The Almost
DHRUV
The palace looks like it’s been dipped in gold.
Light spills from every chandelier, laughter echoes through every corridor, and the scent of roses, incense, and something sugary-sweet lingers in the air like a spell meant to make everyone forget their worries. It’s working on almost everyone.
Except me.
Weddings are supposed to be joyous, but the thing no one tells you about attending the wedding of the woman you love—without her ever knowing—is that every smiling face feels like a mirror reflecting everything you’ll never have.
I take a deep breath and tug at my sherwani collar, forcing a polite smile when one of Devraj’s ministers greets me with an unnecessarily loud “Raja Dhruv, long time!” I shake his hand, exchange a few words, and move on before anyone notices that my head’s somewhere else entirely.
I’m here to help Devraj—my best friend, my brother in everything but blood—keep things running smoothly. It’s what I do best: handle details, fix problems, make chaos look like a ceremony. But today, even my discipline feels tested.
Because she’s getting married.
Sitara.
Devraj’s little sister.
The girl who once spilled chai all over my crisp white kurta, then blamed me for “standing too still” because I could have moved. The girl who argued with me about books, laughed at my stupid jokes, and somehow turned every silence into something comfortable.
I shouldn’t even be thinking about her this way. I’ve told myself that enough times to know it by heart.
But it doesn’t stop the ache.
I weave through the corridor, checking on the guests’ arrangements, my mind tugging in two directions—the part that wants to be useful, and the part that keeps replaying every conversation I’ve ever had with her.
We met years ago. I was attending one of Devraj’s palace charity events, all stiff introductions and political handshakes, when I saw her standing in the corner, sipping lemonade like she wished the floor would swallow her whole.
She wasn’t like the other royals—no pretense, no performative grace.
Just this mix of awkward charm and quiet strength that made her stand out more than any diamond necklace ever could.
I had asked if she wanted to escape the crowd. She had looked up at me, eyes wide, suspicious at first. “Do you say that to all of Devraj bhai-sa’s guests, or am I just lucky?”
That was the first time I saw her smile. It has been trouble ever since.
Over the years, friendship became our rhythm. She’d come to me for small things—random questions, sarcastic banter, or to rant about Devraj being overprotective. And I played along, hiding how every small interaction felt like a quiet blessing.
I never told her how I felt. Never planned to.
For one, she’s Devraj’s sister. That alone is reason enough to stay in my lane.
Second, she’s five years younger. I don’t care, but she might.
And third—she’s happy talking to me like I’m just a friend. Someone safe. Someone unthreatening.
And maybe that’s what I am.
A safe place she can land when life gets too loud.
And as much as it hurts, I’d rather be something to her than nothing at all.
I glance toward the end of the hallway, where Devraj is giving instructions to one of the security officers. His expression is sharp, controlled, but I can tell he’s stressed. This wedding has been planned down to the minute, and he’s been carrying it like another royal duty. I walk over.
“Everything alright?” I ask.
He exhales. “Yes. Just last-minute checks. The press has been kept outside the main grounds. Guests are being seated. Poorvi and Meher are with Sitara.”
“She must be nervous,” I say softly.
Devraj nods, his tone gentler now. “She is. But she’s brave, my sister. She hides it well.”
She does. That’s what I love/hate about her—she feels everything deeply but never lets the world see how much it costs her to hold it all together.
“You’ve done well,” I tell him. “Everything looks perfect.”
He gives me a small smile, that rare, unguarded one that only those closest to him ever see. “Thank you, Dhruv. I appreciate you being here.”
“Always,” I reply, and I mean it.
We talk logistics for a few minutes before he’s called away, leaving me by the balcony overlooking the main courtyard. From here, I can see the guests gathering, flashes of bright lehengas and gold sherwanis, laughter carried by the evening breeze.
Somewhere inside, she’s getting ready.
The thought makes my chest tighten.
I imagine her fussing over her dupatta, muttering about the weight of her jewelry, trying to smile while fighting off her anxiety. She always jokes when she’s nervous. She’ll probably tell Meher bhabhi that the lehenga weighs more than she does.
