Chapter 16 #2
Siya sat down on the cushioned chair again and she peeled the flap open carefully. Something cool and metallic slipped out from within, clinking softly against her palm.
Her breath hitched when she realised it was the anklet, the one he’d bought for her that one night four years ago.
The anklet was made with twisted silver links, interspersed with tiny bells and charms shaped like seashells. It was imperfect in a way that made it feel more real. The soft chime of it made her recall that night in vivid detail.
She remembered the humid salt air at the beach with the chaotic swirl of people out to celebrate the beginning of the new year.
Abhay had pulled her toward a jewellery vendor’s stall cluttered with trinkets.
He’d spotted the anklet immediately, half-buried under oxidised bracelets, and insisted it had her name written all over it.
She’d laughed then because she hadn’t expected him to kneel down right there in the middle of the fair and put it on her. She’d kept it on until morning, until that phone call from Dhruv when she came to know about the lies and betrayal, and left it on his nightstand before slipping out.
Her fingers curled around it instinctively and then she noticed the folded note still tucked in the envelope. She swallowed hard as she pulled it out and unfolded it. She recognised his messy scrawl and began reading.
Jaan,
I hope it’s you reading this, and not some random stranger because Raghav managed to misplace this despite my strict instructions.
Siya cracked a smile, but it vanished when she read the next line.
Now that I’ve made you smile, let me come to the point.
You’ve already heard most of the things I’ve ever wanted to say to you, but there’s one thing I haven’t said yet.
Today is the best day of my life because I get to marry the woman I’ve been crazy about all my life.
I’ve only imagined this in those reckless, stupid moments when I thought maybe you’d come back to me.
And now that it’s here, now that it’s happening for real, I feel like I’ve stepped into a dream.
This anklet is a reminder of that night which still makes me smile every day.
It reminds me of how alive and carefree you were when you weren’t pretending to hate me.
You left it with me, and I held it close to my heart every time I missed you.
I wasn’t going to show you this until you forgave me, but our kiss last night gave me hope.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since, and I hope you thought of me at least once.
But I also know that you’re not where I am, and that’s okay.
You can decide the meaning of the mangalsutra I will put on you today in your own time.
Whether it becomes real for you today, tomorrow, or never at all, I’ll wait for it to happen, and I’ll wait for you.
But this anklet? It already belongs to you, belongs to us, and belongs to a night when I fell head over heels for you.
So, I’m giving it back to you. I hope you hold onto it, as a piece of something real between us, and I’ll hold onto the hope that someday, I’ll get to put it on you again.
I can’t wait to see you as my bride.
– Abhay
She brushed her finger over the curve of one tiny seashell. Her gaze got stuck on the deep stain of her mehendi and the words Abhay ki jaan he’d written there yesterday during the mehendi ceremony.
Alone in the room with no one to witness it, she could admit that she hadn’t stopped thinking about the kiss either. She hated how her father’s manipulations, Kashvi’s safety, the burden of duty, and her complicated situation with Abhay were all tangled now.
But that kiss… it had felt like their moment in the midst of the live entertainment show her father was hellbent on making her wedding. Much like this anklet resting on her palm, it had belonged to them before anyone else got involved.
Her lehenga had a pocket sewn into the side, a small hidden one just under the folds of embroidery. Siya slipped the anklet into the pocket slowly, and pressed it flat against her hip. In the chaos later on, she could hold on to it like an anchor in a storm, and that settled her nerves a little.
There was a soft knock against the doorframe to remind her that it was time. Siya let out a slow breath, trying to steady the sudden jitters in her chest. She stood up and adjusted the edge of her veil so that it draped cleanly over her shoulder, careful not to tug on the pins holding the dupatta.
Her heels clicked against the marble as she walked through the corridor, and down the stairs. When the staff pushed the double doors open, the muted thrum of classical music playing on strings reached her. She paused at the threshold, taking a moment to adjust to the scene in front of her.
