Chapter 26
Meera woke before the alarm.
She lay still, eyes open, feeling the difference. The same room. The same ceiling. The same pale dawn through the curtains.
And yet… nothing was the same.
She was learning how to sit with it.
The balloon. The open sky. His hands framing her face. Her yes. The lift as he spun her, their laughter spilling into the endless sky.
The drive home. His hand finding hers across the console, fingers intertwined with ease, as if there had never been a version of them that did not fit together this way.
The car had stopped at the gate.
He had turned toward her. His hand at her face, her chin lifting on instinct. His mouth on hers. Different this time. Slower. Deeper. Her hand had found his chest and stayed there.
And very clearly, in the middle of it, she had thought, ‘oh.’
Now, in the silence of her room, she pressed her face into the pillow. Heat spread through her with no place to go.
Then memory shifted.
The gate. Everyone waited. It had caught her off guard. The sudden awareness of everything. Of him. Of herself. Of every glance. His hand at her back. Her own face refused to behave with any dignity.
Sarita stood composed, glowing. Naina on the edge of bursting. Her parents side by side, her mother’s hands pressed to her chest.
They had bent for blessings.
She had reached for Sarita’s feet and been pulled up at once, drawn into an embrace that left her smiling into her shoulder.
Naina came next, spinning her once, talking so fast she had understood nothing and everything at once.
Her mother’s hands on her face. Tears she did not try to hide. Her father’s arms, firm, his chest rising once.
She smiled, pressing the pillow harder against her face. Then, she sat up abruptly.
‘Enough.’
She swung her feet to the floor, smoothed her hair, and walked to the small photograph of Kul Devi on the shelf. Her hands came together.
“Maa, I don’t know where to begin.”
The goddess, predictably, said nothing.
“He kissed me. In the balloon. And again in the car. I am completely fine and absolutely not thinking about it.”
Heat rose to her cheeks.
“I am thinking about it constantly.”
Her lips pressed together as she looked at her hands.
“Thank you. For everything. For sending him here. For those seven days. For the spring. For the rain. For the courtyard.”
A soft exhale.
“I know I complained during the process. I stand by the complaints. It was a lot. But the outcome is…”
She stopped. A shy smile touched her face.
“The outcome is him. So, thank you.”
She lowered her hands, dressed, and stepped out.
The familiar morning routine wrapped around her. Lamps lit. Flowers set in place. Devotees arrived as the sun rose. She moved through each task with ease, as she always had.
Yet people lingered when they looked at her. Smiles deepened. Blessings came with extra warmth, as if they sensed a change they could not name.
When the last devotee left, she sat on the cool marble floor, hands coming together again.
‘Maa, I have a problem.’
The flame flickered gently.
‘He proposed. I said yes. We are getting married. I forgot to ask where we will live.’
The thought had come between the second kiss and sleep. It had stayed. His life stood in Dubai. His work. Everything he had built. He had said he wanted to marry her. He had not spoken of Jaipur.
‘I trust him. I do. Completely.’
Her fingers pressed together.
‘I would also like to know if I am expected to leave you. And this Haveli. And everything I have ever known.’
Nothing answered.
‘This feels like information I should have gathered before saying yes.’
She sat with that. Then, a little sharper… ‘You could have reminded me.’
The flame did not react.
‘I was right there. In the balloon. You had full visibility. One small sign would have helped. One drone. Slight adjustment. Where will you live, Meera? That would have been useful.’
The goddess remained entirely uncooperative. Meera exhaled.
‘Fine. I will ask him. Directly. When I see him.’
“Meera Didi!” Rajan appeared at the entrance, breath uneven, hands folded but barely containing his excitement.
“Thakurain Sa is calling you. Rajpurohit ji has arrived.” His grin widened. “Wedding dates.”
Meera rose and smoothened her kurta. Her gaze returned once more to the goddess.
‘We are not finished.’
She turned and walked out.
◆◆◆
The family sitting room was full when Meera entered.
Sarita sat at the centre, composed as ever. Naina beside her, restless, excited. Rajpurohit ji occupied the low table, almanac open before him.
Her parents sat close to Sarita. Devendra upright, hands firm on his knees. Gauri with her fingers folded in her lap, both of them holding themselves carefully, keeping their emotions in check.
Abhinav sat across the room. His eyes found her the moment she stepped in. A place beside him had been left empty. Intentionally.
Meera bent to touch Sarita’s feet. Sarita caught her hands and drew her down to sit beside her instead.
Abhinav’s jaw tightened. Naina saw it. And very deliberately looked away before she laughed.
Meera pressed her lips together and placed her hands in her lap.
“Now that everyone is present,” Rajpurohit ji began, adjusting his glasses, “we may consider the auspicious dates.”
Pages turned.
“The engagement…”
“Let’s combine it,” Abhinav cut in, mildly, as if suggesting tea over coffee.
Rajpurohit ji paused mid-motion.
Sarita turned toward her son slowly. “Beta,” her tone carried a warning wrapped in elegance, “traditions…”
“Are meant to be respected,” Abhinav concluded with ease. “Not stretched without reason.”
Naina choked on nothing. Devendra looked down very suddenly. Gauri’s fingers tightened.
Rajpurohit ji cleared his throat. “It is customary to…”
“Have two ceremonies,” Abhinav nodded. “One to formalise. One to complete.”
He leaned back slightly, entirely at ease. “We will formalise and complete on the same day.”
Silence settled across the room.
Sarita watched him long enough for him to know she was deciding to refuse.
He met her gaze. Unhurried. Respectful. Unmoving.
“Maa,” he added, softer now, “you always say auspiciousness comes from intention as much as timing. But if there is a religious or astrological need, we will follow it. Rajpurohit ji?”
