4
The house felt different that morning.
It wasn't just the date—30th January—marked in red in Vaani's planner, circled thrice and annotated with "Leave Begins" and "Final Checks.
" It was the way the air had changed.
The living room was no longer its calm, predictable self.
Suitcases lay half-zipped across the rug, clothes draped over chairs, and the aroma of masala chai mingled with the sharp smell of dry-cleaned silk.
The Joshi residence had officially entered wedding mode.
Vaani came downstairs at 8:30 a.m., still adjusting the knot of her loose bun, in a soft pastel t-shirt and lounge pants, the cotton clinging slightly to her skin from the Dubai warmth.
Her skin glowed from the ubtan her mother had insisted on the night before, and her nails were newly done—a pale blush shade that matched her lehenga swatches.
Her mother, Sunita, was in the kitchen, directing the maid, the cook, and chaos all at once. "Vaani, beta—have something. Don't just start folding clothes."
Vaani smiled faintly and stepped in to help, reaching for a plate of poha on the counter. She didn't say it aloud, but she liked the energy. The busy-ness. It stopped her from overthinking. And there was something grounding about home, even in its loudest, most chaotic form.
Vedant was seated at the dining table, a list in one hand and a bowl of cereal in the other. "Aai, I'm telling you—flights from Nagpur to Mumbai are filling fast. We need to book the extended family today."
"We're not made of gold, Vedant," Ramesh Joshi's voice called from the hallway, as he entered with a cup of tea in hand. "Tell everyone to book their own ticket if they're planning last minute. I've already sent out the invites three weeks ago."
"You've also promised to cover three of mami's sons' flights," Sunita muttered from the kitchen, more amused than annoyed.
"Out of courtesy," Ramesh grumbled. "Not out of charity."
Vaani exchanged a grin with Vedant and poured herself a glass of water.
The dining table was covered with fabric bags, jewellery boxes, envelopes with vendor receipts, and her trousseau laid out neatly in labelled sections.
The maroon and cream invitation cards still had the soft scent of sandalwood ink.
"So," Vihaan said, walking in with his usual morning swagger, "are we finally confirming who's carrying what?"
He gestured toward the sea of luggage. "Because last I checked, I was not packing haldi trays into my suitcase."
"You'll carry whatever your tai gives you," Sunita said over her shoulder. "And you better wrap your suits properly this time, not just stuff them in like your college bag."
Vaani smiled softly, sipping her chai. She liked this version of her mother—bossy, in control, filled with energy. It made her feel less alone in the gravity of what was coming.
There were moments during the week leading up to this day where it had all felt a bit surreal.
Her wedding. To a man she still didn't know very well, in a family she'd only started observing.
But strangely, none of it made her anxious.
If anything, she felt... steady. Like something was unfolding at a pace that matched her own.
Dhruv Deshmukh hadn't texted or called since their dinner—though she hadn't expected him to. He seemed like the type to operate in person, not digitally. Reserved. Controlled. The kind of man who only spoke when he had something purposeful to say. A quality she didn't quite dislike.
"Vaani," Sunita said suddenly, walking out with her phone in hand. "I need you to check this list of items I've packed in the silver trunk. Jewelry, toe rings, everything's marked—but I don't trust your father's handwriting."
"I'm right here," Ramesh muttered.
"Exactly," she replied.
Vaani walked over and took the list, skimming it with calm eyes as Vedant pulled out his phone.
"I got confirmation from the driver. He'll be here by 1AM tonight. The airport ride's set. Flight is at 4AM."
"Have you packed your chargers, boys?" Sunita called out.
Vihaan raised both hands in mock surrender. "We haven't even packed shoes."
The laughter that followed was easy. Familiar.
Later that day, they would start placing the trunks by the door.
The mehendi artist was coming tomorrow. The bags were nearly packed.
And in less than 24 hours, Vaani Joshi would board a flight to Mumbai—her city of birth, her city of beginnings, the city where she'd take her first step into a life she was still learning to picture.
