6
The next morning in Mumbai brought with it a mellow winter warmth, sunlight pouring softly through the gauzy resort curtains.
Dhruv Deshmukh rose early, his internal clock too disciplined to allow much sleep even if he wanted it.
He showered, dressed in a muted beige kurta paired with crisp white pajamas, and slipped on a pair of brown kolhapuris before heading downstairs.
The scent of cardamom chai reached him before anything else. The resort's makeshift breakfast corner was alive with low chatter and the sound of clinking cups. His cousins Tanay, Neil, and Aarav were all lounging on the wicker chairs scattered around the lawn-facing verandah.
"Bhai," Tanay greeted, offering him a cup of hot chai. "Join us before the madness begins."
Dhruv nodded, taking the cup with a murmured "Thanks." He sipped slowly, his eyes scanning the activity building in the distance-decorators carrying marigold strings, mehendi artists arriving with heavy suitcases, and the staff setting up long white tables under the canopy.
"Where's Aditi?" he asked, settling into a chair beside Aarav.
Tanay grinned. "Gone to get her mehendi done. The girls have taken over the main hall. Want to see?"
Dhruv raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it a ladies event? Am I even allowed?"
"Allowed?" Aarav laughed. "Bro, it's your wedding week. You can walk into any corner of this resort and they'll roll out a red carpet."
With a shake of his head but a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Dhruv rose. The group finished their chai and wandered toward the decorated main hall, now transformed into a colorful, fragrant world of florals, low seating, and vibrant silks.
A large pink-and-yellow curtain divided the space in two-an old-school touch Jaya had insisted on of the bride and groom's side getting their mehendi's separately.
The girls' side buzzed with laughter, upbeat Bollywood music playing faintly in the background.
Dhruv stood near the edge of his designated side, glancing curiously over the curtain.
Through a few shifting gaps in the fabric, he spotted Ria and Naina walking swiftly with thalis of sweets and cones of mehendi, their hair pinned up in soft curls.
But there were too many people, too much movement for him to catch a glimpse of Vaani.
So he left it.
He turned back to his side, which was also beginning to fill with family. His mom, Jaya, was seated comfortably on a cushion, her sleeves pushed up, her hands being adorned with intricate designs. His Maushi and Mami were beside her, giggling over their own patterns.
"Arre Dhruv!" Jaya called out, beaming when she saw him. "Come here!"
He walked over, a little wary. "What?"
"You also put some mehendi, na beta," Maushi chimed in.
Dhruv blinked. "What?"
"It's normal now," Jaya said. "Both bride and groom apply mehendi. Just a small design or name. Nothing elaborate."
"I'm not doing that," Dhruv said flatly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You know I've got work meetings sometimes-I can't show up with mehendi on my hand."
"Come on, son," Mahesh said from behind, joining the group with a casual smile. "Do it for tradition's sake. You don't have to get a full design."
Dhruv turned toward him. "Baba, you didn't do it at your wedding either."
"That was thirty years ago," Mahesh laughed. "Things change."
"Just a little corner," Maushi insisted. "Or even better, just put her name or initials on your palm. That's it. Nothing too loud."
Dhruv groaned slightly but the gentle pressure of family-and their obvious excitement-chipped away at his resistance. He sighed. "Fine. Just initials. On the inside of the palm."
"Good boy!" Jaya clapped.
A mehendi artist quickly made space for him on a cushion, laying out the cone. "Her initials?" she asked.
"V... J," Dhruv muttered, his voice almost too low.
"Louder," Tanay teased from behind. "Come on, let the world know."
Dhruv gave him a look, but repeated, "V. J."
As the cone tip traced the delicate letters onto his palm, he stared down at the slow, steady strokes-somehow mesmerized. He didn't understand the fuss about mehendi, but he had to admit, the earthy scent and quiet precision with which it was applied felt oddly grounding.
"There you go," the artist said with a smile. "Clean and subtle."
