’re too afraid to wait for something better?
The thought lingers, heavy and uninvited, as I walk through the corridor toward the hall. The walls are lined with portraits of ancestors—kings, queens, people who probably made braver choices than I ever have.
And yet, here I am, walking in their footsteps, wrapped in red and uncertainty.
At the doorway, I pause, catching my breath.
Poorvi leans close and whispers, “You’ve got this.”
Bhabhi-sa squeezes my hand. “Trust yourself.”
I look up, at the golden lights, the sea of guests waiting beyond the curtain, and the faint hum of the shehnai.
For a moment, I forget the anxiety, the noise, the expectations.
All I feel is the heartbeat in my chest—fast, uneven, alive.
And maybe that’s enough for now.
Because for all my doubts, one thing remains certain.This may not be the fairytale I dreamed of. But it’s the story I’m already in.
And whatever comes next, I’ll face it—one breath, one step, one imperfect smile at a time.
The Almost
DHRUV
The palace looks like it’s been dipped in gold.
Light spills from every chandelier, laughter echoes through every corridor, and the scent of roses, incense, and something sugary-sweet lingers in the air like a spell meant to make everyone forget their worries. It’s working on almost everyone.
Except me.
Weddings are supposed to be joyous, but the thing no one tells you about attending the wedding of the woman you love—without her ever knowing—is that every smiling face feels like a mirror reflecting everything you’ll never have.
I take a deep breath and tug at my sherwani collar, forcing a polite smile when one of Devraj’s ministers greets me with an unnecessarily loud “Raja Dhruv, long time!” I shake his hand, exchange a few words, and move on before anyone notices that my head’s somewhere else entirely.
I’m here to help Devraj—my best friend, my brother in everything but blood—keep things running smoothly. It’s what I do best: handle details, fix problems, make chaos look like a ceremony. But today, even my discipline feels tested.
Because she’s getting married.
Sitara.