But for now, in the small domestic joys of breakfast and bickering, she felt rooted. And that was enough.
Meanwhile, the air in Mumbai carried a weight of nostalgia and celebration.
Even in the mild late-January heat, the city buzzed with the vibrancy of an upcoming wedding.
The Deshmukh family had landed two days earlier, their flight arriving just past dawn, touching down softly into a city that had seen generations of their memories.
Dhruv had barely slept on the plane. He wasn't anxious—just wired. Used to tight business schedules, international meetings, and back-to-back days, weddings felt like a different world altogether. A world where things moved emotionally rather than efficiently.
The venue was a sprawling heritage property on the outskirts of South Mumbai—a renovated haveli-turned-resort with sandstone arches, jharokha balconies, and gardens lined with marigold-studded trees. It was opulent, old-world, and everything Jaya Deshmukh had dreamed of.
"Mahesh, look at that pillar," she said now, walking beside her husband in the open courtyard. "They haven't dusted it properly. And the pandal placement—it's facing east, not northeast."
Mahesh gave her a knowing glance. "We'll fix it. Let the decorators finish the basic setup first."
She exhaled, adjusting her dupatta over her shoulder. "Everything needs to be perfect. Not flashy. Elegant. Classy. Vaani's family has taste, I can tell."
Dhruv stood a few feet away, arms crossed, dressed in a black linen shirt and tailored jeans.
The dusty rose garlands that the decorators were placing across the stage did nothing to break his calm exterior.
He watched them work, giving a short nod here, a mild correction there.
His presence was commanding without being loud—he didn't need to raise his voice to get things done.
From behind him, a loud whoop echoed through the garden.
"DHRUV DESHMUKH!"
He turned just as his cousin Tanay barrelled toward him in a white kurta and sunglasses, clearly too hyped for this early in the morning. Behind him trailed Aditi and Neel, the trio forming the usual chaos brigade that surfaced at every family function.
"You look like you're about to host a board meeting, not get married," Aditi said, mock-scolding him as she eyed his outfit. "No sherwani? No mehendi playlist? What's happening, bro?"
Dhruv gave a wry smirk. "I'm not hosting the sangeet. I'm making sure you all don't bankrupt me with your hotel snacks bill."
Tanay laughed, clapping a hand over his shoulder. "God, you're such an old man."
He shrugged. "It's been said before."
Just then, Aarav arrived. Tall, lean, with the kind of swagger that came from knowing he could charm any room. He wore cargo pants and a tee, clearly not dressing up for anything.
"Did I miss the decorators' meltdown?" Aarav asked.
"You're just in time," Dhruv replied, nodding toward his mother who was now talking animatedly with the event manager.
Aarav walked up and stood next to him, crossing his arms. "Still not nervous?"
"No."
"Not even curious?" Aarav asked, glancing sideways. "You've seen like two photos of her."
"She's beautiful," Dhruv replied evenly. "Well-spoken. Independent. That's enough to begin with."
Aarav raised a brow. "Romantic."
"No," Dhruv said with a hint of dry humor. "Practical."
Aditi came up from behind and looped an arm around both of them. "I give it a week before he's following her around."
"That timing is oddly specific," Dhruv said.
Aarav laughed, "Yeah, what happened to you, Aditi?"
"Nothing," she rolled her eyes. "I'm just waiting to see Mr. Ice King turn to mush."
"Unlikely," Dhruv muttered, though a flicker of amusement passed through his eyes.
He didn't talk about it much, but there was a sense of stillness in him about the upcoming wedding. Not entirely excitement, not dread—just readiness. A grounded acceptance that this was the next step in life, and he wasn't the kind of man to stumble into it without conviction.
He hadn't expected fireworks. He wasn't seeking emotional drama or cinematic connection.
But something about Vaani Joshi—the way she carried herself, her stillness, her self-possession—had stayed in his mind.
She hadn't tried to impress him. She hadn't filled silences with fluff.
And that told him more than words could.
Behind him, Jaya called out again, waving a fabric swatch in the air.
