"Hriday, we're heading to Rajvansh Mansion. You and Gauri must be there on time."
The message flashed across Hriday's screen—a brief directive from his Dadaji, no frills, no emotion.
He read it in silence, then cast a glance toward Gauri, who lay fast asleep on the bed beside him. Her expression was serene, yet beneath it lingered the weariness of sleepless nights. The dim light traced shadows across her delicate face, which bore the pale hue of fatigue.
With a quiet sigh, Hriday locked his phone and turned back to his laptop. His fingers resumed tapping against the keys, though his mind had clearly drifted far from the screen.
Moments slipped by like whispers in a silent room.
Then—his phone rang. A name lit up the display, one that needed no introduction. Only one person called with that kind of impatience.
"Hell—" he began.
"Where the hell are you, Hriday?!" Mayank's voice exploded through the speaker. He was furious—every word a blade of frustration.
"I'm coming," Hriday began, his tone weary.
"When?! And why in God's name aren't you here already?"
"I've got work," Hriday muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And Gauri's unwell."
The silence on the other end softened. "What happened?"
"It was Dadaji's ritual," Hriday replied, bitterness threading through his voice. "You remember."
Mayank let out a sigh. "Take care of her, alright? If she's not well, stay. But I expect to see your face at the other functions."
Hriday nodded, though Mayank couldn't see it.
"She's sleeping. I'll ask her when she wakes up. I'm really sor—"
"F* off, you bastard!"
Mayank barked, breaking into laughter.
"It's probably good you're late. The relatives would've had a collective heart attack seeing you with your wife!"
Hriday chuckled—his first real smile of the day.
"Then I suppose I must attend. After all, someone's got to properly introduce her to the world."
Mayank grinned from the other end. He knew then—Hriday was coming.
He always came. Especially for his best friend's wedding.
"Haldi starts in a few hours. Be there,"
Mayank commanded before hanging up. Hriday set the phone down and looked up to find Gauri stirring, her eyes fluttering open. He walked over and knelt beside her.
"Sweetheart, are you feeling alright?"
"I'm okay," she murmured sleepily. "When are we leaving for Mayank Bhai and Isha's wedding?"
He raised a brow. "Mayank Bhai?"
"He told me to call him that—like Kesar does." Hriday smirked.
"So my best friend's now your brother too?"
"Don't tease," she chided gently. "He's been nothing but kind. He supported us even after you told him everything."
Hriday nodded solemnly. "Of course. He's my brother in every way that counts."
Before she could respond, Hriday's phone buzzed again—Isha.
He answered and put it on speaker.
"Where are you, Hriday Singh Shekhawat?!" Isha's voice crackled with mock indignation.
"At home," he replied smoothly.
"At home?! Are you out of your mind, skipping your best friend's wedding morning?"
"I think you're just a little too excited from the Haldi fumes, madam."
Gauri stifled a giggle beside him.
"I want both of you at the ceremony. Understood?"
"Yes, Maharani,"
Hriday said with a mock salute.
"You better be!"
The call ended, and Hriday turned to Gauri.
"So... what are you wearing today?"
"I was thinking... maybe a saree?"
"Wait here," he said, stepping out. Moments later, he returned with a box wrapped in gold paper.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Open it."
Inside lay a stunning yellow lehenga, embroidered with golden thread and glittering mirror work.
"It's beautiful..." she breathed.
"Not as beautiful as you," Hriday murmured, kissing her forehead.
She blushed and slipped into the washroom, while he went to change.
Haldi Ceremony
The hotel thrummed with festive energy. Laughter rippled through the courtyard where guests lounged beneath marigold garlands and the scent of sandalwood lingered in the air.
Mayank stood in the center of the madness, his kurta stained bright with turmeric, his face a picture of joy.
Hriday, standing near the bar with a mocktail in hand, surveyed the crowd, his expression cool but alert.
Vivek approached, urgency in his step.
"Sir, Narayan hasn't shown up since yesterday. All his lines are dead."
Hriday's eyes narrowed.
"Monitor his contacts. Discreetly. Nothing disrupts this wedding."
"Yes, sir."
"Still working?"
Gaurav asked, strolling up with a half-smile.
"Just a check-in, Mausa Ji."
"No need to pretend with me, son. But come—everyone's waiting."
Soon, Hriday was dragged into the Haldi revelry.
"Bhai!" Saksham shouted. "Let's return the favour—you bathed me in Haldi at my wedding!"
"I don't do childish things," Hriday deadpanned.
"Hriday Shekhawat, saying that?" Saksham gasped dramatically.
Hriday rolled his eyes—then grinned and slapped a handful of turmeric across Mayank's face.
Laughter erupted. Later, Hriday approached Isha with a smile and brushed a dot of Haldi onto her cheek.
"Thanks for coming," she said.
"My best friend called. I wouldn't miss it."
Then it came.
"Where's your wife, Hriday?" one of the more persistent Aunties asked, eyes gleaming with veiled judgment. "Introduce her to us. We're dying to see the woman who managed to catch you."
Hriday smirked. The Aunty Brigade had arrived.