Dhruv looked at the simple design-just two letters. Neat. Unfussy. Just like him. And yet, the initials felt strange on his skin. Not in a bad way-just unfamiliar. Like a signpost for something he was still learning to arrive at.
Behind him, Tanay and Aarav snapped photos and started joking about making it his new LinkedIn profile picture. Dhruv rolled his eyes but smiled anyway.
"Now you're ready for the next phase, bro," Aarav said, clapping him on the back.
Dhruv looked again at his palm, the darkening lines of V and J curling like a quiet promise.
Before the mehendi could dry on his skin, Dhruv glanced down again at the delicate "VJ" sitting neatly on the inside of his palm. It looked... impersonal. Too brief. He frowned slightly, then raised his hand toward the artist just as she was beginning to move on to the next person.
"Wait," he said, low but firm.
The artist paused, eyebrows raised. "Yes?"
Dhruv hesitated for only a second before he spoke. "Can you... remove this?"
She blinked. "Remove?"
"I don't want the initials," he said. "Can you write her full name instead?"
The lady looked slightly taken aback by the change of mind. But she nodded quickly, already reaching for a bit of lemon-sugar solution and gently dabbing the initials away from his skin with a cotton swab.
From behind him, Aarav leaned forward, half-sipping his cold Rooh Afza. "What's this now?" he asked, a lazy smirk playing on his face. "Changed your mind already?"
Dhruv didn't look at him. "All her siblings share the same initials," he said simply. "So do her cousins, probably. It's the easiest thing to hide behind. I want it to be... her."
Aarav stared for a moment, clearly surprised. "So you're saying-"
"I'm saying," Dhruv cut in, his tone steady, "if I'm putting something on my skin to represent her, I might as well make it unmistakably hers."
There was a pause, then a low whistle from Aarav. "Didn't think you'd care that much, Mr. Deshmukh."
"I don't care much," Dhruv replied calmly. "I just don't like vague symbolism."
Aarav chuckled but didn't argue further. He leaned back into his cushion as the mehendi artist began drawing again, this time with more deliberate focus.
Vaani.
Stroke by stroke, her name began to form in elegant curves across the center of his palm. Not decorative or overly elaborate, but flowing. Intact. Unmistakable.
Dhruv sat still, watching as each letter of her name came alive. It wasn't romantic in the cheesy, heart-eyed way people might assume. It wasn't even about impressing anyone. It was just... honest.
She was going to be his wife. His partner.
If her name was going to be part of a ritual, he didn't want it camouflaged into two random letters that meant nothing unless explained.
He wasn't the kind of man who plastered emotion all over his sleeve.
But when something mattered, he didn't pretend it didn't.
The last swirl of the final "i" curved down, and the mehendi artist leaned back with a small smile. "There," she said. "All done. Looks beautiful."
Dhruv gave a soft nod of thanks, eyes lingering on her name a moment longer.
"God, you're so intense," Aarav muttered beside him, teasing. "I bet she doesn't even know you did this."
"She doesn't need to," Dhruv replied.
Aarav shook his head, grinning. "You're gonna be the most mysteriously romantic husband ever."
"I'm not romantic," Dhruv said plainly, already flexing his hand to keep the mehendi from smudging. "I just do what makes sense."
Aarav only laughed.
And Dhruv, still quiet, looked down once more at the five simple letters that now darkened slowly on the center of his hand.
Vaani.
Not initials.
Not a vague reference.
Not something he could later deny or disguise.
Meanwhile, Vaani sat right in the center of the floral cushions, her legs extended out on the soft rug, arms resting gently on velvet bolsters, while the rich, fragrant mehendi slowly spread across her skin.
The thick scent of henna and rosewater hung in the air around her, mixed with the distant murmur of music and laughter coming from the other side of the resort.
The atmosphere was warm and vibrant, but she found herself beginning to drift - not into romantic daydreams or girlish fantasies, but into mild boredom.
