Chapter 39
Dawn prayers to Kuldevi had always marked the beginning of an Anand wedding.
Before the groom stepped into his role as a husband. Before the baraat. Before fire and vows. He came first to the family temple and bowed before the goddess who had watched over the Anand bloodline for generations.
It was never just a ritual.
It carried a promise.
The groom prayed for happiness in marriage, for the strength to protect the woman entering his home, for prosperity across both families, for children, for continuity, for blessings strong enough to stand against whatever life placed in their path.
Abhinav stood at the entrance while Pandit ji prepared the ritual.
Sarita came to his side, her hand resting against his back. “Are you ready?”
He nodded and they walked forward together.
Pandit ji gestured toward the place before the sacred fire meant for the groom. Abhinav sat cross-legged before the kund. Sarita settled beside him.
Four days ago, he had stood in this same courtyard and called the goddess nothing more than stone. He had threatened to tear the temple apart with his own hands if Meera was taken from him.
Then came the woman in the red saree and belief stopped being simple.
He hadn’t seen his car since. The keys lay on the table beside his bed upstairs. The proof of a night his mind still failed to understand fully.
Pandit ji began the chants.
Ancient mantras rose through the courtyard. At first Abhinav heard every word clearly. Then the words dissolved into rhythm, into sounds older than language itself.
The fire grew stronger.
Heat brushed his skin in slow waves while the morning air stayed cool. Behind him, the Haveli moved through its wedding morning. Footsteps. Voices. Utensils clinking together.
One by one, the sounds faded.
They did not vanish.
They drifted away until only the chants remained. Even those no longer felt outside him. They moved through his chest. Through his breath. Through the hollow places grief had carved over the past months.
“The groom will close his eyes and pray for his marriage, his wife, and the generations yet to come.”
Abhinav folded his hands and closed his eyes.
Darkness came first. Then warmth. Sunlight spread across stone floors.
And his father stood before him.
Alive.
That was the first thing that shattered him.
Not sick. Not lying in a hospital bed fighting for breath. Not reduced by pain.
Alive.
Rajendra Kumar Anand stood in a cream kurta, shoulders straight, eyes warm, looking exactly the way Abhinav remembered before illness stole pieces of him month after month.
For a second, Abhinav became a child again. Because fathers do not return after you lose them.
His throat closed.
His father smiled at him with pride. The same look from every milestone. First rank. First trophy. First presentation.
That look.
That unbearable look.
As if his son had always been the easiest person in the world to love.
Abhinav struggled to breathe. This was the grief he had never given words to. His father was not meant to leave so soon. He was not meant to miss this day.
That ache had lived inside him without a name, buried so deep he had stopped touching it.
Rajendra stepped closer. His hand came to Abhinav’s head.
A blessing.
Warmth rushed through him. His chest tightened. Eyes burned. Hands trembled.
It felt as though somebody had reached into his soul and returned a missing piece.
His father touched his hair once, just as he had in childhood.
Abhinav nearly broke under that touch.
No matter how old a man becomes, there remains one part of him that still wants his father’s hand on his head on the biggest day of his life.
“Abhinav, my son. I am proud of you. Be happy, always.”
Tears slipped from his closed eyes.
His father smiled again. Soft. Full of peace. He raised a hand and blew him a playful kiss. Affection so deep that a broken laugh escaped Abhinav through his tears.
Then he noticed her.
The woman in the red saree stood a few steps away, watching them. Recognition moved through him.
She looked at him as a mother would look at a child who had found his way back.
His father glanced toward her once. Both began to fade into light. The warmth left with them, inch by inch.
Abhinav opened his eyes.
The fire burned before him. Pandit ji continued the chants. Sarita’s hand remained against his back.
Nothing in the courtyard had changed. Everything inside him had.
Tears moved down his face.
He bowed his head before the goddess. Not out of duty. But because gratitude gave him no other choice.
For the first time since his father’s death, Abhinav did not feel alone. He felt held.
The Wedding
People filled every corner of Anand Mahal. Relatives from Jaipur. Udaipur. Delhi. Old business associates.
Yet everything felt distant to him.
Abhinav stood inside the mandap, waiting.
Thakur of Anand Mahal.
Today, he looked every inch of it.