"Of course, Aunty ji. I'm sure you'll be pleased."
He found Gauri, gently took her hand, and led her forward.
"This is Gauri Hriday Singh Shekhawat," he said with pride. "My wife. The woman who holds both my heart and mind."
"And what does her father do?" another woman asked, voice laced with superiority. "Business? Politics? Royal lineage?"
"I'm an orphan," Gauri said softly.
"An orphan?" someone repeated, not bothering to hide the sneer.
Hriday's voice cut through, calm but commanding. "She was an orphan. Now, she has a husband, a grandfather, a mother, a father—"
"—And a brother," Saksham added.
"—And a sister in law" Kesar chimed in, looping her arm through Gauri's.
Gauri's eyes glistened.
"Oh please," one Aunty scoffed. "It's all for show."
Kesar opened her mouth—but Hriday moved first.
He leaned in and kissed Gauri's cheek. The Aunties gasped.
"What's with that face, Aunty ji?" Hriday asked innocently. "It's not like we just had sex."
The collective gasp could've shattered glass.
"Hriday!" Gauri hissed, mortified.
Saksham burst into laughter. "You just nuked them!"
"I can't believe you!" Gauri muttered, stalking away.
Hriday followed—straight to the ladies' room, where she'd disappeared.
A few awkward moments later, he knocked.
"Gauri?"
No answer. Worried, he pushed the door open.
Inside the quiet washroom, the air was still—except for the rapid, shallow breaths of one woman and the thunderous heartbeat of the man who had just entered. Gauri stood before the mirror, her fingers fumbling with the lone tie at the back of her blouse. A stubborn knot, a trembling hand, a mounting frustration—it all made her sigh in soft defeat.
"Uff... yeh dori..." she muttered under her breath, unaware that someone had entered.
"Need a hand?"
The voice that cut through the silence was unmistakable—low, hoarse, familiar. Her eyes widened as she spun around, startled. Her sudden movement loosened the edge of her pallu, and it slipped, revealing the soft curve of her shoulder, the gentle line of her spine.
For a breathless moment, the world held still.
Hriday stood frozen in the doorway. His eyes, wide and dark, met hers in the mirror first before they hesitantly dipped tracing the trail of skin now exposed. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came. His throat moved in a dry swallow.
Gauri, her cheeks ablaze with crimson, looked down, arms instinctively moving to cover herself. "Hriday!" she breathed, almost scolding, almost whispering.
"I... I didn't mean to barge in," he said, voice barely audible. "I just... you didn't come out and I... I got worried."
She turned away, still holding her pallu, but after a pause, she spoke with a softness that surprised even her.
"Can you help me with the knot?"
That single request was enough to pull Hriday into motion. Silently, he stepped toward her, his gaze tender, reverent—like a man approaching something sacred. Gauri slowly gathered her hair and lifted it away from her back, exposing the small string of her blouse—an absurdly delicate thread causing so much trouble.
Hriday reached out with hesitant fingers. His hands hovered at first, afraid to touch her, afraid to disturb the quiet sanctity of this moment. When his fingers finally made contact with her skin—warm, smooth, alive—he felt an electric shiver run down his spine. The pulse in his wrist beat faster.
Gauri stiffened for a second at the contact. Then she closed her eyes.
The world faded.
Nothing else existed—just the quiet breath she took, the feel of Hriday's knuckles brushing against her back, and the quiver in his fingers as he tried not to tremble.
He worked the knot slowly, threading it gently, as if tying the string of a dream. But when he finally fastened it, she let out a sudden gasp.
"Zara loose kijiye..." she whispered, her voice a fragile breath.
(Make it little loose)
He immediately obeyed, untying and retying it with the gentleness of a man handling something too precious to bruise.
Their eyes met again in the mirror, and this time, neither of them looked away.
"Sweetheart," he murmured, almost reverently.
She hummed in reply, her voice barely more than a flutter.
Hriday hesitated. His heart pounded so loud he feared she might hear it.
"Can I... can I kiss you?" he asked, voice thick with longing. "Please, sweetheart... let me hold this moment with you."
Gauri didn't speak. She simply gave a small, breathless nod.
And that was all the permission he needed.
Hriday leaned in slowly, his breath warming her bare skin before his lips ever touched it. When they finally did, it was feather-soft—a whisper against her back. A kiss that spoke of reverence, of hunger restrained, of love unfiltered.
Gauri's breath hitched. Her spine arched ever so slightly, offering him more of herself, wordlessly telling him she trusted him—her heart, her body, her soul.
"Hriday..." she gasped, her voice trembling like a leaf in wind.
He hushed her, not with a finger, not with dominance, but with quiet awe. "Shh... sweetheart," he whispered, voice barely audible, "Let me savor what's mine."
His lips continued their journey—slow, worshipful kisses along the line of her shoulder blade, the nape of her neck, down the center of her spine. Each kiss was a promise. A confession. A silent apology for every tear she had shed.
Gauri's eyes fluttered closed. She pressed her hands against the sink to steady herself, but her legs felt like silk. Her heart, however, raced ahead of her.