"Dhruv, come help me pick the mandap drapes! I can't trust your father's judgment on colors!"
He sighed under his breath and looked at Aarav.
"Wish me luck."
"Always," Aarav smirked. "You're going to need it, dulhe raja."
And with that, Dhruv walked toward the main stage, the sunlight catching the faint silver in his watch. His face was calm. Composed.
The groom had arrived.
~·~
The resort suite was dimly lit, just the soft amber hue from the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room.
Outside the large arched windows, the garden was lit up with fairy lights, a gentle hum of distant music and chatter echoing through the corridors.
But inside, Dhruv sat with his back against the upholstered headboard, laptop resting on his thighs, typing away—half focused on a shipment delay email from Singapore.
His phone buzzed once. Then again.
He ignored it.
Then came the knock on his door. It wasn't hesitant. It was loud. Familiar. Annoyingly cheerful.
"Open up, dulha!" came Tanay's voice, followed by Aarav's unmistakable drawl. "We know you're in there pretending to be CEO of the world."
Dhruv exhaled, set the laptop aside, and padded barefoot across the room to open the door.
Tanay, Neel, Aditi, and Aarav barged in like they owned the place. Neel held a half-eaten bar of chocolate, Aditi had a phone ready for gossip, and Tanay already jumped onto the bed like it was his.
"You guys are the worst," Dhruv muttered, closing the door behind them.
"Maybe," Aarav smirked. "But we're the worst people you love."
"Get off my bed," Dhruv said to Tanay, who lay dramatically with arms spread.
"Why are you working?" Aditi asked, plopping on the corner sofa. "Seriously, Dhruv, it's your wedding week. You should be freaking out. Or at least enjoying it."
"I am enjoying it," he said, settling on the other chair. "I'm just getting a few things in order."
"Boring," Neel announced. "Where's the bride? We haven't even seen proper photos of her."
"Ask Maa," Dhruv said without missing a beat.
"She only showed us that same one photo. You know, the one where Vaani is standing next to some aunty in a temple," Aditi said. "It's cute, but come on."
Tanay grinned, looking at Dhruv. "You must have more. A WhatsApp selfie maybe? Something better?"
"Nope," Dhruv replied, sipping the glass of water beside him.
Aarav raised a brow. "You don't even have her on Instagram?"
"She has a private account," Dhruv said nonchalantly.
"AND YOU HAVEN'T REQUESTED TO FOLLOW?" Aditi gasped like he'd committed a crime.
Dhruv gave her a flat look. "What would I even say if I did?"
"Nothing!" Tanay grinned. "Just click follow. You're literally marrying her in four days. It's legal stalking at this point."
"I'll see her tomorrow. Isn't that enough?"
"Nope," Neel said. "Follow her now. You can't show up at your wedding without even being mutuals."
Aarav chuckled. "Come on, even I follow her, and I've never met her."
Dhruv blinked. "You what?"
"Your mom tagged her on that haldi teaser post. I was curious. So, I made my profile picture with you so she's aware I'm not some random creep and I guess she figured it out. Plus she's seen me in the call you guys had in Europe — perks of being your business and personal best friend."
"Wow." Dhruv muttered, "Dedication."
Aditi practically jumped up. "Okay, no, now this is ridiculous. Dhruv, give me your phone."
"I'm not giving you my phone," he said calmly, crossing his arms.
"Fine," Aarav said. "Just do it yourself."
Dhruv looked at them, then at his phone, then let out a quiet breath. He wasn't opposed to it—just... hadn't thought of it. Or maybe he had, and just delayed it under the illusion of indifference. He picked up the phone from the side table.
He opened Instagram.
Her profile came up after typing just three letters: vaa
Private. 5 posts visible. Just that same small circular profile photo. A gentle half-smile, hair behind her ear, with a dog and a dusky pink background. Nothing dramatic. But real.
He hovered for a moment, then tapped "Follow."
His cousins broke into cheers.
"She's going to screenshot this," Tanay teased.
