A ripple of murmurs spread across the room. Even he finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, his expression unreadable.

The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to explode.

Megha's nail dug into her palm. A partnership? With him?

Arjun's jaw tensed. This had to be a joke.

________________

Here I am, standing across from the person I hate the most—or at least, that’s what I tell myself—with a ring in my hand, ready to get engaged to him.

How did I even get here? I don’t know. Everything feels like a blur.

But what’s that lub-dub sound I keep hearing? Where is it coming from? Oh. It’s my heart, pounding at a hundred miles an hour. But why? I don’t like him. I don’t.

And yet, he’s silent—not even looking at me, as if I don’t exist. Meanwhile, my eyes keep drifting toward him, hoping—wishing—he’ll look at me. Pathetic, right?

________________

Here I am, standing in the aisle, waiting for my bride, dressed in a golden sherwani. Beside me, my grandfather stands tall, adorned in an off-white but subtly elegant sherwani.

And then, there she is—slowly walking toward me in her maroon wedding dress, a delicate veil draped over her head, shielding her face from my sight. She holds her grandfather’s arm, each step measured, graceful.

She looks like a goddess—a vision of divine beauty, slowly making her way toward me as if blessing me with her presence.