CHAPTER 51
AARAV
I adjust the collar of my kurta for the third time, still not happy with how it sits.
It’s a deep maroon, embroidered just enough to look celebratory but not flashy.
Maa had it custom-made. My palms are a little clammy.
Why, though? I’ve already married her. We slept with her cold feet tangled in mine every night.
I’ve kissed her senseless and argued over the most stupid things, like toothpaste brands.
I’ve even seen her stubborn self cry. But today, my heart’s acting like it’s our first time all over again.
“Are you nervous?” Rudraksh bhai leans against the doorframe, smirking.
“Or just dying to see your wife again?” Samarth adds, fixing his sleeves dramatically like he’s the one getting roka’d.
I roll my eyes, smirking. “Guys, I saw her this morning on video call, for God’s sake.”
Bhai raises a brow. “Yeah? And yet you’ve been fixing your hair like a college boy with a crush for the past ten minutes.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but I can’t fight the smile tugging at my lips.
They’re right, though. God, I do feel like a college boy with a crush.
Because when she walks in... I forget how to breathe.
Anika steps into the room in the softest shade of peach.
Her dupatta is pinned neatly to one shoulder, the border glittering gently in the evening light.
Her hair’s loose but curled at the ends, framing her face like some damn painting.
She hasn’t even looked at me yet, and I can feel my pulse skyrocket.
She turns—and smiles.
That smile. Shy, beautiful. She looks like she belongs in a frame, not in this chaotic living room filled with relatives and laughter and the scent of marigolds.
I walk toward her without even realizing my feet are moving. My eyes don't leave her face; she looks around, her cheeks turning red as someone comments that I look like I will eat her, and I might if I am given a chance.
“Are you real?” I whisper as I come to a stop, close to her but not close enough to make her feel uncomfortable or embarrassed, because I am too scared of her scolding me later for not maintaining decorum. Although, I know, secretly she loves it.
She rolls her eyes. “Behave, Mr. Groom-To-Be.” There it is. The discipline I was talking about.
“I’m trying,” I say, leaning in slightly, “but you’re making it very hard.”
She tries to glare at me, but her lips curve. Victory.
The scent of mogra clings to her. When she moves to adjust her dupatta, her bangles clink together softly. Someone clears their throat—probably Maa—and we both straighten up instantly, like teenagers caught sneaking off.
The rituals begin. Aunty applies a red tilak on my forehead, her fingers trembling just slightly as she blesses me. Maa follows, placing her hand over mine and Anika’s as if sealing us together all over again. There's something heavy and comforting in the way their love grounds us.
Badi Maa hands me a gold chain, brushing my hair affectionately as she does it. “To tie around her neck next week,” she says with a wink, and everyone laughs.
Aditi chimes in next. “Finally we get to attend your wedding! Don’t you dare elope again!
” Only if it was an elopement. But I don't say anything. Laughter echoes around the room, light and warm, but I’m just staring at Anika.
Her eyes meet mine. There’s that look—soft, warm, and certain—that she wants this.
Funny how we were already married. Well, legally divorced, but I don't count it. But somehow, this feels more real. More of us.
When the rituals are done and our mothers are busy chatting with the pandit, and everyone is busy with food, I gently nudge Anika’s elbow and lead her to the side, behind the large vase that’s doing a poor job of hiding us.
“Hey,” I say.
She raises a brow. “Yes, husband?” I groan, clutching my chest dramatically, and she laughs.
I grin. “I’ll marry you a thousand times over if that’s what it takes to keep seeing you like this.”
“Cheesy,” she comments, a blush coating her cheeks.
"I know, right," I exclaim, "I didn't know I had that in me." She smiles softly. "But I guess you do that to me.” I reach out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She stills. I love that even now, I can affect her. That she still turns into this flustered, beautiful mess when I flirt.
"Don't blame me for being an idiot, Aaru." She pulls my cheek, and I gasp.
"Did you just—" I catch her hand as she pulls it away from my cheek. "Did you just pull my cheek, Anika?"
"Yes, what are you going to do about it?" She raises an eyebrow, her eyes shining with challenge.
I lean in, whispering against her ear, "I can do a lot of things, Miss Toofan." I bite her earlobe, feeling her shudder against me. "But I don't want to die early by trying anything here." She chuckles. She definitely loves to know that she holds so much power over me.
Maa calls for us, and Anika pulls her hand from my grasp immediately, almost running away from me.
Maa gives us a disapproving look, but I can see the smile she's trying to hide, so I grin harder.
When the ceremony winds down, Anika gets ready to leave with Aunty and the others.
I walk her to the car, holding her hand just a second longer than necessary.
She turns, looks up at me, eyes warm but teasing. “Aarav?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t be late for our wedding.” Taunt. She will never let the date go. Not that I deserve it considering it was our first date.
I chuckle, reaching up to adjust her dupatta one last time. “Last time you were waiting for me on the aisle,” I say, “this time, I’ll be waiting at the mandap.”
She smiles, her eyes lighting up, she tiptoes and pecks my cheek and gets into the car, the door closing between us—but I can still feel the echo of her fingers in mine, the warmth of her presence lingering in the night air.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel completely, achingly, blissfully content.
She’s mine. Again. And I am hers. And this time, the whole world will know; there will be no formality, no time bound, no contracts, and no reason for us to marry apart from our own willingness. Now I just have to wait for a very long week. And I have no clue how I will survive that.