"God, you're all embarrassing," Dhruv said, setting the phone back down.
Meanwhile, in Dubai...
Vaani was in her room, hair loosely tied, scrolling through wedding inspiration boards while sipping warm milk. Her mom was making a list of people to call tomorrow, her dad talking to Vedant about the guest transport.
Her phone buzzed.
Instagram notification.
@dhruv.deshmukh requested to follow you.
Her fingers froze for a second. She blinked.
It wasn't shock—it was just... unexpected.
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
She tapped accept.
Then paused.
Then, slowly, sent a follow request back.
She didn't open his profile again. She didn't stalk. She just tucked the phone away under her pillow and turned off the light. But her heart was still a little lighter.
He followed her.
Maybe... that was something.
Dhruv had barely set his phone back down when the screen lit up again.
@vaani.joshi accepted your follow request.
And right below it—
@vaani.joshi requested to follow you.
He looked at the notification for a second longer than he meant to, something almost unfamiliar settling in his chest. He swiped up, tapped the follow back instantly, and didn't even bother hiding the faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Oh?" Aditi's eyes narrowed like a hawk. "Was that her following back?"
"She did?" Tanay bounced upright.
Dhruv just slid the phone toward them wordlessly.
They snatched it like it was state evidence.
"She accepted," Neel confirmed. "AND she followed back. Look at you being official."
Aarav leaned over his shoulder. "Open her profile."
Dhruv didn't object.
Her grid loaded in a blink—neatly curated, though not obsessively so. A soft aesthetic. Not a try-hard. Just... composed.
There were photos of her at the stone-paved alleyways in London, a wind-blown picture of her in a navy overcoat in Glasgow, some rainy window snapshots of cafés, handwritten notes, a sunset at Hyde Park. Her captions were minimal—some just dates, some quotes, some with nothing at all.
There were the pictures of her. Not too many. Just enough.
One had her in a trench coat with her hair loose, coffee in hand, laughing at something outside the frame. Another was a mirror selfie in a muted pink sari with minimal makeup, but that expression—the soft, self-assured kind of smile—had Dhruv staring for half a second longer than necessary.
"Okay, wow," Aditi said. "She's so pretty."
"She's got that classic Indian girl in London film vibe," Tanay added, zooming in on one of the photos where Vaani stood beside a red phone booth.
"She definitely knows how to use light," Neel muttered. "Look at this one—she's literally just holding chai and it looks like an art film."
Dhruv said nothing.
But he was scrolling now.
More slowly than before.
"She doesn't post often," Aarav noticed. "But when she does, it's got some thought behind it."
Dhruv nodded faintly, then caught himself doing it.
He stopped.
But his gaze lingered one last time on a picture taken in what looked like Bath—Vaani was wearing a soft ivory sweater, sleeves slightly long, one side of her face tucked behind her hair, squinting into the winter sun. There was no caption. Just a single heart emoji.
He handed the phone back.
"No comments, Dhruv?" Aditi smirked, watching him too closely.
"She looks nice," he said simply.
But the tone in his voice was softer than before.
Not giddy. Not smitten.
Just... aware.
"Well, I approve," Neel said. "She's cool. Very put-together. Not the overly-filtered type."
"Wait till Vedika sees this," Aditi muttered.
"Please don't start wedding gossip groups," Dhruv warned.
"Too late," Aarav grinned. "Also, I think you like her already. You're just refusing to admit it."
Dhruv scoffed, picked up his laptop again.
"I barely know her."
Tanay flopped back on the bed. "Sometimes that's the fun part."
Dhruv didn't reply.
But his screen remained open, cursor blinking over the same email.
He wasn't reading it anymore.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, the image of that soft, sunlit smile from her feed lingered—quiet, warm, unexpected.
And it didn't feel like nothing.
Neel was the first to tap on her story highlights. "Let's see her highlights."
A clean row of pastel-colored circles popped up—each named with a location or theme.
"Okay," Aditi leaned forward. "This girl has a proper aesthetic."
