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Ending the call, I continue to drive, thinking about the possibilities. What could be so urgent that Dad couldn’t even discuss it with me, his own son? I can’t wait to know what Dad is hiding from me. The evening’s events have taken an unexpected turn, pulling me into a world of secrets and more uncertainties. This has stirred a new layer of mystery in my already complicated world, and I’m more determined than ever to uncover the truth. I hope when I get home and ask him where he was and why, he would give me the answers I need. I desperately hope so!
CHAPTER 25
AYAAN
One week later – The Wedding
I am overwhelmed by the magnitude of this moment as I stand here in the luxurious guest room of the Walia House. After many ups and downs, finally, the day I have been waiting for has arrived—our wedding day. Against all odds, Meher and I are about to take our vows, sealing our destinies together with the blessings of our family. It’s surreal how far we’ve come, navigating our relationship between conflicts and misunderstandings, to this moment when we’ll be united forever.
Our wedding is taking place in the expansive garden of Walia House, seamlessly combining Hindu tradition with contemporary luxury. The sprawling lawn is adorned with elaborate floral arrangements, creating a beautiful blend of colours and fragrances, enveloping us in a magical wonderland. The soft notes of classical music fill the air, setting a serene backdrop for the auspicious rituals that are about to take place. All the pre-wedding rituals were conducted at our individual homes. Pratap Walia was adamant that the wedding rituals happen at the Walia House. And Dad had already expressed his wish to host the wedding reception at the Shergill mansion. Thus, we accepted so both the families can fulfil their wish of having the wedding functions at their traditional homes.
Having the wedding take place in Walia House brings an entirely different dimension to the experience. The mandap (wedding canopy) is decorated with beautiful flowers, the vibrant colours contrasting with the pristine white decor. The media’s presence is everywhere, their cameras flashing relentlessly, capturing every moment of this event.
The security measures are incredibly stringent given it is the state’s deputy CM’s daughter's wedding. Also, with Dad’s accident and Meher’s recent kidnapping, none of us wanted to take any chances. The guest list for the wedding ceremony is limited exclusively to our nearest family and friends. The remaining social circle, including politicians, social activists, friends and extended family members, has been invited to the evening wedding reception at our Shergill mansion. After the marriage vows are exchanged during the day, we will have post-lunch ceremonies and the Bidaai ritual before returning to the Shergill mansion to relax and recharge. A few hours later, Meher and I will be ready to celebrate our wedding reception with the rest of the world, surrounded by the glitz and glamour.
Our wedding was one of the most talked-about in the country, not just for its magnificence, but also for the history that accompanies it. The enmity between the Shergill and Walia families runs deep, but today, they have decided to set aside their differences, at least temporarily. It will be a remarkable sight to witness the Deputy Chief Minister, Pratap Walia, and social reformer, Kailash Shergill, sitting side by side, putting aside their animosities to bless their children. The entire nation will watch with bated breath as they come together to celebrate my and Meher’s union.
I stand alone in front of the tall mirror, dressed in my maroon sherwani, specially designed for this momentous occasion. Despite the excitement, there is an unsettling sensation coursing through me, a feeling I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s not about marrying into the Walia family or the enmity between our families; it’s something deeper, more enigmatic—a nagging intuition that is keeping me on edge.
As I adjust the ornate brooch on my sherwani, I catch my gaze in the mirror and can’t shake off the sensation that something is amiss, like a distant storm brewing on the horizon.
Dad’s behaviour last week hasn’t helped either. He seems to be hiding something from me. We’ve always shared an open relationship, honesty being the backbone of our bond. Yet, he’s been evasive lately, especially after that mysterious trip to Antop Hill. When I asked him about it, he provided a flimsy excuse, something about social work urgencies that didn’t quite add up.
It wasn’t until Ajay, Krish’s source, shadowed my father that the truth came to light. A secret meeting at Antop Hill, my father getting into another car, conversations filled with mystery—it all feels like a puzzle I can’t solve. All of this is increasing my restlessness.
I trust Dad, but these secrets that he’s keeping are casting a shadow of doubt over our bond. I’ll find out whatever he is keeping from me. There is silence in the air, but my thoughts are in turmoil, a mix between excitement, love and a sense of unease that things might not be as they seem.
“Ayaan, are you ready?” Krish barges into the room.
He returned from Austria two days back, and currently, he’s the only one I can share my confusion with. I told him about Dad’s meeting, and he told me to have patience while he finds out the truth.
Krish strides inside, his trademark mischievous grin playing on his lips.
“Ready to face your destiny, my friend?” he quips, a playful glint in his eyes. “The rituals are about to begin, and your dad has sent me here to accompany you down.”
I again glance at myself in the mirror, attempting to mask the stress that is visible on my face. But Krish, being Krish, wastes no time to grab the opportunity to tease me.
“Stressed, are we?” Krish’s smile widens. “Oh, I see it. Wedding night jitters, huh? The pressure to outperform yourself? C’mon, Ayaan. You are already a pro at that, aren’t you?”
I shoot him an exasperated look, not in the mood for his jokes. “You are incorrigible,” I mutter, my fingers fidgeting with my sherwani’s intricate embroidery.
Krish’s laughter fills the room, and he gives my arm a friendly pat.
“Chill, buddy. Meher won’t rate your performance tonight. She’s gonna love whatever you pull off, Mr. SS, Stud Shergill.”
I groan inwardly, well aware of what he’s hinting at. “Drop it, Krish.”
He chuckles and puts a hand on my shoulder, his tone growing more serious.
“Look, today isn’t the day to fret about the past. Embrace what is coming—a beautiful life with Meher. Relax, buddy. Enjoy the wedding without any stress. We’ll handle any curveballs, if any, tomorrow. Alright?”
I nod. His words hit home and relaxes my frayed nerves.
“Thanks, Captain Smarty,” I tease.
Krish salutes me dramatically. “Anything for the King.”
With a final pat on my back, he grins.
