She confirmed the photographer was positioned correctly. Scanned her email for last-minute changes.
Everything was in place.
The shehnai shifted into a softer note. Guests rose as one.
At the entrance, Ishani appeared.
Red silk. Gold embroidery. A veil light enough to be ceremonial, transparent enough to reveal the calm brightness of her face.
Beautiful in the quiet way that made people fall silent.
Raghav’s face transformed. The stern CEO disappeared, replaced by a man watching his world walk toward him.
Pista stood on his little hind legs, tail wagging furiously until Kavita gently settled him back down with a soft word.
Divya caught herself staring and looked away quickly.
Her phone vibrated. A media request needing immediate attention. She stepped further back, fingers flying across the screen.
This was why she was here. To work. To be invisible. To make sure nothing disrupted the perfect day.
When a particularly beautiful vow from Raghav made someone in the front row sniffle loudly, Divya glanced up to see Vikram passing a handkerchief to his mother.
Their eyes met across the crowd for a split second.
Her face burned. She looked away immediately.
But moments later, when she risked another glance, Vikram was still looking at her.
Not at the beautiful actress seated three rows ahead. Not at the famous director gesturing for his attention.
At her.
His expression wasn’t smiling. Wasn’t amused. It was focused. As if trying to read something.
Her fingers tightened around her phone.
“Divya Ma’am?” A server appeared beside her, looking nervous. “There’s an issue with the seating chart for the reception.”
Relief flooded her. A problem. Something she could fix.
“Show me,” she said, following him toward the reception hall.
From the altar, Vikram watched her go. He’d been vaguely aware of her presence since guests began arriving, a flash of peach silk moving efficiently through the crowd, always working, always at the edges.
Now, watching her slip away, he noticed the stiffness in her shoulders. The way she held herself separate from the celebration, like she was looking at it through glass.
On film sets, she moved with quiet confidence. Here, surrounded by wealth and fame that wasn’t tied to work, she looked like she was trying to disappear.
The observation bothered him.
“…I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Raghav pressed his lips to Ishani’s forehead. She looked down shyly. Applause erupted. Flowers showered from above. Pista barked once in excitement before Ishani scooped him up, laughing.
Vikram clapped along with everyone else, his smile genuine for his brother’s happiness.
But his eyes drifted toward the back again, searching for peach silk among jewel tones.
