While returning to home, Aditi remembered how, from The moment her parents has agreed and her wedding date was set, her home transformed into a whirlwind of excitement. From dawn till late at night, the air was filled with the sound of laughter, the clinking of bangles, the rustle of silk, and the sweet scent of fresh flowers.
The living room no longer looked like a living room at all — one corner was stacked with lehenga bags, another with jewelry boxes, and in the middle, trays of sweets piled high like treasures waiting to be discovered. Every day, an enthusiastic aunt would drop in with suggestions:
“Darling, wear floral jewelry for the haldi, it’ll be perfect!”
“Oh no, for the mehendi you must do a green and pink contrast!”
Aditi would smile and nod, though her heart fluttered with a mix of joy and nerves. This wasn’t just a wedding — it was the celebration of their victory, the proof that love had conquered years of opposition.
At Aman’s house, preparations were just as intense. He was personally involved in everything — from designing invitations to curating the DJ playlist. Almost every other day, he’d call Aditi:
Aman: “Adu, for your mehendi, should we go with Pehli Nazar Mein or Raabta?”
Aditi: “Raabta. Because you’re my raabta.”
And then there’d be a warm silence on the line, both smiling like fools.
Shopping trips had become their little escapes — moments stolen from the chaos of wedding preparations, where the rest of the world blurred into the background. That afternoon, the jewelry store was bathed in golden light, its glass counters glittering with rows of bangles, necklaces, and earrings that shimmered like captured stardust.
Aman wandered between the displays, but his eyes weren’t on the gold. They were on Aditi — watching how her fingers traced the edges of a delicate kada, how her eyes lit up at certain designs, and how her hair kept falling across her face, begging to be tucked behind her ear.
Finally, he stopped in front of a set of slender gold bangles, inlaid with tiny rubies. Picking them up, he walked over and took her hand.
“These,” he said softly, his voice low enough for only her to hear, “will look as beautiful on you… as you look in my life.”
Aditi froze, her breath catching in her throat. He wasn’t just talking about jewelry — his eyes held that rare, unguarded tenderness that made her heart ache in the sweetest way.
“You’re impossible,” she whispered, shaking her head with a shy smile.
“And yet,” he leaned closer, “you chose me anyway.”
The salesgirl, watching the scene unfold, chuckled warmly. “Sir, you should win a romantic groom award.”
Aditi’s cheeks flamed instantly. She tried to pull her hand back, but Aman tightened his hold gently, refusing to let go.
“You hear that, Adu?” he teased, his thumb brushing over her wrist, feeling her pulse race. “Even strangers know how much I’m in love with you.”
Her lips curved into a reluctant smile. “You’re making a scene.”
He stepped even closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Good. I want the whole world to know you’re mine.”
For a moment, it felt like they were alone in the room — no salesgirl, no customers, just the two of them and the unspoken history that brought them here. The years of stolen glances, whispered calls in the middle of the night, the pain of nearly losing each other… all of it had led to this — a simple moment in a jewelry shop, but one that felt like a promise.
Aditi looked down at the bangles in his hand. “Fine,” she murmured, “buy them.”
Aman grinned. “For you?”
She met his gaze, a playful spark in her eyes. “For us. So you remember that no matter how much you annoy me, I’ll still wear your love on my wrist.”
He laughed softly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her forehead before finally letting her hand go — though the warmth of his touch lingered long after.
In the quieter moments, away from the chatter of relatives and the clinking of shopping bags, they would find each other. It was never planned — somehow their steps always carried them to a corner where the noise faded, and it was just the two of them.
This time, they were sitting side by side on a low bench outside the fabric store, the warm evening light spilling over them like a blessing. Aman’s hand found hers without hesitation, his fingers threading through hers in a grip that was firm yet gentle — a silent reminder that he was here, still holding on.
Aditi leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, letting the comfort of his presence wash over her. No words passed between them. They didn’t need any. His slow, steady breaths, the subtle weight of his arm around her shoulders, and the faint scent of his cologne spoke louder than language ever could.
For both of them, this was more than just a quiet embrace. It was the culmination of years spent weathering storms together — the nights Aditi had cried herself to sleep wondering if love was worth the pain, the days Aman had fought against his own doubts when the opposition from her family had felt unshakable. There had been moments when walking away would have been easier. But they hadn’t.
Aman tilted his head slightly, pressing his lips to the top of her hair in a lingering kiss. She felt the warmth seep into her scalp, into her very soul, and a small sigh escaped her lips. Her free hand came up to rest against his chest, feeling the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat — steady now, but she remembered the times it had raced with fear, just like hers.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as if to say, We made it. We didn’t let go.
And his arm tightened around her in answer, as if to reply, Never. I never will.
They sat like that for a long time, letting the silence carry the weight of their gratitude. There was no need to say “thank you” or “I love you” — those truths lived in the way he brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, in the way she squeezed his hand when a lump formed in her throat.
For once, their love didn’t feel like a battle. It felt like peace. And that, more than anything, was the victory they had been fighting for all along.
Their families, once divided, were now united in joy. Aditi’s father happily accompanied Aman to the market to select sweets, while Aman’s mother lovingly hand-stitched details onto Aditi’s bridal dupatta.
And yet, beneath the laughter, both carried the faint shadow of their past — the long years of disapproval, the fear of losing each other. There were moments when Aman would suddenly go quiet during a conversation, as if some old memory had surfaced. Or Aditi would look at him a moment too long, her eyes holding that silent question: Are we really safe now?
They didn’t always speak about it, but they felt it. That lingering fragility, the fear that happiness this perfect might slip away.
One night, just three days before the wedding, Aman called her past midnight.
Aman: “Can’t sleep?”
Aditi: “Not without you.”
He chuckled softly, then his tone shifted. “Adu… we’ve imagined this day for so many years. But sometimes I still feel like it could vanish, like it’s too good to be real.”
There was a pause before Aditi replied, her voice steady and warm. “I know, Aman. I feel it too. But look at where we are — we fought for this, we earned this. And no one can take it away now. Not from us.”
Her words wrapped around him like a blanket. That night, they talked about their future — their first home, travel plans, even silly debates over who would cook breakfast on Sundays. They ended the call with a quiet promise: no matter how busy life got, they would never let go of each other’s hand.
For them, the wedding wasn’t just a union.
It was proof that love could outlast storms, heal wounds, and turn fear into forever.