Tanay whistled. "That looks like effort. Click London."
Neel obliged. The first few clips were straight out of a travel blog—golden-hour views of Tower Bridge, crisp shots of St. Paul's Cathedral, quiet alleyways somewhere in Notting Hill.
Each one had a steady hand, clean framing, and a strange kind of intimacy—like the viewer had walked those streets with her.
"She took these?" Tanay asked, eyebrows rising.
"Looks like it." Aarav leaned over. "Damn. She's good."
The next few frames were slower—a bookstore with tiny plants on the sills, a dog sleeping near a café table, her feet in boots on cobbled stone, rain streaking down a foggy glass window.
"She has an eye," Aditi admitted, surprised. "I wasn't expecting this. That's like... photographer-level good."
Dhruv didn't say anything, but his eyes were fixed on the screen. Each image felt deeply intentional. She wasn't just snapping pretty pictures—there was a rhythm in her highlights. A calmness.
A kind of grace.
Neel swiped again—'Glasgow'. Cold blue tones, mist-covered hills, a train cutting through the Highlands. One image had Vaani standing on a cliff's edge in a woolen scarf, facing away from the camera, the horizon stretching endlessly before her.
"Where did she study again?" Aditi asked suddenly. "Why was she even in the UK?"
Dhruv, without looking away, replied, "University College London for undergraduate. University of Oxford for masters. Master's in interior design."
There was a pause.
Aditi raised her brows, impressed. "Oxford's solid."
He nodded once, still focused.
Aarav tilted his head toward Dhruv. "Did you ask her all that or your mom told you?"
"She mentioned it during our first call," Dhruv said coolly.
"Ah," Tanay grinned. "So you did talk."
"Briefly."
Neel swiped to the next highlight.
The mood changed immediately.
Photos of Vaani with what looked like a close-knit group of friends—laughing over brunches, holiday dinners with party hats, Polaroid-style selfies from road trips.
"She has personality," Aditi said, laughing softly.
"She looks like she had fun there," Aarav added. "You'll probably meet this whole crew tomorrow at the mehendi."
Dhruv nodded once, catching a photo of her with a guy in glasses and another girl—she stood between them, arm slung over one shoulder, smiling at the camera.
"You think they'll fly in?" Tanay asked.
"Some of them have," Dhruv said. "I heard her mom telling mine."
Then came the next highlight.
'SRK'.
The first image was tickets for "Pathaan" and SRK's face on the cinema screen. Next, a blurry video of the crowd cheering during a whistle-worthy entry scene, surrounded by a crowd that was hooting.
"Oh no," Neel chuckled.
"Oh yes," Aarav laughed.
The next stories were a full shrine—photos of posters, autographs, selfies taken from a crowd with Shah Rukh Khan somewhere in the background at a Dubai event.
A picture of Mannat's gate in Mumbai. A ticket stub preserved in a wallet.
Even a reel she'd reposted of one of his speeches. They were insane — but aesthetic.
"She's a fangirl," Aditi grinned.
"Not just a fangirl," Tanay corrected. "This is like... level ten devotion."
Aarav was already laughing. "Dhruv Deshmukh is marrying a Shah Rukh Khan stan. What poetic balance."
Neel nudged Dhruv. "Better brush up on your romantic dialogues, bhai."
"He's probably already thinking of how to say 'Dhruv, naam toh suna hoga' with a straight face," Aarav joked.
Dhruv rolled his eyes but the edge of his mouth curled.
"She has good taste," Aditi said. "You need that energy to balance you out, honestly."
Tanay laughed. "Yeah, bro, you're all black and marble floors and silence. She's cinema and chai and Shah Rukh Khan."
"Seems like she can hold her own," Dhruv said, his voice calm but vaguely amused.
"You like her, don't you?" Aarav raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know her," Dhruv replied. "But I like what I'm seeing."
That was enough to make them all go "oooh" in unison.
He shook his head, finally taking the phone back from them.
