The Deceit

CHAPTER 30

SIMRAN

Next Morning

Last night, I couldn’t stop myself from spiralling—fretting over how I was going to cope with all the new changes in my life. But once again, Vishnu became my anchor, as always. He didn’t offer grand promises or solutions. Instead, he just held me close throughout the night, wrapping his arms around me. His steady heartbeat and his gentle reminder to take things one day at a time was enough to calm the storm in my mind. Somehow, just being in his arms gave me strength, as if I could face anything and everything, steadily drawing reassurance from his presence. And it worked.

This morning, though my fears still linger at the back of my mind, they feel less daunting. Something inside me has shifted. It’s as if I know, with Vishnu by my side, there’s little to worry about. After all, the future isn’t built on fear but on how we handle our present. And my present? It’s beautiful beyond my wildest dreams.

As I wake up to the soft morning sunlight filtering into our room, I remind myself how lucky I am. Not everyone gets the chance to marry the same man twice—once in New York, with just us and Veer, and now again, with his entire family here to bless us. This day has to be special. It already is.

When I head downstairs with Vishnu for breakfast, I notice a discussion happening at the table. As we take a seat, Pratap uncle turns to my side.

“Simran, have you invited anyone from your side of the family to be part of the wedding rituals today?”

The question catches me slightly off guard. The relatives I have in India are mere names in an address book—people who never bothered to be part of my life after my parents passed away. For me, they’ve always been distant, both physically and emotionally. And I don’t feel the need to bridge that gap now. Clearing my throat, I shake my head.

“No… I don’t have anyone close to invite.”

My reply saddens everyone at the table, and for a moment, the lively energy dims. But then, Meher speaks up.

“If Simran has no one from her side to do her kanyadaan , Ayaan and I would be honoured to do it.”

The entire table goes quiet, and I’m sure everyone is as surprised as I am. I blink rapidly, not knowing how to react.

Kanyadaan, in Hindu tradition, means “giving away the daughter,” where parents entrust their daughter to her husband in marriage. It’s seen as the highest form of daan (charity), and the person performing it blesses the couple with a life full of love, prosperity, and harmony. For Meher to offer to take on this role for me—it’s deeply moving and overwhelming.

This is the same Meher who’s been keeping her distance from me all this while. And yet, here she is, willingly stepping forward to take on one of the most sacred rituals in a wedding. That too my wedding.

Her father beams with pride.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Meher. You’ve been Simran’s best friend for years, and it was in her boutique that you and Ayaan first crossed paths. Your love story began there, so it’s only fitting that you and Ayaan take on this revered responsibility.”

I glance at Vishnu, and my heart melts. He’s looking at his sister with gratitude and pride in his eyes. His expression says everything I can’t put into words.

Overwhelmed, I turn to Meher.

“Thank you, Meher. Truly, this means the world to me.”

Her eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I catch a glimpse of my old friend.

“Kanyadaan is sacred,” she says simply. “And moreover, you’re going to be my brother’s wife. My bhabhi. Of course, Ayaan and I can do that much for both of you.”

Her kind words touch my heart. No matter how upset she is with me, the reality is that she’s still here, doing everything she can to make my best day even better. That’s what best friends do for each other—they help out when it matters most—without hesitation or a second thought.

As breakfast is nearly done and Meher turns to leave, I catch her arm and pull her into a tight hug. She stiffens at first, surprised, and though I can feel her arms twitch as if wanting to hug me back, she doesn’t.

“Thank you, Meher,” I murmur against her shoulder before pulling back. “I know I’ve hurt you badly, but I promise—I’ll do whatever it takes to win your and Devika’s friendship back.”

Her lips part as if to say something, and for a moment, I see a glimmer of the warmth we once shared. And just as she seems on the verge of giving in, Devika’s voice cuts in.

“Meher, we have a lot to prepare before heading to the temple,” she says briskly. “And Simran, you’re riding with us. We’ll help you get ready here, with any final touches at the temple if needed.”

Meher steps back, her usual composed mask sliding back into place. “Let’s hurry then. Time is running out.”