The space in the living room of Abhay’s massive penthouse had been cleared entirely. The furniture was replaced by plush rugs and low cushions in subtle shades of cream and beige.
The mandap stood at the centre of the room, its beams wrapped with twisted strands of orchids and white roses.
Candles flickered in glass bowls all around the base, and delicate strings of fairy lights lined the window frames, glowing gently against the soft evening sky beyond the glass.
The understated beauty of it all stole her breath.
Then she found him, and her heart skipped a beat.
Abhay stood beneath the mandap, watching her with a misty smile, like he hadn’t quite believed she’d appear.
He wore an ivory sherwani, exquisitely tailored with gold threadwork, with a muted gold stole slung neatly over his shoulder, worked over with contrasting red threads and beads.
His hair was slightly tousled like he’d run a hand through it minutes before.
When he met her gaze, pretending to faint at the sight of her, Siya couldn’t remember what being angry at him felt like. She was suddenly aware of how long the last two days had felt since she’d last seen him. He was a sight for her sore eyes.
As she began to walk toward him, and the space between them narrowed with each step, he didn’t take his eyes off her even once. When she reached the end of the aisle, he stepped down without hesitation and extended his hand.
She slid her hand into his, and he tucked it under gently as he helped her step onto the raised platform of the mandap with care.
‘Hey,’ Abhay said softly.
‘Hi,’ she repeated, surprised by how calm she sounded. The swarm of butterflies in her stomach said otherwise.
‘Are you okay?’ His eyes searched hers in a way that always made it harder to hold her walls up.
‘I think so,’ she answered, honestly. ‘You look…’
His brows lifted, almost amused. ‘Acceptable?’
‘Almost,’ she muttered.
‘Well, you look like my favourite dream come true,’ he whispered, only for her.
‘Bride and groom, please step forward for the jaimala ritual.’
They faced each other as the priest chanted, seated on the other side of the mandap, as the Sanskrit verses rolled off his tongue with practised ease. Kashvi came and stood at her side, as Raghav stepped toward Abhay, holding the varmala.
Kashvi handed it to Siya, and brushed her arm once in a fleeting touch of reassurance. The garland was made of white and red roses with pearly strands holding it together, and felt heavy in her grip.
Raghav handed the garland in his hand over to Abhay and patted on his back as they exchanged smiles.
As the priest began chanting again, Abhay bowed his head and Siya put the garland around his neck. It slid down and settled against his chest, the contrast of it highlighting the delicate threadwork at his collar.
He followed suit, and slipped the garland over her carefully, and she felt the silky soft flowers tickling the base of her throat.
When it was done, the priest motioned for them to sit, and they took a seat onto the cushions in front of the fire pit.
Then, he lit up the havan kund in it, and began, ‘Marriage is not only a promise, it is a commitment to duty. It is companionship and forgiveness. It is two people walking through the fire of life, holding their hands, as equals. You will share joy, grief, silence and laughter.’
Siya listened, her eyes fixed on the flames, each crackle a small echo of her own heartbeat.
When she’d left him that morning, she did so with the bitter certainty that whatever they had was gone for good.
She’d thought she’d never see him again, yet here they were, ceremonial garlands around their necks, bound by vows and promises.
Maybe, I should just stop thinking, she mused.
The priest cleared his throat and handed both of them some rice grains and petals of marigold as he spoke.
The hum of his confident chanting reverberated off the high ceilings of the penthouse.
When he finished the excerpt, they poured them into the fire together.
The air hung heavy with the mingling aromas of sandalwood and camphor, grounding her in the moment.
Then, he announced, ‘Father of the bride may step forward for the ritual of kanyadaan.’
Kartik walked onto the elevated stage, dressed in a pale beige sherwani. He placed her hand in Abhay’s as the priest offered prayers to the Gods. Siya looked at him, scanning his face for any scrap of emotion but found none.
‘This sacred act symbolises the father entrusting his daughter to her husband, trusting him to honour her dignity,’ the priest explained as he poured the water from the kalash meant for paanigrahan over their joined hands.