With every kiss, Hriday breathed in her presence. The scent of her skin, the softness of her body, the way she shivered under his mouth—it intoxicated him.
His arms wrapped gently around her waist, pulling her closer, their bodies separated only by silk and nerves.
"Why do you love me like this?" Gauri whispered, almost afraid of the answer.
Hriday buried his face in the curve of her neck. "Because you are everything I never knew I needed. You're the silence in my chaos. The calm after every storm."
Gauri turned in his arms slowly, lifting her gaze to his. Their foreheads touched, and the world spun slower.
"I'm scared," she confessed.
"Of what?" he whispered.
"Of being this happy," she admitted. "Of losing this... us."
Hriday cupped her cheek with a hand that trembled ever so slightly.
"You won't lose me. I'm not going anywhere. We've faced everything alone—now let's face it together."
She nodded, eyes wet but shining.
And when he kissed her—soft and slow and aching—it wasn't lust that guided him.
It was love.
Raw. Fierce. Undeniable.
And in that tiny washroom filled with faded perfume and echoes of laughter from the courtyard beyond—they found a silence more intimate than words, more powerful than any ritual.
They found each other.
Gauri's soft voice echoed through the quiet, tiled washroom, her words dissolving into the stillness like a fragile breeze.
She clung to the edge of the sink, her fingers tightening around the cool ceramic as if anchoring herself in the present. The soft hum of fluorescent lights above only heightened the intimacy of the moment.
Hriday stood behind her, his face mere inches from the curve of her neck. His lips moved across her skin in slow, wet kisses, each one leaving behind a trail of heat.
"Sweetheart~" he murmured, his voice low and heavy with longing.
Gauri could hear his soft grunts, deep and resonant, vibrating against her back.
"Indeed, you are the sweetest..." Hriday whispered, before gently but urgently turning her around to face him. His lips found hers again—this kiss was hungrier, more possessive.
Then he pressed himself against her, pinning her softly yet firmly against the cold, tiled wall. The chill of it met the warmth of her back, making her gasp.
Her breath came in shallow bursts, heart thudding wildly in her chest. Every inhale felt like a confession.
Hriday studied her face, his eyes brimming with something deeper than mere desire—an emotion too vast, too raw for words.
She was his now.
Gauri looked up into his eyes, hers wide with unspoken questions. For a fleeting second, their eyes locked in a charged silence. The world around them faded.
Until—
A loud knock rattled the door, followed by a voice sharp with impatience.
"Who the hell locked the washroom door?"
an older woman barked from outside.
Hriday chuckled softly under his breath, but Gauri stiffened, panic flashing across her face. She pushed lightly against his chest, trying to put distance between them, but he remained still, amused by her reaction.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. You always get scared of the little things,"
he said with a reassuring smile.
"Your husband is here."
With that, he casually turned and unlatched the door.
While he did, Gauri quickly adjusted her dress, smoothing the wrinkles and wiping at her lipstick, now smudged slightly at the edges. Her hands trembled as she fixed her dupatta, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
The door creaked open, and the elder lady walked inside before giving Hriday a glare then her eyes fall on Gauri, whose lipstick is slightly snugged.
She understood why the washroom's door was closed.
" Nowadays kids!"
The lady said and walked inside one of the washrooms.
Gauri shot Hriday a sharp glare, her eyes blazing with embarrassment and indignation. Without uttering a word, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the washroom, her footsteps echoing through the corridor.
Hriday blinked, startled for a moment—then broke into a grin and hurried after her, the soft thud of his footsteps trailing behind her retreating figure.
"Everyone, please enjoy the food,"
Maithili's voice rang out cheerfully across the open courtyard, her tone warm yet authoritative. Her smile was broad, glowing with the joy of celebration. The food yard, a sprawling space decorated with strings of marigold flowers and fairy lights, buzzed with laughter, clinking cutlery, and the gentle hum of family chatter. The aroma of rich curries, freshly baked breads, and sweet desserts floated in the air, making mouths water and conversations livelier.
"In just a few minutes, the Mehendi ceremony will begin!"
Maithili added with excitement, raising her voice slightly to be heard above the cheerful noise.
Mansi sat beside her on a low cushioned bench, savoring a spoonful of gajar ka halwa. Her eyes lazily scanned the crowd—until they landed on two familiar figures at the entrance of the food yard. She straightened up slightly, nudging Maithili with her elbow.
"Look! Hriday and Gauri just arrived,"
Mansi said, her voice tinged with curiosity. She watched as the pair walked side by side through the throng of guests. Hriday was dressed in a pale blue kurta with silver embroidery, while Gauri wore a deep green lehenga that shimmered under the lights. They looked calm, composed, and strikingly in sync.
As they reached the buffet area, they smiled politely at a few relatives, exchanged small talk, and then quietly filled their plates. After gathering their food, they moved toward the far side of the courtyard and sat down with a group of elders from their family, joining a circle of cousins and aunties already enjoying the meal.
Kesar, who had been half-listening to her mother in law and Maasi ji's conversation while pretending to focus on her plate, noticed Mansi's sudden attention shift. She turned her head slightly, catching sight of Hriday and Gauri settling in with their family.