As Meher and Devika walk away, engrossed in their discussion about the last-minute preparations, I feel a pang of sadness. Their hesitation to forgive me stings far more than I am willing to admit. Sighing, I turn toward the stairs, only to be stopped by the news playing on the TV.

The screen flashes with a segment about Vishnu’s press meet yesterday, where he disclosed our marriage and Veer’s existence to the public. The reporter spares no opportunity to speculate on my intentions, painting me as an opportunist who kept secrets for personal gain. I stand frozen, every word hitting me like a blow. I’d prepared myself for this kind of backlash, but hearing it aloud and seeing it spread like wildfire—it’s something else entirely. My chest tightens as doubt creeps in. What if all of this affects Vishnu’s reputation in the political world, especially now, just as he’s about to step into his new role as party president?

The TV suddenly goes black. I look around and see Vishnu put the remote away and head towards me.

“Veer is with Dad. I’ll take care of getting him dressed,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. “Don’t worry about anything else.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” My voice quivers. “The media won’t let this go. They’ll keep speculating, and it’s going to affect you. Your role, your reputation…”

Tears sting my eyes, but before they can fall, Vishnu steps forward and cups my face, his thumbs gently wiping them away.

“We can’t change the past, Simran,” he says gently, his voice steady and reassuring. “What we can do is focus on the present. Just ignore what we can’t control and move forward. Today is special—let’s not allow anything to ruin it.”

His words hit home. Dwelling on the past will only poison our present—and I won’t let that happen to the people who truly care about me.

“Are you heading upstairs, or should I transport you there?” His eyes twinkle mischievously.

I laugh. “You wouldn’t dare... not here—”

Before I can finish, I’m in his arms, clutching his shirt as he carries me toward the stairs.

“Vishnu! Put me down! Someone might see!”

“Let them. You are my wife. It’s my right,” he murmurs possessively.

I can’t resist nuzzling against his stubbled jaw, inhaling his familiar scent.

“I never pegged you for such a romantic.”

When I playfully nip his cheek, his grip tightens.

“Do that again,” he warns, voice low and husky, “and I’ll show you how romantic I am. Just don’t complain when you’re sore later.”

My giggle echoes in the hallway as he sets me down inside our bedroom, his hands lingering at my waist.

“Oh! I almost forgot to ask—what is your favourite colour?”

His brow furrows in thought. “Hmm… I’ve never really thought about it...”

“Come on, Vishnu,” I press, smoothing my hands over his chest. “Everyone has a favourite colour. Even you—Vishnu Walia, the mission-driven protector of the family—must have one.”

After a moment, a soft smile touches his lips.

“When I was small, my mother had this maroon saree. I remember that she looked divine in it. So... maroon, I suppose.” His eyes meet mine. “Why do you ask?”

I grin wickedly.

“Just planning my lingerie selection for tonight.” My fingers trail down his chest. “Though it’s a shame you won’t get to see it—I still haven’t forgiven you for the Zane situation.”

His hands slide to my hips, pulling me flush against him.

“How much longer will you torture me?”

“Until I find a new fashion consultant to replace him.”

He groans, the sound vibrating through me as he nips at my neck. “You don’t mean that...”

“I mean every word…” I gasp, but before either of us can take it further, a knock at the door interrupts us.

It’s Meher. She casually opens the door without realising what she’s walking into, her eyes widening when she sees us tangled together.

“Oh… I am sorry!” she stutters, quickly turning away. “The door was unlocked... I just came to help Simran dress...”

Vishnu clears his throat, adorably flustered at being caught by his sister. He heads for the door where she is standing and looks at her.

“You didn’t see anything, okay?” he says sternly.

Meher’s lips twitch.

“I’m sure what I saw wasn’t even 1% of what you two get up to. So don’t worry, brother. Chill!”

He pinches her cheek affectionately before leaving, throwing me one last smouldering look that promises this isn’t over.

As Meher enters the room, I can see the curiosity in her eyes. She’s clearly itching to know about the nature of our relationship, fighting the innate urge to gossip with her friend. But the tension between us holds her back. I watch her busy herself with my wedding outfit, stealing glances at me when she thinks I’m not looking. I smile inwardly. Things will go back to the way they used to be. Until then, all I can do is wait.