Siddharth lifted Shivi, her small weight a comforting anchor, and carried her to the bedroom. He settled her on the bed, then played with her, a silent exchange of joy. Each time Shivi’s tiny arms reached for him, he pulled her close, the innocence of her laughter a balm to his heart.
But his gaze snagged on a photograph on the wall. The moment his eyes found the image, his breath hitched. A wave of sadness washed over his face, tears stinging his eyes. He murmured, voice raw, “Why did you leave? Now, because of you, I have to make room for another woman… in this house, in this room, in Shivi’s life. But I swear, whoever she is, she’ll never replace you. She’ll mean nothing. I will always only love you.” He squeezed Shivi tight, trying to drown the ache in her small warmth.
A burst of noise from the doorway cut through the quiet. A boy and a girl tumbled into the room, shouting, “Congratulations! Wedding day!” Siddharth’s glare silenced them instantly.
The mischievous girl scooped Shivi up, cradling her. Siddharth snapped, “What are you two doing in here?” The boy, Krish, ran a hand through his hair, a practiced flourish. “Brother, you forget? We have a share in this property. How could we *not* come?” He attempted a dramatic expression, but Siddharth just shook his head.
Anushka, laughing, couldn’t stop herself. Shivi, captivated by their energy, clapped along. The sight of her joy softened everyone’s edges.
Siddharth, still simmering, ground out, “If you’re done, leave.” Anushka smirked. “I’m taking Shivi. You need to get ready. Everyone’s waiting.” She and Krish swept out of the room with Shivi, leaving Siddharth shaking his head, heading for the bathroom. But his heart remained trapped in the memory of the photograph.
The grand hall pulsed with opulence. Chandeliers cast golden light on intricately carved walls, each pattern whispering a silent story. The air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers, blending with a serene stillness. Tiles reflected the light, creating a shimmering illusion. The mandap itself glowed, draped with garlands of pink and white. The sacred fire burned brightly, its crimson flames casting dancing shadows.
Siddharth sat in the mandap, his face a mask. He betrayed no emotion, making his thoughts unreadable. Only the Rayzada family was present, as he’d insisted on a secret wedding. Or perhaps, there was another secret buried deeper.
Mrs. Neelam watched him, hope and worry etched on her face. A faint smile touched her lips, but her gaze held a mother’s silent anxiety.
Anushka, dressed in a sleek frock suit, clicked selfies, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. Her dark eyes were deep and mysterious, her skin glowing in the soft light.
Beside her, Rajveer and Krish stood in three-piece suits, handsome and confident. Krish’s light brown hair, sharp eyes, and fair skin radiated charm. Rajveer’s long hair, chiseled features, and gym-toned physique exuded effortless allure.
Krish chatted quietly with his father, Mr. Nilesh.
Siddharth’s gaze remained fixed on the fire, the flickering flames mirroring something unspoken within him.
Tiny Shivi sat in Rajveer’s lap, tugging at his cheeks, running her fingers through his hair. Rajveer looked at her with warmth, his eyes filled with affection.
The priest’s voice cut through the stillness.
“Call the bride,” he said.
And then, the chime of anklets—a sweet, melodic sound—stirred something deep within everyone. All eyes turned to the entrance… except Siddharth’s.
A bride stood there, cloaked in crimson, her eyes lowered in shyness. A long veil obscured her face, hinting at the beauty beneath. Her fair skin glowed, her forehead adorned with jewelry, her hands dyed with henna. She looked like a princess.
Two women escorted her. Vanshika, her mother, a graceful woman in a beautiful saree, held a tearful smile. Beside her walked Aradhya, the bride’s younger sister, barely eighteen, wearing a frock suit. Her long hair framed her face, her grey eyes radiating an unusual charm… and a hint of unease.
They carefully seated the bride at the mandap. The priest began chanting, filling the hall with a sacred aura. Then, a man entered—a modern gentleman, around fifty. Vanshika’s face softened with relief. She smiled warmly.
“Ajay, where were you?” he asked, stepping forward eagerly.
Ajay Singh Shekhawat, the bride’s father, embraced him with a warmth that spanned years.
“Got a little held up,” Ajay replied, his smile gentle.
Beside him stood Jashn Singh Shekhawat, the bride’s brother, a man in his late twenties, radiating the aura of a film hero. His gym-toned physique, fair skin, and striking grey eyes reflected his strong personality.
Jashn glanced at his sister, a faint smile playing on his lips, shadowed by sadness. The bride lifted her gaze and met his eyes.
The wedding rituals began. The priest’s chants grew louder. The bride and groom sat before the fire, and the moment for their vows approached.
To Be Continued…!!