Before Mansi could comment further, Maithili cut in, her voice calm but laced with restraint.
"Mansi, I really don't care what they're doing,"
she said, wiping her hands on a napkin.
"Right now, my only focus is Mayank's wedding. Once that's over—after all the rituals and responsibilities are done—I'll take matters into my own hands."
Her gaze was firm, yet there was a flicker of tension behind her composed expression. Mansi simply nodded in agreement, sensing the weight behind Maithili's words. With nothing more to say, she returned her attention to her food, her spoon scraping gently against her plate as the murmurs of the crowd continued around them.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue across the courtyard, the Mehendi ceremony officially began. The central space had been transformed into a vivid swirl of color—bright pink and yellow drapes fluttered in the breeze, floral rangoli designs framed the seating area, and platters of sweets and Mahendi cones adorned a low table at the center.
Inside the house, the women had gathered in joyful clusters, their laughter rippling through the hallway like wind chimes in a breeze. Soft music played in the background, blending seamlessly with the sound of bangles clinking and anklets chiming. The air was fragrant with rosewater and the earthy sweetness of fresh henna.
Dressed in vibrant lehengas of marigold, fuchsia, and emerald, the ladies surrounded the bride-to-be, their hands deftly working intricate mehendi patterns while teasing, reminiscing, and sharing secrets wrapped in giggles.
Isha sat at the center of it all, her hands resting gently on a small cushion as the mehndi artist traced swirling designs up her arms. She smiled shyly, her eyes darting around the room, trying to soak it all in.
This was her moment.
Today was finally that day. After years of laughter, shared secrets, and quiet promises, she and Mayank were getting married. Tomorrow, she would become his bride—and she still could hardly believe it.
"So, what's your groom's name?"
the mehndi artist asked, glancing up at her with a playful smirk.
Isha opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around her from behind.
"Write Mayank, didi!"
Kesar said cheerfully, beaming as she looked over Isha's shoulder. The artist nodded and began inscribing the name delicately into the design.
"You're not getting mehendi?" Isha asked, turning her head slightly.
"Bhabhi, I will," Kesar replied, her voice light. "But today is all about you. You enjoy!"
Isha smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. Just then, Gauri stepped into the room, her presence elegant and effortless. Her lehenga shimmered subtly in the warm light, and her soft eyes scanned the room until they met Kesar's.
Kesar waved at her excitedly.
"Gauri Bhabhi is here!"
Isha's smile faltered for the briefest moment.
Gauri, dressed in a green color outfit embroidered with delicate threadwork, sat quietly on the side cushions. Her smile was gentle, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She was surrounded by celebration, but a subtle loneliness clung to her posture.
Maithili—her mother-in-law—passed by once without meeting her gaze, her expression unreadable. There was no word of greeting, no affectionate smile. Just a cool glance that lingered for a moment too long before she moved on to speak warmly with another relative.
Gauri lowered her eyes, trying not to let the moment sting. She reached for a glass of water, her fingers trembling slightly. On the other side of the room, the elder women clapped along to the dhol beats while one of the younger cousins began a light dance.
Meanwhile, outside under the canopy of stars and garden lights, the men of the family were enjoying their own space. They sat on charpais and outdoor chairs, sipping tea or soft drinks, engaged in boisterous laughter and storytelling. Cigarette smoke curled through the air as they joked about old days and future plans.
Hriday sat among them, quiet and withdrawn. His father, Shikhar, had not spoken a word to him all evening. He had arrived late, greeted others with curt nods, and taken his place at the far end of the group. There was no eye contact, no acknowledgement of his son's presence.
Hriday's jaw tightened as he sipped his drink, trying to focus on a story one of his uncles was telling. But he could feel the silent distance from his father like a wall between them.
Back inside, as Gauri tried to keep her composure, someone sat beside her gently. It was Kesar—her sister-in-law. Dressed in a sunshine yellow saree and radiating a soft warmth, she gave Gauri an encouraging smile.
"You look lovely today," Kesar said sincerely, picking up a henna cone and squeezing a pattern onto Gauri's palm.
"Don't let the mood of others dull your shine." Gauri looked up at her gratefully, her eyes misting slightly.
"Thank you. I was beginning to feel... out of place. Only you talked with me feely.."
"You're not, Bhabhi" Kesar said firmly.
"You're part of this family whether anyone likes it or not. And I, for one, am happy you're here."
The words wrapped around Gauri like a comforting shawl. She nodded, feeling the tightness in her chest ease a little.
The music grew louder, the dholak beating faster as the women clapped and danced in circles. Amid the noise, the undercurrents of silence and cold shoulders still lingered—but in that moment, Gauri held on to Kesar's kindness like a lifeline.
The Mehendi ceremony had wound down by late afternoon, leaving behind faint traces of henna and the lingering scent of roses and marigolds. The house, though momentarily quiet, was already stirring again with preparations for the evening's Sangeet ceremony.
