“Abhinav, my son. I am proud of you. Be happy, always.”
Tears slipped from his closed eyes.
His father smiled again. Soft. Full of peace. He raised a hand and blew him a playful kiss. Affection so deep that a broken laugh escaped Abhinav through his tears.
Then he noticed her.
The woman in the red saree stood a few steps away, watching them. Recognition moved through him.
She looked at him as a mother would look at a child who had found his way back.
His father glanced toward her once. Both began to fade into light. The warmth left with them, inch by inch.
Abhinav opened his eyes.
The fire burned before him. Pandit ji continued the chants. Sarita’s hand remained against his back.
Nothing in the courtyard had changed. Everything inside him had.
Tears moved down his face.
He bowed his head before the goddess. Not out of duty. But because gratitude gave him no other choice.
For the first time since his father’s death, Abhinav did not feel alone. He felt held.
The Wedding
People filled every corner of Anand Mahal. Relatives from Jaipur. Udaipur. Delhi. Old business associates.
Yet everything felt distant to him.
Abhinav stood inside the mandap, waiting.
Thakur of Anand Mahal.
Today, he looked every inch of it.
The ivory sherwani sat sharply across his broad frame. The sword rested at his side, adding to the authority already written into him. The pagdi marked him with lineage and power.
Then the air changed. A hush spread through the gathering. Heads turned.
Meera walked in.
And Abhinav’s breath slowed.
A canopy of flowers swayed above her as her cousins guided her forward. Her mother walked beside her, with Ishani and Divya close behind.
Deep red lehenga. Gold embroidery spread across the fabric in patterns he remembered from the first time she had tried it on.
But this… nothing could have prepared him for this. Because now she wore it as his bride.
A beautiful choker, his family heirloom, sat around her throat. Her dupatta covered her head. Light followed each step.
Abhinav forgot Pandit ji. Forgot the guests. Forgot the sacred fire.
‘God. My wife.’
The word settled into him with force.