The patterns being drawn on her hands and feet were intricate, no doubt. The artist was clearly skilled - every paisley, peacock, and swirl was unfolding like lace across her limbs. Yet, after nearly an hour of sitting still, Vaani's focus had thinned.
She didn't expect anything dramatic to happen, not like the way movies showed the groom appearing with a plate of food, hand-feeding the bride in the middle of the mehendi ceremony.
That wasn't Dhruv. And she wasn't someone who expected or needed those gestures.
Honestly, she didn't even think he'd come down to the women's side at all today.
She figured he'd stay on his side, or maybe slip off to answer work emails, like always. That was fine with her.
But she was hungry.
"Naina," she murmured softly, not moving her head, "can you feed me something? I'm starving."
Naina, seated beside her with a mini thali in hand, blinked. "Oh! Of course." She put her plate down and got up quickly, brushing her hands clean. "Tell me what you want."
"Anything. I just want to eat. This is going to take another hour, I think," Vaani replied, looking down at the still-wet mehendi on her hands.
Naina giggled. "You'll thank me later," she said, picking up a bite of samosa and holding it out. Vaani leaned forward slightly and took the bite with a grateful hum. "God, that's good."
"Want some chutney with the next one?" Naina offered, already dipping another piece.
"Bless your soul," Vaani said with a dry smile.
On the far side of the room, Ria, her bangles chiming as she moved, came over to admire the darkening stain of henna on Vaani's arms. "Babe, this is stunning," she said, crouching slightly to get a closer look. "The detailing on your fingers? Chef's kiss."
"Thanks," Vaani mumbled through another bite, cheeks puffed slightly.
"I'm going to go tell your mom hers looks amazing too," Ria added with a wink. "Be right back." She got up and made her way across the room, easily slipping into conversation with Anjali and some of the other ladies. Vaani watched her go with a fond smile.
Then Simran, who had been quietly snapping aesthetic shots for her Instagram story, leaned closer to the mehendi artist working on Vaani's left palm. "Aunty," she said softly, "can you do one thing?"
The woman, focused but pleasant, looked up with a nod. "Yes, beta?"
"Can you add a 'D' somewhere in the design? For her fiancé. Or hide 'Dhruv' in there, maybe? Something fun and sleek," Simran grinned. "We want a little twist. Let's see if he can find it tomorrow."
The artist chuckled knowingly. "Of course, of course. That's tradition now, isn't it?"
Vaani gave her a long look. "Simran..."
"What?" Simran replied innocently. "It's cute. It's harmless. Let's see if he has any observational skills at all."
"I don't think he'll even care to look," Vaani murmured, tone flat, but not bitter.
Simran shrugged. "Let's make it fun for us then. And if he does notice, great. If he doesn't, even better - he'll know you don't waste time on silly expectations."
Vaani sighed but didn't argue. There was a strange, almost amusing charm to it - the subtle D being woven into the floral patterns on her skin, the private moment that might never get discovered.
Naina returned to feeding her bits of snacks, sneaking in water sips in between so the mehendi didn't smudge.
A few guests passed by and complimented her, someone's toddler tried to peek at the cones of henna, and the music from the other side picked up again - maybe the boys were starting their dance practice early.
"Do you want me to show you how it's coming along?" Simran asked, angling her phone camera.
"No," Vaani said immediately. "I'll see when it's done."
"Fair."
As more women trickled in and the scent of jasmine and halwa deepened, Vaani sat still, quiet, sipping on the laughter of her friends, the warmth of the day, and the comforting thought that while this might not be a fairy tale, it was hers - quiet, private, a little chaotic, and filled with soft moments stitched between traditions.
She looked down at the patterns again, trying to guess where the hidden D was, but couldn't find it herself. Maybe that was part of the charm.
~·~
After nearly six long hours, Vaani's mehendi had finally dried.
Her palms, forearms, and feet were adorned with deep brown designs, intricate as lace and stained richly into her skin.
