CHAPTER 54
ANIKA
The music is too loud, the lights too bright, and the chaos too perfect.
The mehendi artist is hunched over my hands, brows furrowed in concentration as she traces intricate vines across my palms, working with the kind of care I wish I could give my own nerves right now.
I don’t know what’s worse—trying not to move, trying not to cry from how emotional the songs are, or trying not to laugh at Aarav’s ridiculous attempts to steal glances at me from across the room like he’s in a spy movie.
I roll my eyes for what must be the tenth time today.
“Stop staring,” I mouth.
He raises an eyebrow, all mock innocence. Then shamelessly mouths back, "Can’t help it. You’re glowing."
I shake my head and look down, cheeks warming. Not because it’s new—he’s been this way since the day he decided he liked me. But because… it still gets me. Every single time.
I look at the stage as Aditi walks up to give her performance.
Desi Girl plays from the speaker, and I love how confidently she moves; her purple lehenga twirls as she moves, she looks exquisite, and I can see Rudra Bhaiya eyeing every man who’s drooling over her.
Well, they deserve it. Men feel women are objects and they have all and any rights over them.
Fortunately enough, I am marrying into a family where women are considered divine and are respected and not controlled in the name of the family’s honor.
I mean, sure, these men are protective, but they also know when to back down, so I am happy about that.
I notice Aarav walking up to me with a small plate in his hands.
“Brought food,” he says with that infuriatingly smug grin. “Because I know you haven’t eaten.”
“You know I have mehendi on both hands, right?” I glare at him.
“Exactly,” he says, getting down on his knees beside me, “you can’t feed yourself. So your dashing fiancé is here to do the honors.”
I blink. “You’re going to feed me?”
He grins wider. “Open up, dulhan.”
My eyes widen, and a blush creeps up my cheeks at the choice of his words. What the hell is wrong with him? I glance around, mildly panicked. “Aarav, people are watching!”
He leans in just slightly, voice low. “Let them. You're mine.”
Before I can argue, he carefully scoops a bit of jhalmuri with the spoon and holds it up to my mouth like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I hesitate—but my stomach growls louder than my pride, so I lean forward and take the bite.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling.
My eyes widen again. I want to smack this man, “Aarav!”
“Hmm?” he asks, casually taking the next bite from my spoon.
“Don’t say things like that in public.”
His grin only deepens. “Then stop reacting like you love it.”
Before I can retaliate, Maa appears behind him and smacks the back of his head lightly. “Aarav!” she scolds lightly. “You’re not supposed to be hovering around her like this! Let the poor girl get her mehendi done in peace.”
“I am just feeding my bride, Maa,” he exclaims.
“You’re hovering like she’s your only job in this world.” She exclaims in the same tone as Aarav.
“She is my only job,” he says smoothly, not even looking embarrassed.
Maa just rolls her eyes, muttering something about “drama king” as she walks away, and Aarav looks after her, snickering.
“Maa likes me more than she likes you,” I smile proudly.
He tilts his head and chuckles, “Can’t blame her. You are very likeable.” He winks at me, and I want to disappear as the mehandi wali giggles.
“Go away,” I whisper-yell, and he doesn’t argue, just gets up, kisses my forehead gently like he doesn’t care about anyone watching, and walks away casually. I sigh. Of course, he had to kiss my forehead.
Right in front of half the world and the mehendi artist, who now won’t stop giggling like I’m in the middle of some Bollywood scene.
Which, honestly, I sort of am. This is Bollywood-level sangeet and not normal, where choreographers start teaching you the dance months ago and you still mess up, but again, this wedding is also weird and planned in just a week, so it makes sense.
I close my eyes for a second, trying to calm the swirl of emotions inside me. Because between the blaring music, the sticky mehendi, and the stupid way he looks at me like I’m everything—my heart is doing somersaults, and it’s getting harder to play it cool.
Why does he always do this? Just when I think I’ve adjusted to his attention—to the weight of his gaze, to the certainty in his affection—he finds a new way to melt me into a puddle. A casual “you're mine,” a spoonful of jhalmuri, a forehead kiss like it’s a reflex.
He’s… so him .
And he’s mine.