Gauri stepped into the room she and Hriday had been staying in—soft golden light from the setting sun streamed through the sheer curtains, casting long, dappled shadows on the floor. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood, her perfume, and something deeper—perhaps nerves.
She stood by the dressing table, slowly putting on her earrings, the rich bottle-green lehenga spread behind her like a velvet pool. Her mehendi, now dark and dried, had developed into intricate patterns on her hands. Her reflection in the mirror looked stunning, but she couldn't help the small crease between her brows.
Behind her, the door creaked open.
Hriday stepped inside, pausing when he saw her. He was adjusting the sleeves of his cream-colored sherwani, embroidered subtly in gold. His gaze rested on her, his expression unreadable for a moment.
"You look..." he began, then paused. "Beautiful."
Gauri turned slightly, surprised. Their exchanges had been so sparse these past few weeks—careful, measured words when required, nothing more. This sudden softness in his voice made her heart catch a little.
"Thank you," she replied, offering a quiet smile. "You look good too."
"Just good...? Not handsome..!"
Hriday asked playfully. Gauri unable to understand his playfulness.
"No you look Handsome.."
Gauri said and Hriday smiled and kissed her forehead.
"I was just teasing you sweetheart anyways i will take the compliment.."
He said and walked toward the closet, retrieving a small box from the top shelf. They moved around each other in the room with a kind of gentle awareness, neither too close nor too far. It was the first time in a long while that the noise of the outside world hadn't followed them in.
She glanced at him in the mirror.
"Did Dad talk to you?"
He hesitated. "No. But i will handle it" There was a bitter edge to his tone, but he kept his face calm as he opened the box—inside was a brooch, studded with emeralds, meant to be pinned to his sash for the evening.
Gauri turned fully to face him now, her voice soft.
"I'm sorry. I know this hasn't been easy for you."
Hriday looked up, their eyes meeting.
"And for you? It hasn't been any easier. I saw the way Mom , Massi ... the way they looked at you today."
They ignored you like you doesn't exist.. There was a silence between them, heavy but not hostile. Just honest.
"I don't know what I did to make her hate me so much," Gauri said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I try to stay respectful, I keep my distance. Still, it feels like I'm always doing something wrong."
"You're not," Hriday said quietly. "She's just... little angry. So is all of this. I didn't expect things to turn out this way."
A pause. Then he added, a bit softer,
"I should have spoken up more. For you."
Gauri looked down at her hands, her thumbs brushing over the darkened mehndi.
"How many time more Hriday, i want to see her smiling at me like she used to do. I want to see Dad calling me Gauri beta , and Dadaji ...i want all of them to act normal like they used to do with me.."
The silence stretched again, but this time it wasn't uncomfortable. It was thoughtful.
Hriday took a step toward her, his voice more vulnerable now. "They will sweetheart soon.."
She looked up, uncertain but hopeful. "When will the time come?"
"Soon sweetheart" He reached up and gently pinned the loose strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her cheek.
Her breath caught in her throat. His touch was brief, but it left a trail of warmth.
She didn't answer right away—but her eyes softened, the tension around her shoulders beginning to melt. They stood there for a moment, in the quiet of their shared space, the buzz of distant music beginning to filter in from the courtyard.
Then he held out his hand. "Shall we go down together?"
Gauri hesitated only for a second before placing her mehendi-stained hand in his.
"Yes," she said, her voice quiet but clear. "Let's."
And with that, they stepped out of the room—into the swirl of lights, music, and family, no longer walking apart.
The Sangeet was in full swing. The courtyard had transformed yet again—now twinkling under a canopy of fairy lights and paper lanterns, with colorful drapes cascading from every corner. The rhythm of dhol and Bollywood hits thumped through the speakers as cousins performed choreographed dances, uncles clapped out of sync, and aunties threw flower petals in the air with childlike joy.
Gauri sat at the edge of it all, her eyes flitting from the dancers to the entrance, hoping for a familiar face.
She and Hriday had left their room together only an hour ago—just beginning to bridge the silent gap that had grown between them. She had felt something shift. Not quite love, but maybe understanding. Maybe something new.
But just as they had neared the garden entrance, Hriday's phone buzzed. He glanced at it and frowned.
"I have to take this," he'd said quickly, stepping aside with a furrowed brow.
She'd waited near the staircase, smoothing down her lehenga. When he returned, his face was tight with concern.
"Gauri," he said in a low voice, "something urgent came up. I need to go to the office... just for a short while."
Her brows lifted.
"Now? During the Sangeet?"
"I know. But I don't have a choice. Vivek will come with me.."
"Are you sure? Should i come with you..?"
He shook his head.
"No. Stay here. Please. This is Mayank's big night. I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise."
And with that, he had rushed down the front steps and into the shadows of the driveway, his phone already pressed to his ear.
Now, an hour had turned into two.
Gauri's hands fidgeted in her lap. Her eyes flickered toward the gate every few minutes. Her smile for guests had grown thinner. Her mehendi-stained fingers toyed with the tassels on her dupatta as performances continued, laughter rising all around her—but inside, she felt a growing unease.