She had just scrubbed off the crusted henna using a simple mix of lemon and sugar that Simran had lovingly prepped earlier, and she was back in her room, freshly changed into a loose kurta and pajama bottoms. Her salwar suit from earlier - a soft pistachio green one with delicate embroidery - lay folded on the chair.
Her hair had been restyled into a loose braid, soft tendrils escaping near her temples.
She felt clean, free from the mehendi crust, and bone-tired.
She slumped onto the edge of her bed, letting her hands rest on her lap.
There was something surreal about the way her skin looked now - like someone else's.
The swirls, dots, curves, and paisleys trailed over her limbs like whispers of something delicate.
She gently turned her palms to examine them again.
The design was beautiful. There were two peacocks at the base of her palm, their feathers cascading upward into a burst of florals.
Her fingers were completely covered, the tips a dark maroon now.
Her brows knit slightly as she tried to spot the "D" Simran had asked to be hidden somewhere in there.
But it was impossible to find. She gave up after a minute, letting her hands fall again.
She didn't know why it made her nervous now - maybe it was the finality of it.
The fact that this wasn't just mehendi for a celebration.
This was her bridal mehendi. She was getting married in three days.
Her chest tightened ever so slightly.
Yawning, she reached for her phone. She was too wired to sleep yet, despite the exhaustion.
Opening Instagram, she instinctively clicked through the stories at the top.
The first few were the usual - Ria had posted a boomerang of her own hands with a "#mehndivibes" sticker slapped on, followed by a silly reel of Simran dancing with a cone of henna.
Then came Aarav's story.
It was a blurry selfie video taken in the boys' hall earlier, with a retro Bollywood song playing in the background.
Dhruv was seated beside him, his sleeves rolled up, and he was holding out his hand while the mehendi artist drew something on his palm.
Vaani blinked in surprise. Her thumb paused on the screen.
He had put mehendi?
She squinted, trying to zoom into the screen, tilting her phone to look closer - but Aarav had uploaded it in typical chaotic fashion, and the camera wasn't focused at all. She could barely make out the curve of letters. Was that a D? Or a V?
Her heart did something strange.
She didn't press further. She simply exited the story and tossed the phone beside her, telling herself it didn't matter. It probably didn't mean anything. It could just be a joke from his cousins. Still... a part of her lingered on the thought longer than she expected. Why would he?
Meanwhile, across the resort in his room, Dhruv sat cross-legged on the bed, shirt now changed into something loose and comfortable, and a faint scent of eucalyptus still lingering from the post-mehendi wipe.
His hand was stretched out before him, and right there in elegant brown strokes was her name - Vaani - written just above the center of his palm.
The letters curved around a floral pattern, woven neatly into the design, standing out distinctly.
He exhaled softly.
There was something oddly grounding about it, like the word didn't just exist on his skin but somewhere else - somewhere closer.
He hadn't meant to get sentimental. In fact, he hadn't even wanted mehendi in the first place.
But when his family pushed for it, he'd given in, and once the artist had asked for initials, something about just putting "V" hadn't felt enough.
He didn't want ambiguity. Not with this.
He picked up his phone absently, intending to check emails, but ended up opening Instagram instead.
A few notifications popped up - stories, tags, and a new comment on his last post from Neil.
His finger lazily flicked through until he landed on Ria's story - her mehendi neatly done and captioned "officially in the bride squad".
He tapped through once more and came upon Simran's story.
His thumb froze.
There she was.
Vaani. Sitting with her hands delicately held out, her feet tucked under her, head tilted slightly down as the mehendi was being drawn.
Her hair had been half-tied back, soft curls trailing over her shoulders.
The pistachio salwar suit she wore looked light against her skin, and the soft lighting of the room gave her complexion a dewy glow.
Even in a candid, mid-conversation moment, she looked.
.. serene. Composed. Pretty in a way that crept up on you.
