CHAPTER 58
ANIKA
The moment we step into the wedding hall, all hell breaks loose. I barely have time to adjust the edge of my pallu before a sea of people swarm toward us.
Maa’s voice rings out first—sharp, panicked, relieved. “Where the hell were you two?!” She’s already halfway to us, her eyes flickering from Aarav to me and back like she can’t decide whether to hug us or strangle us.
“For a second, I thought Aarav ran away,” she mutters.
I actually chuckle. Aarav wraps an arm protectively around me and says, “We had to take care of something, Maa. But you should know—your son won’t ever leave his wife at the altar.”
He says it so smoothly, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world (it might be, but it still makes my heart skip a beat). His voice is soft but steady, laced with that quiet pride he always carries when he talks about me. And God, it does something weird to my heart.
Everyone hushes as the panditji clears his throat and announces, “Time's running out; let's start the ceremony."
And just like that, the noise dies down.
The air thickens with emotion and age-old meanings.
I take Aarav’s hand instinctively, and together we walk toward the mandap.
The marigold strands sway gently, the sacred fire already crackling to life.
I can feel the heat of it against my cheeks—or maybe it’s just the heaviness in my chest.
The wedding music plays softly in the background, and all I can think about is this is it.
This is the moment I used to imagine when I was younger, wrapped in fairy lights and fantasies.
Only, I never thought I’d get here like this—heart heavy, eyes full, but hand in hand with the only man I’ve ever wanted to walk through fire with.
We sit, Panditji begins the chants, reciting verses that sound like poetry I don’t fully understand, but somehow feel in my bones. The pandit ji looks at me and says, “Bride’s father, step up for Kanyadaan.”
Everything stops. My breath hitches. I look to the side.
There’s no father here. Just an empty space beside me where he should’ve been.
But I have never been blessed with a father.
A real father. My eyes sting. Mumma reaches out, her hand shaking slightly as she holds my wrist. Her chin trembles, but she tries so hard to smile.
I know what it costs her. To sit here. To be both mother and father. To let go and still hold on.
Then a voice—familiar, warm, and teasing—breaks the silence. “I’ll do it.” I turn my head, eyes widening as I stare at Rudraksh bhaiya. He has a soft smile, and Bhabhi is trying to smile, but the tears spill from her eyes.
“What?” I blink at him, unsure if I heard right.
He walks toward us, fixing his sherwani like this is the most normal thing in the world. “You’ve always annoyed me like Aditi.”
Aditi gasps beside him. “Bhai! I’m not annoying!”
Everyone laughs—including the panditji. Rudraksh bhaiya gives her a quick look and then kneels beside me. His voice drops, just enough for me to hear.
“You’re my little sister, Anika. Maybe not by blood. But you’re ours. And I’ll give you away only because I know the idiot sitting beside you deserves you.”
My lips tremble. Shivani bhabhi sniffles and wipes her tears. “He’s not always this nice, but I am so proud you are trying Rudra," she says, and we all chuckle through the tears while Bhaiya narrows his eyes playfully at her.
As Rudraksh bhaiya places my hand in Aarav’s, his grip is steady and solid. “You better take care of her,” he says firmly.
Aarav meets his eyes. “I swear I’ll love her the way she deserves and protect her like my life depends on it—because it does.”
My breath catches. We move into the rest of the rituals— pheras, mangal sutra, sindoor —every moment thick with meaning.
With history. With us. I feel the warmth of the fire and the weight of the vows.
Aarav’s fingers brush against mine during the saptapadi, and I squeeze back—harder than I mean to. He just smiles. Like he knows.
And just like that, I’m married. Again. But for real this time.
When we rise from the mandap, the elders line up. We touch everyone’s feet—Maa, Badi Maa, Mumma, and Dada ji. Aarav keeps me close the whole time, his hand steady at the small of my back.
As we finish taking blessings, I glance at Aarav.
He leans in just slightly and whispers in my ear, “So, Mrs. Aarav Malhotra... ready for forever?”
I smile, heart swelling. “I’ve been ready since the moment I saved you from that closet.” I smirk. He laughs, soft and private. And I know this laugh will echo for the rest of my life.
I’m home. And I’m his. Finally. Thank you, God, for giving me everything I ever needed.