And she’ll look beautiful—because she always does, even when she doesn’t think so.
I rest my elbows on the railing, staring out at the fading sky. The sunset paints the courtyard in soft amber light, and I find myself wondering—if I had told her how I felt years ago, would anything have been different?
Probably not.
Sitara deserves someone who makes her feel sure. Who can give her the kind of stability she’s always craved. And I… I’m too wrapped in my own world, too scarred by expectations I didn’t even choose.
So I’ll let her go. I’ve always known that would be the ending.
But letting her go doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.
“Sir, the bride’s procession will begin shortly,” one of the guards informs me.
I nod, forcing my thoughts to clear. “Good. Make sure the path is clear.”
“Yes, sir.”
The guard leaves, and I straighten my sherwani again, adjusting my cufflinks like it’ll help me stay composed.
If anyone notices the tension in my jaw, they’ll probably think I’m worried about security. No one will guess that the only thing I’m fighting is the urge to look for her before the ceremony even begins.
I walk back toward the main entrance, where guests are beginning to murmur in anticipation. Devraj stands near the dais, his expression softening as the sounds of dhols and shehnai grow louder.
“She’s coming,” he says quietly, almost to himself.
And she is.
When the curtain parts and Sitara steps into the courtyard, it’s like the world forgets to breathe.
Her lehenga glows under the lights, shades of deep red and gold catching every flicker of the flame from the oil lamps.
Her eyes are wide, nervous, but there’s a small, determined smile tugging at her lips.
She looks… unreal.
I swallow hard, my fingers curling into fists behind my back.
Around me, guests murmur, compliment, sigh. Meher and Poorvi walk just behind her, straightening her dupatta, whispering something that makes her laugh softly. The sound reaches me through the noise, and for a moment, I forget where I am.
It’s strange, being so close yet feeling so far away.
I shouldn’t be looking at her like this. Not today. Not ever. But try telling that to my heart.
I keep my eyes fixed on the ceremony as Devraj signals for the priest to begin.
The rituals are beautiful, steeped in tradition, everything executed with royal precision.
I keep myself busy helping staff, nodding to the photographers, making sure no chaos slips through. Anything to avoid thinking too much.
Still, every time I glance at her, I feel that same pull. That same quiet ache that’s lived under my skin for years.
I don’t even know when it started. Maybe the first time she teased me for being too serious. Or the time she fell asleep in the garden during a family event and I covered her with my jacket. Or maybe it was just the way she looked at the world—with curiosity instead of entitlement.
Whatever it was, it never left.
A few guests approach me, trying to make conversation, but my attention keeps drifting back to her. When her gaze flickers my way for a split second, I smile politely. She doesn’t notice.
And maybe that’s for the best.
After all, what could I offer her that she doesn’t already have? A heart too used to holding back? A life too tangled in obligations?
No. She deserves more than almost-love.
As the ceremony continues, I focus on my duties, keeping my emotions locked neatly behind years of practice. It’s what I’m good at—being composed while my heart unravels quietly inside my chest.
When the final chants echo and the guests start clapping, I force a smile and join them. Devraj catches my eye across the courtyard, nodding slightly. I nod back. The king, the friend, the brother—I play all my roles perfectly.
But somewhere beneath it all, there’s a man watching the only woman he’s ever loved become someone else’s forever.
And he knows he’ll never tell her. Because sometimes love isn’t about claiming.
It’s about protecting the little piece of peace you get from someone’s presence—even if it means never being theirs.
I turn away as the priest announces the next ritual, my chest tight.
I’ll leave early tonight, once my duties are done. I’ll drive back to the estate, pour myself a drink, and convince myself I’m fine.
I’ll do what I’ve always done—pretend.
But for now, I stand still, letting the sound of her laughter carry through the night air like a melody I already know by heart, and I tell myself it’s enough.
Because at least I am something to her this way.
And that will have to be enough.