He stared longer than he meant to.
There was something about seeing her like this - through someone else's lens - that shifted things just slightly. Not dramatically. Not overwhelmingly. Just enough that her name on his palm felt a little more real.
And yet, as he locked his phone and leaned back onto the pillows, the name didn't just stay on his hand.
It lingered in his thoughts.
The resort was cloaked in silence, bathed in the soft glow of fairy lights that lined the pathways and wrapped around trees.
It was well past midnight, and most of the chatter had faded into hushed murmurs behind closed doors.
The only sound was the quiet hum of the pool's filtration system and the distant rustling of palm fronds swaying in the cool breeze.
Dhruv had tossed and turned for nearly an hour, unable to fall asleep.
He wasn't sure what was keeping him awake - maybe it was the weight of everything beginning to sink in, or maybe it was the unfamiliar feeling of pause in his otherwise tightly packed schedule.
With a sigh, he finally gave up, slipped on a hoodie over his t-shirt, and stepped out of his room, quietly making his way downstairs in search of something cold to drink.
The kitchen staff had left a few bottles of water and soft drinks out in the common area for guests, and he grabbed one, twisting the cap open and taking a sip. As he turned around, intending to head back, a figure caught his eye.
She was standing by the pool, her arms folded loosely across her chest, back to him, head tilted slightly as if deep in thought. Her long hair was down again, flowing in soft waves, and even from where he stood, Dhruv could recognize the silhouette.
Vaani.
Something about the stillness of the scene made him pause for a second. He hadn't expected to see anyone out here. But then again, he wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep.
Quietly, he walked toward her.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, his voice low but enough to make her jump slightly.
Vaani turned, startled. Her eyes widened just a bit when she saw him, then she exhaled and gave a faint smile. "God, you scared me."
He raised an apologetic brow. "Sorry. Didn't mean to sneak up on you."
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shook her head. "No, it's okay. I just... needed some air."
He nodded, stepping beside her, keeping a respectful distance as they both looked out at the gently rippling water.
"Sitting in a room for six hours straight will do that to you," he said, glancing at her hands. The mehendi was now a rich, dark brown, contrasting beautifully against her fair skin.
She gave a soft chuckle. "Yeah."
They stood in silence for a moment, the kind that wasn't quite comfortable but not uncomfortable either - just there, hovering between them like a mist. Dhruv, feeling the need to fill the space, turned slightly to her.
"It looks nice, though. Your mehendi," he said simply, almost as if the words had snuck out before he could decide whether or not to say them.
Vaani blinked and looked down at her palms briefly. "Thank you," she said softly, the corner of her lips lifting.
Her gaze shifted subtly toward his hand, as if searching for something - the mehendi she had seen hinted at in Aarav's story - but there was nothing on his hand.
Nothing visible, at least. She frowned internally.
Maybe it was a joke, or an old clip. Maybe he hadn't actually put anything.
Or maybe she had read too much into it. Either way, she let it go. It wasn't like she had expected him to.
She looked back at the water. "It's quiet at night," she murmured.
Dhruv nodded. "Best time to think."
Another silence.
He watched her for a moment, the way her fingers rubbed gently against her opposite wrist, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.
She didn't speak much - even in all the family interactions so far, she had been quiet, composed, but not cold.
Just... careful. Like she was still trying to understand everything around her.
He wondered what she really thought about all of this.
"You should get some sleep," he said finally, his tone softer now.
She looked at him, nodded slightly. "Yeah. You too."
There was a small pause before she added, "Goodnight."
He gave her a short nod in return. "Goodnight."
She turned, her sandals clicking gently against the tiled edge of the pool as she walked away. Dhruv stayed still, his bottle still half full in his hand, watching her figure disappear into the hallway light.
He wasn't sure why, but something about that interaction lingered. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was just the strange, unfamiliar thought that soon - very soon - she'd no longer be a stranger in the hallways at night.
She'd be home.
??