2 ~ Troublemaker Chahat
"Bhaiya, I said white lilies on both sides, not marigolds! This isn't a temple function!"
My voice echoed through the half-decorated hall as I waved my hand toward the floral arch. The poor florist blinked at me like a confused puppy, holding a bunch of marigolds in his hand.
I sighed, pressing my fingers to my forehead. "Please, bhaiya, lilies Okay? Bride ne specially bola hai."
(Please, Brother, lilies okay? The bride specifically asked for them.)
He nodded quickly and rushed to fix it.
I checked my clipboard, scanning through the checklist... table linens, chair covers, stage lights, floral arrangements, catering setup... all had to be perfect.
Tonight was one of the biggest weddings Dad's company had taken this season, and nothing could go wrong.
I walked toward the stage where two boys were struggling with the backdrop. "A little higher! No, not like that, use the hook from the left corner. Yes, perfect!"
Sweat trickled down my neck, but I didn't care. My hair was tied up in a messy bun, Shirt crumpled and my sneakers covered in dust. Typical Chahat Rathore wedding day look... chaos but effective.
My father's voice carried from a few feet away. "Yes, yes, Mr. Sinha, everything's on schedule. Don't worry, sir, I'll personally make sure your daughter's wedding turns out perfect."
He was pacing with his phone pressed to his ear, brows furrowed in focus. That was Dad... professional, disciplined, and always polite.
"Papa, light arrangement check kar liya hai. Electrician bhi aa gaya hai. Woh baaki ka kaam dekh lega," I called out, checking another item off my list.
(Papa, I've checked the light arrangement. The electrician has arrived too. He will take care of the rest.)
He looked at me and smiled faintly. "Good, beta. You've handled half the work already."
I grinned. "Of course. Who else will save you from getting a panic attack every event?"
He shook his head, clearly used to my teasing by now.
I turned toward the dining area and caught a staff member placing the name cards in the wrong order. "Arre! Groom side left, bride side right! Do you want war at the dinner table?"
The guy mumbled an apology, and I laughed softly. Sometimes I felt like I was managing a kindergarten, not an event.
I'd been helping Dad with the business for nearly two years now, since we shifted to Mumbai from Rajasthan, he decided to start something of his own. Event management wasn't easy, but together, we made it work.
I loved it... the rush, the creativity, the chaos. I loved seeing something plain turn beautiful, loved the sparkle of lights, the scent of flowers, the satisfaction of perfection.
Just when I was busy arguing with the sound guy about the volume, Papa's voice came again.
"Chahat!"
I turned. "Haan Papa?"
(Yes father.)
He ended his call and walked up to me, looking a little serious. "We'll have to leave early today. Around six."
"Hmm?" I tilted my head. "Why?"
"Because some guests are coming to see Mukti."
I blinked once. "Ohhh..." Then my face lit up. "Wait, those guests?"
He nodded.
"Oh my god, that means...someone is finally coming for her rishta!" I practically squealed.
(Marriage proposal)
Dad gave me a look, that classic don't-start-your-drama look.
"Papa, I'm just happy!" I said, throwing my hands up. "My sister's getting married! Can't I at least be excited?"
He sighed but a small smile tugged at his lips. "You can be excited, but don't do anything stupid, Chahat. Samjhi tum?"
(Understand?)
I widened my eyes dramatically. "Papa, what do you mean by stupid? I'm a mature adult."
He arched a brow. "Mature adult? You're the same girl who put fake cockroaches in the bride's vanity last month."
I gasped. "That was for fun! She laughed too!"
"She screamed." He corrected.
"She laughed after screaming," I muttered under my breath.
"Chahat," he warned, crossing his arms.
I stood straight instantly, like a soldier under inspection. "Fine. I promise. No pranks, no drama, no childish behavior."
He looked unconvinced. "And no teasing Mukti in front of the guests. She's already nervous."
I placed my hand over my heart. "Papa, I swear. I'll be on my best behavior."
He narrowed his eyes. "Your best behavior usually ends in trouble."
I chuckled. "Then I'll be on Mukti's best behavior. Happy?"
He sighed in defeat and walked away, muttering something about raising a hurricane.
I watched him go, smiling to myself.
I was scrolling through the spreadsheet of upcoming weddings... names, venues, budgets, deadlines. The usual chaos of event management, neatly organized into rows and columns.
Bride, groom and budget.
I tapped my pen lightly against the desk as I reviewed the next entry. Another destination wedding. Another over-the-top budget. Another couple trying to turn love into a spectacle.
My eyes moved down the list and stopped.
Kartik.
My fingers froze. For a second, I just stared at the name.
It wasn't him and yet...
My mind didn't care about logic. It dragged me back.
One month ago.
That club.