Sarita’s eyes narrowed, very slightly.
Rajpurohit ji hesitated, then surrendered with dignity. “No such requirement. Only custom.”
“Excellent.”
Naina’s shoulders shook as she tried to contain herself.
Sarita did not spare her a glance. “You are negotiating.”
“I am optimising.”
That did it. Naina buried her face in her hands.
Rajpurohit ji flipped pages again, now with the caution of a man choosing survival. “There is… a muhurat. Two weeks from now. Very strong.”
Abhinav inclined his head. “That will do.”
“That will do?” Naina blinked, her mind racing ahead through decorations, outfits, chaos.
Sarita’s lips curved for a moment before she exhaled. “Fine.”
The word settled into place.
Devendra looked up. Gauri released a breath she had been holding.
“It is decided then,” Rajpurohit ji confirmed. “Engagement and wedding together. Two weeks.”
“Two weeks,” Naina breathed, as if witnessing history.
Meera had not moved. Her pulse had.
‘Two weeks.’
Her eyes lifted and met his.
He was already watching her. There was an inevitability in his expression, as if he had simply aligned the world with what he had already chosen.
Heat rose to her face.
She lowered her eyes again.
“Devendra ji,” Sarita continued, seamless, “you will not worry yourselves with arrangements. Everything will be taken care of.”
Gauri’s composure wavered.
Devendra straightened. “Thakurain Sa, we couldn’t…”
“You can,” Sarita answered, gentle yet firm. “And you will.”
“And until the wedding,” she added, glancing once at her son, “the bride and groom meet only in the presence of elders. As tradition requires.”
“Of course,” Abhinav replied, far too easily.
Naina made another sound. Meera pressed her lips together again.
Sarita turned to her. “Meera?”
Meera nodded. “Ji, Maa Ji.”
She didn’t look at him. Felt his gaze on her anyway.
◆◆◆
By afternoon, the Haveli had transformed.
Storage rooms opened. Silver vessels came out, polished until they mirrored the sun. Trunks unlocked. Lists formed, dissolved, formed again.
Rooms cleared. Mattresses spread across floors. Fresh linens shaken out and laid in the sun.
The kitchens followed. Rations doubled, then rose again, preparing for a house that would soon hold more life than usual.
In the gardens, men stood in clusters, debating bloom cycles. Which flowers would peak in time. Which would last. Which must be cut now. Which must wait for the exact morning.
Through all of it, Sarita moved without pause. Every step purposeful. Every decision immediate. No time wasted, because her son had given her none.
The next morning, the jeweller arrived.
His case required two men to carry.
Meera sat cross-legged on the floor while Sarita tried piece after piece against her, adjusting, assessing, deciding.
Naina circled them, restless, bright with energy that refused to settle. Her pencil moved rapidly across her sketchbook, new designs appearing faster than thought.
“This one.” Sarita lifted a kundan set to Meera’s throat.
“Too heavy.” Naina cut in. “Save it, Maa. She needs movement.”
Pages flipped.
“I have it.” She turned the sketch toward Meera. “Bhabhi, look.”
Meera studied it. “It’s beautiful.”
“Of course it is.” Naina turned to the jeweller. “Can you make this in ten days?”
The jeweller hesitated. “I can try…”
“Don’t try.” Naina’s tone remained pleasant. Absolute. “Do it.”
Meera pressed her lips together and reached for the bangles in front of her, studying them far more seriously than necessary.
By afternoon, choices multiplied.
Invitations. Threadwork. The shade of marigold at the entrance. The border of the main thali.
Each time she hesitated, Sarita remained calm. “You must choose, Meera. This is your wedding.”
By the fifth decision, hesitation faded.
By evening, she stopped noticing when Naina called her Bhabhi.
The next day, fabric merchants arrived.
Three of them.
Bolts of cloth spread across the sitting room floor. Yellow bright as morning sun. Deep blue, cool and rich. Rose with gold so fine it seemed to breathe.
Naina moved through it all without pause.
“This for the haldi.” Yellow draped across Meera’s shoulder.
“This for the sangeet.” Blue followed.
“And this…” She held the rose fabric, eyes lighting. “Bhabhi, don’t refuse before you touch it.”
Meera touched it. She did not refuse.
Sarita watched from her chair, content, living a moment she had imagined for years.
Between colour and texture, between choices that kept multiplying, Meera found him.
Abhinav.
Sometimes outside the room, leaning against the doorframe. Sometimes across the people surrounding her.
He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t call her over. Didn’t cross the distance. He stayed. Whenever their eyes met, she looked away first.
The next evening, habit pulled her toward the temple.
She had meant to go earlier. Promised herself she would. Days had blurred into each other, preparations filling every hour. The temple had continued without her.
Her father stood there. He finished with the last devotee, looked up, and beckoned her forward.
They moved into the aarti together. The rhythm settled her. For a few moments, there was only flame, breath, prayer.
When it ended, her hand reached for the next task out of habit.
His fingers tapped lightly against her head. “Meera.”
She looked up.
“Stop worrying. A wedding happens once. Enjoy it.”
“Babuji, I just…”
“I am here.” His voice softened. “I have always been here. I will manage.”
His hand remained, warm, grounding. “You do not have to carry everything, not this time.”
She went silent.
He watched her, gentler now. “I am happy, beti. Not because of who you are marrying. Because of how he looks at you. Because of how you look at him.”
Her throat tightened.
He gave her head one last light tap. “Go. Before Naina Bai Sa comes searching.”
A small, helpless laugh escaped her. She stepped back.
He turned toward the temple again.
She lingered in the corridor, pressing her lips together, holding back the emotion rising too fast within her.