Chapter 2
Ranbir
If someone had asked me a year ago where I saw myself today, getting married would have been the last thing on my list.
Marriage had never been a dream of mine.
It wasn't that I disliked the idea. I had simply never given it much thought. My work had always come first, followed by my family. Somewhere along the way, turning twenty-nine had made everyone around me believe it was the right time to settle down.
My parents certainly thought so.
"You're not getting any younger," my mother had reminded me countless times.
My father had been less dramatic.
"It's time, Ranbir."
That was all he had said.
And honestly, I knew they weren't wrong.
Our family believed in arranged marriages. My parents had built a beautiful life together despite barely knowing each other before their wedding. To them, marriage wasn't about finding the perfect person—it was about choosing to build a life together.
I respected that.
Which was why I never argued.
Then one evening, my father walked into my study with a photograph in his hand.
"I've been speaking to an old friend," he had said. "His daughter is ready for marriage."
I had taken the photograph without much interest.
The moment I looked at it, however, I froze.
Surbhi.
For a few seconds, I simply stared at the picture.
She had changed, of course.
The little girl with messy braids and paint-covered hands had grown into a graceful young woman.
But I still recognized her.
"Do you remember her?" my father had asked.
How could I not?
Our families had been close years ago.
Whenever Uncle Jha visited our house, he never came alone. Surbhi would tag along, and somehow I'd always end up playing with them.
She had been tiny compared to us.
Five years younger than me.
Always running after my brothers, trying to prove she could do everything they could.
I remembered one summer afternoon particularly well.
My mother had spread newspapers across the garden and handed all of us paintbrushes.
The adults had expected chaos.
Instead, Surbhi had become completely absorbed in painting.
While my brothers gave up within minutes to play cricket, she had stayed back, carefully mixing colors with complete concentration.
She had proudly shown me her painting afterward.
"I made the sky purple," she'd announced.
I had laughed.
"The sky isn't purple."
"It can be."
She had been so confident that I'd simply nodded.
"It can."
The memory made me smile even now.
Life, however, had a strange way of pulling people apart.
As we grew older, our families became busy with their own lives. Meetings became less frequent.
Then, one day, Surbhi simply... disappeared.
I later learned she had been sent to another city for her studies when she was around sixteen.
After that, I hardly saw her.
Only at the occasional wedding or family gathering.
Even then, she was always quiet.
Standing beside her parents.
Speaking only when someone spoke to her.
We never had a real conversation.
Years passed like that.
Two familiar strangers.
And now...
She was going to be my wife.
When my father asked if I had any objections, I looked at the photograph once more.
I didn't.
There was no reason to say no.
I knew her family.
I respected her parents.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I still remembered the stubborn little girl who insisted the sky could be purple.
So I agreed.
The meetings before the wedding had been brief.
Formal.
Predictable.
We spoke about our professions.
She answered every question politely, but there was a distance in her eyes that I couldn't quite understand.
She never smiled unless someone expected her to.
I wondered if she was simply shy.
Or if there was something she wasn't saying.
I never asked.
Perhaps I should have.
The sound of wedding music pulled me back to the present.
Everyone turned toward the entrance.
I looked up.
Surbhi had entered the hall.
For a brief moment, the crowd disappeared.
She walked slowly down the aisle, dressed in deep red and gold, every step measured, every movement graceful.
She looked beautiful.
Not because of the jewelry.
Not because of the elaborate bridal outfit.
But because there was a quiet elegance about her.
Yet something felt... off.
Most brides looked nervous.
Some looked excited.
Some couldn't stop smiling.
Surbhi looked...
Lost.
Her eyes never wandered toward the guests.
They remained lowered most of the time, lifting only once as she approached the mandap.
For the first time that day, our eyes met.
There was hesitation in hers.
Uncertainty.
Almost as though she was walking toward a future she hadn't chosen herself.
The thought lingered in my mind even after she came to stand beside me.
The ceremony began.
The priest recited the mantras while we followed every ritual exactly as instructed.
Neither of us spoke beyond what was necessary.
We didn't need to.
The sacred fire burned before us, and with every vow, another thread tied our lives together.
I glanced at Surbhi once.
She looked composed on the outside, but her fingers were tightly clasped together in her lap.
She was anxious.
I didn't know why.
But I noticed it.
And for reasons I couldn't explain, I made a silent promise to myself.
From today onward, she was my responsibility.
Not in the sense that she couldn't take care of herself—I was certain she could.
But because she had been entrusted to me.
She was leaving behind everything she had ever known to begin a new life with me.
The least I could do was make sure she never regretted it.
I couldn't promise that we would fall in love.
I couldn't promise that everything between us would be perfect.
But I could promise one thing.
No matter what happened...
I would always take care of her.
The reception began almost immediately after the wedding.
If the wedding had been overwhelming, the reception was exhausting.
The stage was flooded with relatives, business associates, family friends, and people I barely recognized but who somehow knew everything about me.
Every few minutes, another photographer would ask us to smile.