The ivory sherwani sat sharply across his broad frame. The sword rested at his side, adding to the authority already written into him. The pagdi marked him with lineage and power.
Then the air changed. A hush spread through the gathering. Heads turned.
Meera walked in.
And Abhinav’s breath slowed.
A canopy of flowers swayed above her as her cousins guided her forward. Her mother walked beside her, with Ishani and Divya close behind.
Deep red lehenga. Gold embroidery spread across the fabric in patterns he remembered from the first time she had tried it on.
But this… nothing could have prepared him for this. Because now she wore it as his bride.
A beautiful choker, his family heirloom, sat around her throat. Her dupatta covered her head. Light followed each step.
Abhinav forgot Pandit ji. Forgot the guests. Forgot the sacred fire.
‘God. My wife.’
The word settled into him with force.
Her steps slowed near the mandap. Her breath caught. Her fingers tightened over the fabric of her lehenga.
She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.
The pagdi. The authority. The weight of Anand Mahal resting across his shoulders with ease.
He stood there powerful, untouchable, and entirely hers.
Abhinav stepped down first. His hand rose to her face without hesitation.
The crowd watched.
His palm rested against her cheek. His thumb brushed once below her eye, slow enough to feel the tremor passing through her. He lowered his forehead to hers.
“You are killing me standing here looking like this,” he murmured low enough for only her to hear.
Her lips parted softly. Colour deepened across her cheeks.
From behind them, Vikram’s voice cut in, full of drama. “Done. Finished. Cremated. Our corporate emperor has fallen.”
Naina snorted. “Please. Bhai stopped functioning the second Bhabhi made her entrance.”
Laughter spread across the mandap. Even Meera smiled through the nerves rising inside her.
Abhinav turned toward them, warning clear in his expression.
Vikram raised both hands at once. “No disrespect, Thakur Sa. We fully support emotional collapse in love.”
Naina nodded with mock seriousness. “Historic moment for the Anand family.”
“Naina,” Sarita spoke with fond exasperation, shaking her head. “Let him breathe for one minute.”
Naina only grinned.
Abhinav ignored all of them. His fingers closed around Meera’s hand as he led her to the mandap.
Pandit ji resumed the mantras.
Devendra stepped forward. He took Meera’s hand in both of his. His eyes rose once to Abhinav’s pagdi before returning to his daughter. He swallowed the effect this moment was having on him.
Then he placed Meera’s hand into Abhinav’s.
Abhinav’s grip closed around her, firm, responsible.
Devendra’s eyes paused on that hold. He stepped back without a word.
The Phere began. Seven circles around the sacred fire. Seven vows.
Meera’s lehenga brushed across white rose petals scattered over the floor. Abhinav walked ahead, his hand locked around hers the entire time.
Each vow pulled his attention deeper toward her until nothing remained beyond the woman beside him and the fire witnessing them.
Then the mangalsutra.
He lifted it carefully before leaning in. He took it with care and leaned in. His fingers touched the back of her neck as he fastened it. Black and gold beads rested against her skin.
‘Married.’
His eyes remained there a moment longer than needed.
Then the sindoor.
Pandit ji placed the silver container in his hand.
Abhinav dipped his thumb into the deep red powder and brought it to her.
She lowered her eyes.
He filled the parting of her hair in one deliberate stroke.
‘Wife.’
The word settled deep, powerful, absolute.
The final mantra rose.
“I now declare you husband and wife.”
Rose petals burst across the courtyard. Cheers followed. Flowers rained from every side while applause filled Anand Mahal.
Naina screamed first. Vikram joined her without shame. Raghav, Ishani and Divya looked exhausted by both of them.
Meera startled as petals fell into her lap and over her veil. Abhinav no longer heard the noise. His wife sat beside him, covered in roses, his mangalsutra resting against her skin.
‘Mine.’
He reached for her hand again, their fingers intertwined.
Sarita arrived first through tears she no longer cared to hide. She cupped Abhinav’s face and pressed a kiss to his forehead, pride clear in her eyes.
Then she drew Meera into her arms. “My daughter.”
Naina came next, pulling Meera into a tight embrace. “You are trapped with us now. No refunds. No exchanges.”
Vikram pointed toward Abhinav. “Too late anyway. Look at him. He would destroy economies before returning his wife.”
Laughter broke out again.
Abhinav did not deny it.