Chapter 20: A Promise in Front of the World
The weeks after Vansh’s proposal felt like a dream Niyati never wanted to wake from. Every morning, she found herself smiling for no reason — until she realized it wasn’t “no reason.” It was Vansh.
He had always been there for her in small, quiet ways. But now, knowing he would be her partner for life, she felt a deep, unshakable gratitude. Not just for his love, but for his patience, his respect, and the way he made her father feel safe about her future. Every message he sent, every thoughtful gesture, every soft reassurance felt like another thread stitching their lives together.
The Wedding Preparations
From the day their engagement was announced, both families threw themselves into the wedding preparations with full enthusiasm. The house buzzed with relatives, laughter, and endless discussions about décor, outfits, and rituals.
Invitations were gold-embossed with their names. Thousands of flowers were ordered, and the menu perfectly blended Gujarati traditions with modern favorites. The venue was a grand palace-style hall, adorned with marigold strings, crystal chandeliers, and a stage draped in red and ivory silk. Every corner whispered celebration.
Niyati’s father watched every detail with pride — not because it was extravagant, but because he was finally fulfilling a dream he had carried for years: to see his daughter married to a man who truly valued her. Every time Vansh spoke with a vendor or helped decide something, her father’s trust deepened. He often told relatives, “This boy cares for her heart more than anything.”
Inside their home, Niyati’s room became a mini studio — filled with bridal magazines, fabric samples, jewelry boxes, and excited aunties debating whether the dupatta should be draped left or right. Amid the chaos, Niyati felt a quiet calm. For the first time in her life, the future felt clear, steady, and warm.
The Grand Day
On the wedding morning, the sun rose slowly, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and gold. The air was filled with the sound of shehnai and the fragrance of fresh roses. Relatives rushed around the house, photographers clicked endless pictures, and haldi-yellow plates glittered under soft morning light.
Niyati sat before the mirror, her bridal lehenga a deep crimson embroidered with golden threads. Her bangles jingled softly as she adjusted her dupatta. Her mehendi, dark and beautiful, carried Vansh’s name hidden within its curves. As the makeup artist added the final touch of sindoor-red lipstick, Niyati caught her own reflection — a girl who had once been afraid to dream now looking like a queen stepping into her destiny.
In the reflection, she saw her father standing at the door, eyes shimmering with emotion.
“You look just like your mother did on our wedding day,” he whispered, his voice trembling.
Niyati’s heart tightened. She smiled, holding his hand.
“Papa… thank you. For everything. For trusting Vansh. For trusting me.”
He gently cupped her face. “I am not giving you away… I am giving you a life I always prayed you’d have.”
The Ceremony
The mandap glowed under soft evening lights. Vansh stood there in a cream sherwani with intricate gold embroidery, a quiet smile playing on his lips as his eyes searched for her. His friends teased him for looking at the entrance every two seconds, but he didn’t care. Today, the world could laugh — he was waiting for the woman who changed everything.
When Niyati walked in, escorted by her father, the guests gasped. Not only for her beauty, but for the radiant joy in her eyes — a glow that came straight from the heart. Vansh’s breath caught for a moment, and he subconsciously pressed his hand to his chest, steadying the wild rhythm of his heartbeat.
As she reached Vansh, her father placed her hand in his, saying softly,
“Take care of her… as if she’s your own soul.”
Vansh looked straight into her father’s eyes and replied, with a sincerity that touched everyone around,
“Always.”
That single word felt like a vow in itself — a promise sealed long before the rituals began.
The Vows
The sacred fire crackled as they circled it, each step a promise — to respect, to support, to laugh together, and to share life’s burdens equally. The priest’s chants blended with the flickering flames, creating a bubble of warmth around them.
Every vow felt real, not just ceremonial. With each phera, Niyati felt her heart grow steadier, her future clearer. Vansh’s hand never loosened around hers — firm, reassuring, unshakably present.
When the final blessings were given, Niyati leaned slightly toward him and whispered,
“Thank you… for choosing me, for loving me, for giving my father this peace.”
Vansh’s hand tightened around hers.
“No, Niyati… thank you for trusting me with your heart.”
Their foreheads touched lightly — just for a moment — but it was a moment that said more than a thousand words.
The Celebration
The reception overflowed with music, dancing, and laughter. Colleagues shared stories of the office romance that “wasn’t a romance” at first. Her cousins giggled about the way Vansh kept glancing at her even while talking to guests. Family members hugged her father, praising his new son-in-law, and blessings flowed like gentle rain.
The stage glittered, cameras flashed constantly, and every gift box felt like a treasure wrapped with love. Niyati and Vansh stole small moments — a shared smile, a whispered joke, a stolen glance — as if reminding each other that even in a crowd of hundreds, they were each other’s home.
Late that night, as they stood together on the balcony of the decorated hall, Niyati gazed at the twinkling lights and thought: This is more than I ever prayed for.
The cool breeze lifted her veil; Vansh gently held it in place, smiling at her with eyes full of warmth. The city lights shimmered below them like blessings scattered across the earth.
That night marked not just the beginning of their married life, but also a quiet victory for love — a love that had grown slowly, patiently, and beautifully, blossoming into something unshakable. Something sacred. Something forever.