"Sir, a little closer."
"Ma'am, look at him."
"Perfect."
The smiles became mechanical after a while.
I had attended enough weddings to know this was how it worked.
What I wasn't prepared for was how quiet Surbhi had become.
She sat beside me, greeting everyone politely, folding her hands whenever an elder blessed us, smiling whenever someone congratulated us.
But the smile never reached her eyes.
It disappeared the moment the guests walked away.
I stole another glance at her.
She was staring somewhere into the crowd, almost as if she wasn't really there.
"Are you okay?" I asked quietly, making sure no one else heard.
She turned toward me, almost startled by the question.
"Yes."
"Do you need anything? Water? Food?"
She shook her head immediately.
"No... I'm fine."
Her answer was polite.
Too polite.
It sounded like the kind of answer people gave when they didn't want the conversation to continue.
Before I could say anything else, another group of guests climbed onto the stage.
For the next fifteen minutes, we smiled through another round of photographs.
When they finally left, I noticed Surbhi quietly exhale, as though she'd been holding her breath the entire time.
A few minutes later, four familiar voices echoed through the hall.
"There he is!"
I looked up and couldn't help smiling.
Vihaan was the first to reach the stage.
Tall, loud, and incapable of speaking in a normal volume, he pulled me into a quick hug before dramatically inspecting me from head to toe.
"I still can't believe you actually got married."
"You've been saying that all day," I replied.
"Because I'm still processing it."
Behind him came Aarush, dressed as neatly as always.
Unlike Vihaan, he was calm, practical, and usually the one cleaning up after everyone else's chaos.
"Congratulations," he said, shaking my hand before giving me a brief hug.
Ruhaan followed, carrying the same easy grin he had worn since college.
He was effortlessly charming and had the rare ability to make friends wherever he went.
"If anyone told me you'd be the first one to get married, I would've laughed," he said.
"I was always first."
Ruhaan admitted. "But you were definitely the least interested."
We all laughed.
Just then, my younger brother, Nitin, joined us.
He wrapped an arm around my shoulder.
"I've officially lost my room now."
"You weren't using it anyway."
"That's not the point."
Vihaan nodded dramatically.
"Justice for younger brothers."
Even Surbhi looked up at that.
For a second, I thought she might smile.
Instead, she simply lowered her gaze again.
I noticed something then.
Whenever one of us spoke to her directly, she immediately straightened.
Almost like she became... alert.
As if she was carefully measuring every word before speaking.
"Congratulations, bhabhi," Vihaan said warmly.
"It's good to finally meet you properly."
Surbhi gave him a small smile.
"Thank you."
Aarush smiled politely.
"We've heard a lot about you from Uncle."
She nodded.
Ruhaan tried next.
"We should warn you. Ranbir works too much."
"He'll probably answer office calls even on your honeymoon."
"I do not," I protested.
"You absolutely do," Nitin replied.
Everyone laughed.
Everyone except Surbhi.
She smiled because everyone else was smiling.
Not because she found it funny.
She barely spoke.
Her answers never went beyond a few words.
"Thank you."
"Yes."
"No."
"It was nice meeting you."
It wasn't shyness.
It felt like she was afraid of saying the wrong thing.
Eventually, my friends noticed it too.
Without making her uncomfortable, they naturally shifted the conversation back to me.
It was something I appreciated.
We had grown up together.
Vihaan, Aarush, Ruhaan and I had been inseparable since school.
Our families vacationed together, celebrated festivals together, and stood by one another through every milestone.
Somewhere along the way, Nitin had become the unofficial youngest member of our group, always trying to keep up with us despite being a few years younger.
They could read a room without anyone saying a word.
After another round of teasing, they stepped down from the stage, promising to catch up later.
As they disappeared into the crowd, I looked at Surbhi again.
She looked... exhausted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
I leaned slightly toward her.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
She remained silent for a moment.
Then she looked at me.
"Can I... go to the washroom?"
"Of course."
I stood immediately.
The photographers looked mildly disappointed as we stepped away from the stage, but I ignored them.
We walked through one of the quieter corridors of the banquet hall.
Neither of us spoke.
When we reached the ladies' washroom, she stopped.
"I'll just be a few minutes."
"I'll wait here."
She gave a small nod before disappearing inside.
The corridor fell silent.
I leaned against the wall, watching guests walk past.
For the first time that day, I replayed everything I'd observed.
She barely spoke.
She flinched whenever someone addressed her unexpectedly.
She looked anxious throughout the ceremony.
And now she looked as though she simply wanted to escape for a few minutes.
Maybe weddings were overwhelming for her.
Or maybe there was something much deeper beneath the silence.
Whatever it was, today wasn't the right day to ask.
She had left her home only a few hours ago.
Her entire world had changed.
Perhaps she simply needed time.
I looked toward the closed washroom door.
When we became more comfortable with each other...
When we were no longer strangers sharing the same roof...
Maybe then, I'd ask her what was hiding behind those quiet eyes.