Suddenly, she noticed Dadaji, Hriday's grandfather, making his way toward her with his cane. He walked slowly but purposefully, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd before settling on her.
"Beta," he said, sitting beside her with effort. "Where is Hriday? I haven't seen him all evening."
Gauri straightened, trying to keep her voice even. "He said something came up at work. An urgent meeting. He said he'd be back soon."
Dadaji frowned. "A meeting? At this hour? During his friend's Sangeet?"
She offered a small, helpless shrug. "I don't know the details. He didn't explain much."
Just then, Mayank—walked over, his face glowing with excitement and a sheen of sweat from dancing.
"Gauri !" he called cheerfully.
"Where's Hriday? I thought you two were going to perform together?"
The question hit like a quiet thud in her chest.
Gauri stood up, adjusting her dupatta, smiling gently but without much energy.
"He had to step out for some office work. He said he'd be back soon... but I haven't heard from him yet."
Mayank looked disappointed but nodded.
"It's okay. I'll ask the DJ to push your song later. Hopefully he comes back in time! That workaholic friend of mine..!"
Dadaji didn't say much more. But Gauri could feel his gaze lingering on her, a silent mix of concern and suspicion.
As the music picked up again, and the next dance began, Gauri returned to her seat—alone—watching the door, still waiting.
And outside, in the dark office building lit by nothing but flickering security lights, Hriday stood alone in his cabin, staring at a printed document Mr. Jindel had just dropped on the desk with a smirk.
"This is just the beginning," Jindel had said.
The office was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made even the hum of the air conditioning sound sharp. Hriday stood behind his glass desk, sleeves rolled up, his sherwani now feeling stifling under the tension building in his chest.
Across from him sat Mr. Jindel, calm, smug, and far too comfortable for someone who had just committed corporate theft.
Jindel tossed a folder on the desk. It slid toward Hriday with a dull thud.
Hriday opened it, flipping through the papers. They were copies—memos, emails, internal documents from a highly sensitive client negotiation—files only a few top-level people should have access to. And now Jindel had them.
"You stole these," Hriday said, his voice low but tight.
"I borrowed what I had every right to," Jindel replied casually. "You think pushing me out of the project wouldn't have consequences?"
"Are you out of mind, Mr.Jindel...i didn't decrease your percentage in this project. it's Mr.Jones decision and moreover you just stole the file without asking me anything..!."
"I don't know, i am not giving you the files back" Jindel said with a cold smile. Hriday's fists clenched. "What do you want?"
"I want 50 percent share in this project," Jindel said. "And your silence. Or else i am leaking all those details to your rivel."
Hriday's mind raced. This wasn't just about protecting himself—it was about saving the business, the family name, everything he had quietly been managing for days without telling even his father.
He glanced at his watch. 9:46 p.m. He had told her he'd be back in an hour. He could only imagine what she was thinking right now.
"So what was was the decision..!"
Mr. Jindel asked.
"I will talk to you later.."
Hriday said and stood up, Mr. Jindel looked at him in disbelief, this man has no fear, Mr. Jindel just threat him but he is acting so casually.
"It's not some type of joke Hriday!!!"
Mr. Jindel shouted and stood up from his seat seeing Hriday leaving.
Hriday stopped in middle way but didn't spoke anything.As Hriday knows this man can only talk , he will not do any action.
" See you later , Mr. Jindel."
This voice is cold and held low threat, Mr. Jindel knows Hriday sing Shekhawat can be dangerous. So he keeps quite.
The energy of the Sangeet had only grown louder, but for Gauri, it felt like the world around her was fading. Her smile was beginning to falter. Every time someone asked about Hriday, it was harder to fake composure.
She sat alone now on the side cushion. The performance she and Hriday were supposed to do had just been announced. The cousins looked around, expecting them to appear, but the moment passed awkwardly as the music changed and another group stepped up instead.
Kesar appeared beside her, placing a comforting hand on Gauri's arm.
"You okay?"
she asked gently.
Gauri nodded weakly.
"He said he'd be back... but it's been hours. I don't know what's happening."
Kesar frowned. "Did Bhiya say why he left?"
"Just that there was a work emergency. Something about a file, a meeting." Gauri looked down. "But the way he rushed out... it felt serious."
Kesar was about to respond when Maithili passed by, casting a sharp glance toward Gauri. She didn't stop. She didn't speak. But the message was clear—disapproval, judgment, maybe even blame.
Gauri took a deep breath.
"It's like everything I do is wrong."
"No," Kesar said firmly. "You've done nothing wrong. If anything, Bhiya should've told you more."
"I think something's going on," Gauri whispered. "Something bigger than just work. And I'm scared I don't know what it is."
Back in the car, Hriday's phone buzzed. It was a message from Gauri:
"Are you okay? Everyone's asking. I'm still waiting. Please come soon if you can."
He stared at the screen, heart clenching.
Hriday grabbed his phone, quickly texting back:
"I'm okay. Coming soon. I'm sorry, Gauri."
He didn't know if it would be enough.
But tonight, he'd made his choice—not just as a businessman, but as a husband too.