My grip tightened around the pen as the memory resurfaced with uncomfortable clarity.
The way he had looked at me...sharp, assessing, like he could see right through me.
And then the scolding.
'Does he know you brought an underage girl here as well?'
Of course he wasn't talking to me but Ishika still...he was talking about me.
I clenched my jaw at the memory.
My mood soured instantly.
Who did he think he was?
The audacity. The tone. The way he had spoken like I was the problem. Like I had done something wrong by simply existing in that space.
Men like him always carried that same energy...control disguised as concern. Judgment disguised as "rules."
But I can't forget that he was the one who rescued me.
A soft exhale left me as I tried to focus again.
.
.
.
By the time we reached home that evening, my legs felt like jelly. After running around the entire day, shouting instructions, double-checking everything, and managing twenty clueless workers, all I wanted was a long bath and some peace.
But peace wasn't something that ever stayed long in our house.
The moment I stepped inside, "Mumma...main ghar aa gayi."
(Mom... I'm home.)
Mumma's voice greeted me before I could even remove my shoes.
"Chahat! Zyada chillao mat, mehmaan aane wale hain."
(Chahat! Don't shout too much, the guests will be here soon.)
I groaned softly. "Mumma, I literally just entered."
She appeared from the hallway, adjusting her dupatta and giving me that look, the one every Indian mother has mastered. The 'don't you dare test my patience' look.
"Bas. Aaj koi drama nahi, Chahat. Samjhi tum?" she said firmly.
(Enough. No drama today, Chahat. Do you understand?)
I rolled my eyes playfully. "Kya hogaya. Aap sab to mere peeche hi pade rehte ho!"
(What happened? You're all always after me!)
Her eyes narrowed. "Main bata rahi hoon tumhe...Aaj kuch bhi hangama kiya to mujhse bura koi nahi hoga."
(I'm warning you... if you cause any kind of scene today, you'll have no one worse to deal with than me.)
I pressed my lips together, pretending to look offended. She sighed, shaking her head with a smile that betrayed her affection.
"Jaao, Mukti ki madad karo tayyar hone mein. Mehmaan kisi bhi waqt aa sakte hain."
(Go help Mukti get ready. The guests could arrive any moment now.)
I saluted her dramatically. "Yes, Captain Mumma."
She gave me one last warning glare before heading to the kitchen to check the snacks.
I ran upstairs, two steps at a time, excitement buzzing through me. I couldn't wait to see Mukti all dolled up... my sweet, shy, perfect elder sister who could never say no to anyone. She was calm, composed, everything I wasn't.
As soon as I pushed open her room door, I squealed. "Oh my god, my soon-to-be-bride!"
Mukti turned from the mirror, startled. She smiled but her smile didn't reach her eyes.
Still, I went to her and threw my arms around her. "I can't believe it! You're actually getting married! I heard he's rich... and handsome too! Lucky girl."
She didn't hug me back.
Slowly, she pulled away, forcing a faint smile that faded almost instantly.
Something twisted inside me. Her shoulders looked heavier somehow, as if she was carrying an invisible weight.
"Mukti?" I asked softly, holding her arms. "Kya hua? You don't look happy."
(What happened?)
"Nothing," she said quickly, looking away.
"Don't lie. You look pale. Your lips are dry, eyes red. You've been crying, haven't you?"
Her eyes flickered, but she didn't answer.
I took her hand and sat her down on the edge of the bed. "Tell me what's wrong. Please."
She exhaled shakily. "Chahat... mujhe ye shaadi nahi karni."
(Chahat... I don't want to get married.)
My heart dropped. "What? Why?"
She shook her head, eyes glistening. "Main ready nahi hoon abhi. Mumma Papa zor de rahe hain. Mujhe samajh nahi aa raha main kya karoon."
(I'm not ready. Mumma and Papa are forcing me. I don't know what to do.)
I froze, staring at her. For the first time, I saw fear in her eyes. Not the nervousness of a bride but fear.
I reached out and cupped her face. "Hey... listen to me. You can tell them. You can refuse."
Her lips trembled. "Papa... You know how he is. He won't listen. He'll say I'm overthinking. That I'm being childish."
I clenched my jaw. She wasn't wrong. Our father was loving but traditional, the kind who believed in decisions made once and never questioned again.
"But you can't just marry someone you don't want to. You can't do that to yourself," I whispered.
She smiled weakly, brushing a tear off her cheek. "I don't have a choice, Chahat. Kabhi kabhi zindagi mein hume woh karna padta hai jo dil nahi chahta."
(Sometimes in life, we have to do what our heart doesn't want.)
Her words hit me like a punch.
I wanted to argue, to shout that she deserved better... that no one had the right to push her like this. But she looked so fragile that I couldn't.