Somewhere inside, that thought roots itself deep and steady.
I glance at the stage. Someone else is performing now—one of Aarav’s younger cousins dancing to London Thumakda , the kind of chaotic, high-energy song that makes every auntie join in without warning.
I chuckle under my breath as a few of them pull in a reluctant uncle and start copying the steps like backup dancers.
The living room has practically transformed into a mini stage, and the sangeet is full-on masaledaar now.
My arms are stiff, the mehendi darkening slowly; the artist moved on to my feet now. I’m stuck here for a while, and despite the soreness, I don’t mind. I can see everyone from this little throne of mine. And for the first time in days, I feel oddly… still.
Until the music cuts. A confused murmur goes around the room.
And then, the opening lines of Tumse milke Dil ka jo haal fill the air.
“Ishq mein sab kuchh mushkil hai, ishq mein sab aasaan…”
My heart stills.
I look toward the makeshift stage, eyes narrowing—just in time to see Aarav walk out into the center.
What?
He’s not holding a mic. He’s not dressed for a performance. And yet there he is, standing like he’s about to ruin me again—with nothing but his presence.
He doesn’t do choreography. Nothing too polished. Just him, swaying to the music, lips moving with the words, eyes trained on me like I’m the only thing he sees.
“Dil to hai ek raahi, jaana, dil ki tum manzil ho.
Dil to hai ek kashti, jaana, jiska tum saahil ho.”
I don’t even know when I started crying.
It’s not even a sad song. It’s just— us .
That song has followed us like a shadow since school.
From our first accidental dance at a wedding to the time I played it on loop because I was having my SRK phase like every other girl at that time.
And now… he’s dancing to it, like a promise.
Like he’s reminding me that no matter how messy things were, this —us—was always meant to happen.
My vision blurs, and I’m laughing-crying and trying not to smudge my mehendi at the same time. Mumma comes to my rescue, a soft and relieved smile on her face. I lean on her shoulder, watching this man steal my heart all over again.
He reaches the last beat of the song, stands still again, bows slightly—and blows me a kiss.
I see how aunties are looking so shocked because no one except his family has ever seen him like this—this carefree, smiling, soft being—and I take pride in saying that it’s all because of me.
I am so glad he doesn’t have to pretend to be an emotionless robot in front of me.
“Idiot.” I mutter, wiping my cheek with Mumma’s blouse.
The crowd erupts around him—hoots, whistles, and claps. But he doesn’t break his gaze from mine, like the noise doesn’t exist. Like I’m still the only person in this house full of people.
I swear, if he looks at me like that one more time, I might actually combust.
Just then, my phone vibrates on the side table next to me. Aditi, noticing, picks it up carefully and shows me the screen.
Unknown number.
I frown. She helps me swipe to open the message.
Unknown:
I warned you, sweetheart.
My entire body goes cold.
I can’t breathe for a second.
It’s not the words. It’s the timing. The nerve . On a night like this. During this moment. I thought this was over? I thought Aarav had handled Vikram, but then what is this? Whoever it is—they know. They’re watching. They want to ruin it.
Aditi sees my face and grows serious. “Anika?” she whispers. “What happened?”
A frown appears on Mumma’s face. “Everything okay, beta?”
I don’t respond. I’m already searching for him. Last time I hid it because I didn’t want to be a burden on Aarav, but now if I do so again, even after knowing that he genuinely cares for me—I will be stupid.
Aarav sees me from across the room. One look. One glance—and he’s walking toward me like nothing else matters. Like the rest of the party just fell away.
I hold out the phone with trembling fingers. He reads the message, his smile fading. And then, slowly, so slowly it’s terrifying, he looks up at me. His expression isn’t worried. It isn’t panicked. It’s furious. Controlled. Sharp.
And then he smiles. Not his usual charming smile. This one is different. Calculated. Dangerous. “It’s time to play with this bastard, Anu,” he murmurs, low enough that no one else hears. His eyes darken with something that makes even me shiver. “You do as I say, okay?”
I nod.
Because something inside me knows—he means it. This isn’t just about the two of us anymore. Someone wants to test what we have. What we’re building. What we’ve bled for. And they’re about to find out—they picked the wrong girl. And the wrong man.