The Sangeet was beginning to slow, winding down from its energetic high. The air was still festive, but a few whispers had started floating through the crowd—small murmurs, exchanged glances, quiet questions behind fan-covered mouths.
"Where is Hriday?"
"It's been hours..."
"He left his best friend's celebration?"
Gauri sat still, every whisper feeling louder than the music.
She felt the shift before she even saw it—Dadaji, slowly rising from his chair on the far end of the courtyard, cane in hand, his expression unusually stern. He made his way toward her again, this time with deliberate weight in each step.
When he reached her, he didn't sit down. He stood tall, even in age, and looked down at her with narrowed eyes.
"Still no sign of him?" he asked, voice clipped.
"No, Dadaji," Gauri said, standing respectfully. "He said it was urgent... work-related. I haven't heard more."
Dadaji nodded, but his disappointment was plain.
"In our time," he said, loud enough for those nearby to hear, "we didn't walk away from family in the middle of a ceremony. No matter what the reason."
Gauri lowered her gaze.
"I understand. I'm sorry."
"It's not your apology to make, beta," he replied after a pause. "But it will reflect on you, no matter what you did or didn't do."
Then he walked away, leaving behind silence heavier than his words.
Across the courtyard, Maithili stood in a circle of women, all in matching sarees, laughing lightly over a joke someone told. But her eyes were fixed on Gauri from the moment Dadaji walked away.
Kesar approached, catching the tension in her mother's posture.
"Massi ji," she began cautiously, "I don't think it's fair to blame Gauri Bhabhi for Bhaiya's absence."
Maithili gave her a tight-lipped smile.
"I didn't say anything."
Maithili turned fully to Kesar, her voice dropping to a private pitch.
"It's always like this with her. Ever since that girl stepped into this house, something or the other is off. Drama. Excuses. Disrespect."
"She's trying her best," Kesar said. "You don't see how much she holds back, how much she puts up with."
"And what about Hriday?" Maithili asked, sharp now. "You think I don't see what's happening? He's changed. He speaks less, smiles less. There's a tension in him—something wrong. And it started after this marriage."
"Maybe that's not her fault," Kesar said gently. "Maybe they're both trying, and they just need space."
Maithili's silence was answer enough. Then, with a final glance toward Gauri, she walked off toward the inner house, her posture regal and rigid.
The last performance had ended. People were beginning to stand, stretch, and take pictures. Plates of sweets were passed around. Gauri still sat where she had been the entire evening.
Her smile was gone now, replaced with a distant stillness. She wasn't angry—just tired. Of waiting. Of explaining. Of defending someone she barely knew, yet was bound to completely.
Just then, Kesar sat down beside her again and gently placed a hand over hers.
"He'll come," she said.
Gauri gave a weak smile, her first in hours. And then, as if the universe had heard her—
A soft breeze blew across the courtyard, stirring the lanterns.
And from the gate, a tall figure finally stepped into the golden light.
Hriday.
His sherwani was slightly wrinkled, his eyes tired, and guilt was written across his face as clearly as the henna on Gauri's palms.
People turned. Conversations paused. Dadaji, from his corner, watched him with a hard gaze. Maithili, halfway through the house, paused in her step.
And Gauri?
She just looked at him.
Not with anger.
But with a single question in her eyes:
"Why now?"
Hriday had barely stepped inside the hall when he was called in.
"Hriday, come to the room," Dadaji's voice echoed across the hall—stern and final.
The room was dimly lit with a warm lamp near the bookshelf, and the heavy curtains muffled the sounds of the celebration still going on outside. Waiting inside were the three people whose disappointment weighed most heavily on him—Dadaji, standing tall by the desk, Maithili, seated on the sofa with folded arms and pursed lips, and Shikhar, Hriday's father, by the window, staring out in stony silence.
Hriday stepped in and quietly shut the door behind him.
Maithili was the first to speak.
"Do you even realize what kind of message you sent today? Disappearing during your best friend's Sangeet? Walking out without a word to your parents or grandfather?"
Hriday didn't answer right away. He looked at each of them, then lowered his gaze. "I had to handle something urgent. It couldn't wait."
Shikhar turned from the window, his voice colder than usual. "We're not talking about a file or a client. This was Mayank's night. Your childhood friend. You were supposed to perform with your wife. You embarrassed her, embarrassed all of us."
"You told her, but not us?" Maithili snapped. "Since when does your wife get information that your mother and father don't?"
Hriday winced at the subtle jab. "It wasn't like that. I didn't mean to—"
But Dadaji raised his hand. The room fell silent.
He looked at Hriday with disappointment that cut deeper than anger.
"I watched you grow up, Hriday," he said, voice steady. "I watched you carry the family name, shoulder responsibilities you were too young for, and still never complain. But today... I didn't recognize you. You left your duties—in the middle of a celebration—without so much as informing your elders. That's not the man we raised you to be."
Hriday looked away, jaw tightening. The weight of shame began to settle heavily on his shoulders. He had made a choice, yes—but the consequences were real, and now they had faces.