Still, as the laughter echoed around the room, Dhruv couldn't help but tap once more on that 'SRK' highlight.
There was a kind of joy there. A sparkling, unfiltered love for stories, cinema, and wonder. A simplicity he hadn't seen in a long time.
~·~
The car glided smoothly down the highway, the early morning Mumbai haze slowly lifting around them.
Vaani leaned her head against the windowpane, watching the silhouettes of palm trees pass by like shadows in motion.
It was just after 8 a.m., and the sky was painted in soft peach and cream tones, the city still rubbing the sleep from its eyes.
She hadn't slept much on the flight from Dubai. Not because she was anxious—but because her mind had been quietly restless, full of scattered thoughts. This time next week, she'd be someone's wife. Dhruv Deshmukh's wife.
The name felt unfamiliar still. Like a borrowed identity she hadn't tried on yet.
She glanced sideways.
In the row beside her, both Vihaan and Vedant were knocked out—Vihaan slumped with his mouth slightly open, earbuds in, and Vedant curled awkwardly against a neck pillow he had refused to share with anyone.
Their matching hoodies said "Joshi Sibling Trip" in white cursive.
Vaani had rolled her eyes when they wore them at the airport, but now the sight of them made her smile. Her own hoodie was kept in her bag.
Her boys.
She reached into her tote, quietly pulled out a pack of mints, and placed one in each of their palms. Neither of them stirred.
A soft laugh escaped her lips.
The city outside was shifting now—from quiet suburbs to the edges of old town Mumbai. Billboards loomed above, honking cars grew louder, and the distinct smell of sea air mixed with morning dew began to flood her senses.
They were almost there.
The wedding resort was in the quieter outskirts, away from the city's chaotic pulse—but close enough for guests to come and go easily.
Everything had been coordinated over video calls, color-coded spreadsheets, and dozens of messages between the two families.
Her lehenga had already been delivered. The jewelry was polished. Her leaves were approved.
All that was left was to show up.
To smile.
To stand beside a man she'd barely spoken to and promise him a forever.
She wasn't nervous. Not exactly. Dhruv hadn't given her a reason to be. He was... respectful. Quiet, yes—but not arrogant. And something about that quietness made him hard to read, harder still to dislike.
He hadn't flooded her with texts or acted overly interested. He hadn't tried to flirt. He hadn't even followed her back until last night. But even that had made her smile—he seemed like someone who didn't fake gestures for the sake of them.
And when he'd accepted her request, she'd stared at the tiny notification for a full five minutes, wondering if she should scroll through his profile. She hadn't. She didn't need to.
It was strange—how calm she felt now. Maybe because everything was already set in motion. Or maybe because she knew her life wouldn't change overnight.
Her work emails were still active. Her flat in Dubai was still hers. Her chai mug still sat on the kitchen counter.
Yes, she'd move. Yes, she'd adapt. But Vaani wasn't the type to vanish into marriage like a shadow under water. She was just... going to blend the two lives. Like a designer layering textures. It would take work. But she wasn't afraid of work.
A sudden bump on the road jolted the car slightly.
Vihaan muttered something in his sleep and turned the other way. Vedant snored.
Vaani reached for her phone, checked the time—8:27 a.m.
She opened the notes app.
"Things to pack from room once back."
· Headphones
· Jewellery box from second drawer
· Fridge restock
· Pick up dry cleaning
· Get that saree blouse stitched
She stared at the last point and added a new line under it:
- Say goodbye to my window.
The little balcony in her Dubai apartment. Her thinking spot. Her chai spot. She'd miss it.
But maybe her new home had a window too.
The car turned a bend, the signage for the resort now in view. A grand archway with flowers being prepped, tall coconut trees lining the gates, and staff wheeling suitcases inside.
Vaani looked out, spine straightening. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of her engagement ring. Simple, classic, with a single solitaire stone.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
Here we go, she thought.
Next time I fly back... I won't be just Vaani Joshi.
I'll be someone's wife.
And for the first time, it didn't feel like an ending.
It felt like a beginning.
??