Maithili's voice dropped lower, laced with hurt. "People asked about you all evening. They whispered about Gauri. They thought she was hiding something. You made her stand there alone, answering for your absence."
Shikhar added quietly, "I've been silent with you for many things... but this silence ends now. You don't disappear from family—not like this. Not again."
What none of them knew was that just beyond the closed study door, in the hallway dimly lit by the flicker of oil lamps, Gauri stood frozen.
She hadn't meant to eavesdrop.
She had been passing by, hoping to quietly check on Hriday, when she heard her name. And then she couldn't move.
Each word felt like a quiet blade—embarrassed her... she had to answer for you... people whispered about her...
Gauri felt her throat tighten.
So this was how they saw her role.
Not as someone who had tried to support him, not as someone he had confided in—but as someone who had been humiliated by his decisions. A reflection of his failure.
She blinked rapidly, her vision blurring.
There had been a flicker of something earlier that evening—an almost-fragile closeness between them. But now, it felt like it was crumbling before it had even begun.
She turned silently and walked away, her footsteps light, her shadow trailing behind her like a secret.
The house had grown quieter as the Sangeet slowly gave way to night. Most of the guests had retired to their rooms or sat chatting in small groups, sipping chai and savoring sweets. The courtyard was now bathed in a mellow golden glow, the decorations gently swaying in the evening breeze.
Hriday stepped out of the study, his face drawn, his mind still ringing with the weight of what had been said.
He moved through the hallway like a man searching for something he wasn't sure he'd find—until he saw her.
Gauri, standing alone near the garden's side gate, facing away from him. Her dupatta was pulled tightly over her shoulders, as though she were trying to shield herself from more than just the wind. She stood very still, her silhouette softened by the flickering light from a nearby lamp.
Hriday paused, then walked quietly toward her.
"Sweetheart."
She didn't turn.
He came to stand beside her, not too close.
"I know you heard," he said softly. "The room isn't exactly soundproof."
After a moment, she spoke—her voice low and steady.
"I didn't mean to listen. I was coming to find you. But... then I couldn't move."
He nodded, understanding.
"I'm sorry," he said, looking out at the garden. "I didn't think it would all spiral like that. I didn't mean to put you in the middle."
She looked at him now, eyes tired. "But I was in the middle. Everyone asked me where you were. , Dadaji, even Mayank. And I... I had no answer beyond what you told me."
Hriday swallowed. "I know. And I should've told them too. It wasn't fair to leave you standing there like that."
"Then why did you?" she asked, not accusing—just quietly wounded.
He took a breath.
"There was something I had to take care of. Something that couldn't wait. But it's over now, and I can't change how I handled it. I just want you to know... none of this is your fault. You did nothing wrong."
She looked down. "It felt like I did."
"Don't." His voice was firmer now, but still gentle. "Don't carry my burden. You were brave tonight. Stronger than I deserved."
There was a long pause between them, filled only by the rustle of leaves and faint music in the distance.
Then he added, softly, "We missed our performance."
She gave him a faint smile. "It's not like we rehearsed."
"I know," he said with a playful tilt of his head.
Gauri smiled and shook her head at his silly talks.
He smiled—not the polished kind he wore in front of others, but a small, real one, meant only for her.
Hriday and Gauri and the whole Shekhawat family and the guests are staying in Rajvansh Mansion for the wedding.
Isha's wedding will happen from her home.
Hriday is sitting on bed , Gauri is inside the bathroom, she is taking a bath before sleeping.
Hriday walked towards the balcony, today they are staying together as they are in Rajvansh family. His parents and Dadaji don't have any objection.
When his phone buzzed.
He frowned seeing the unknown number he took the call.
" Hello-
His voice cut through as the other side's voice rang .
"I will destroy your company, Hriday Singh Shekhawat—just like you destroyed mine!"
Mr. Jindal's voice rang out like a thunderclap, raw with venom and desperation. His eyes burned with rage, and the veins in his neck bulged with the weight of his fury. The air around him crackled with the bitterness of a man who had lost everything and had no one left to blame but the one standing before him.
But Hriday...
Hriday didn't move. Not an inch.
He remained poised—calm, detached—as if the outburst before him was no more than a breeze brushing past a mountain.
His gaze, sharp and unblinking, remained locked on Jindal with a coolness that could freeze fire.
"I see your memories as broken as your business,"
Hriday replied at last, voice low and unshaken.
"I didn't destroy your company, Jindal. You did that all on your own. I simply refused to carry the weight of your mistakes."
Jindal's fists clenched. His breath came in ragged bursts.
"I'll ruin everything you've built!" he snarled. "I'll make sure the Shekhawat name burns!"
Hriday arched an eyebrow, amused.
"You've already tried once. And look where that got you."
He stepped forward, voice soft but lethal.
"You've lost your company, your allies, your credibility. What you haven't lost, Mr. Jindal, is your talent for empty threats. And I suggest you cling to that—because it's all you have left."
Jindal froze.
And Hriday cut the call without another word—leaving behind the wreckage of a man still trying to fight a battle he'd already lost.
" What the hell!! How can he cut my call like this,...!"
Mr. Jindel spoke.
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