"The echoes of shehnai, the splendor of colors, and the sweetness of relationships"

A Sangeet night is a celebration of music, dance, and joy, where families come together to revel in the excitement of the upcoming wedding. The air buzzes with laughter, dhol beats echo in the background, and vibrant lights cast a golden glow on the dancing crowd. It's a night of love, togetherness, and unfiltered happiness, where every song tells a story, and every step on the dance floor feels like a promise of a beautiful future.

"Val? Are you ready?" my mom called from across the room. It was 5 p.m., and we were getting ready for Dhriti's  Sangeet night.

"Yes, Maa, five minutes. Coming," I murmured, struggling to put on my jewelry.

I was dressed in a dark blue net saree, its border adorned with intricate handmade designs. The sleeveless, thin-strapped blouse shimmered with delicate gold embroidery, its deep neckline and backless cut adding a touch of elegance. My hair was curled into soft waves, framing my heavily kohled eyes and the light pink lipstick that balanced my dramatic makeup. I fastened a diamond necklace around my neck, paired it with a matching bracelet and payal, then slipped into my silver heels, ready to step into the night of celebration.

Dhriti somehow convinced me to dance with Kabir Bhai and Rudra Bhai on Hindi songs, even though none of us were particularly good dancers. To make sure we didn't completely embarrass ourselves, we had even hired a choreographer to teach us some steps for tonight's performance.

I was incredibly nervous. Dancing in front of so many people, most of whom I had never met before, felt daunting. Tonight, I would be meeting a lot of relatives for the first time—not just from my side of the family but also my brother-in-law's. The thought of so many unfamiliar faces, the pressure of socializing, and the constant weight of expectations had left me feeling anxious all day. And now, the moment had finally arrived.

Taking one last look at myself in the mirror, I took a deep breath and stepped out of my bedroom. As I walked downstairs, the house was a scene of lively chaos. Some were busy clicking pictures, capturing the excitement of the night, while the men hurried the women to settle into the cars. The women, on the other hand, were too busy posing for one last perfect shot—some things never change.

"Wow, you look so beautiful," my mother said as she walked toward me, admiration shining in her eyes. She gently took some kohl from the corner of her eye with her fingertip and placed it behind my ear—a small yet powerful gesture to ward off the evil eye.

I smiled softly and murmured a quiet, "Thank you," feeling the warmth of her love in that simple act.

Slowly, I made my way toward the bride-to-be. Dhriti was glowing, dressed in a breathtaking light blue gown that shimmered under the soft lights. Her shoulder-length hair was elegantly styled and pinned back, revealing her delicate features. Her face was adorned with flawless makeup, enhancing her beauty and making her look almost doll-like—elegant, radiant, and every bit the bride she was meant to be.

As we settled into the car and took off, the excitement in the air was undeniable. The ride was anything but quiet—we sang along to our favorite songs, danced in our seats, and laughed as the car swayed to the rhythm of our joy. The energy was infectious, making the half-hour journey feel like mere minutes.

Upon arriving at the venue, we hurried upstairs to one of the rooms to retouch Dhriti's makeup. After a few finishing touches, we spent some time clicking pictures—some solo, some in groups, capturing memories that would last a lifetime.

The function was set to begin at 7 p.m., and as soon as the clock struck the hour, we made our way downstairs. The sight that greeted us left us speechless. The hall was breathtaking—adorned with golden lights, cascading floral arrangements, and delicate drapery that made the space feel nothing short of magical. What caught my eye the most were the pictures hanging on the walls—snapshots of Dhriti and Jiju, frozen in moments of love and laughter. The entire place radiated warmth, love, and the promise of a beautiful beginning.

As the evening unfolded, the celebrations began with a lively group dance by the parents and uncles and aunts from both families. It was amusing to watch the men struggle to keep up with the steps, their two left feet making the performance unintentionally hilarious, while the women shot them playful glares, trying to keep them in sync.

Next, the groom's cousins took the stage, dancing energetically to Nachde Ne Saare, their enthusiasm setting the perfect mood for the night. The crowd clapped along, cheering them on as they twirled and jumped with infectious excitement.

And then, it was our turn. Kabir, Rudra Bhai, and I stepped onto the stage, our hearts pounding as the opening beats of Iski Uski filled the air. The spotlight was on us now, and with one deep breath, we let go of our nerves and moved to the rhythm, letting the music take over.

Loud applause filled the hall as our performance came to an end. Breathless but exhilarated, I stepped down from the stage, only to be met with Dhriti rushing toward me. She pulled me into a warm hug, showering me with compliments and excitement. I smiled, feeling a rare moment of lightness in my chest.

After a while, I quietly moved to a corner of the room, letting the celebrations continue around me. The crowd, the noise, the flashing lights—it all felt a little overwhelming. My throat felt dry, so I grabbed a bottle of water and decided to step outside for some fresh air.

I climbed the stairs and made my way to the terrace, craving a moment of solitude. As soon as I stepped outside, the cool summer breeze kissed my skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth inside. A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I walked toward the railing, resting my hands on the cool metal. The city stretched before me, twinkling under the night sky, and for the first time that evening, I felt at peace.

"What's up, dancing doll?"

A deep, rough voice cut through the silence, making me whip around in surprise. My eyes darted left and right, scanning the dimly lit terrace, but there was no one in sight. My brows furrowed in confusion. Had I imagined it?

Just as I was about to brush it off, a figure stepped out from the shadows.

He was dressed in a dark blue sherwani paired with crisp white pants, the fabric clinging to his well-built frame. His broad chest and muscular arms stretched against the material, making it impossible to ignore his commanding presence. His black hair was styled effortlessly, slightly tousled, as if he hadn't put in much effort but still looked striking. The faint stubble along his sharp jawline added to his rugged charm, and the way his dark eyes held a teasing glint sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.

"And who are you?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly, but I stood my ground, refusing to let him see the effect he had on me.

"Ahh, she speaks..." he mused, a smirk playing on his lips as he took another step toward me.

I frowned, confusion flickering across my face. "What do you mean?"

He didn't answer—just kept walking closer, his gaze unwavering, intense.

As he took another step, something inside me snapped back into control. This time, my voice was firm, confident. "Stay right there."

He halted. His head tilted slightly to the side, eyes locked onto mine as if assessing, intrigued. A silent challenge lingered in the air between us, thick with curiosity and something else—something I couldn't quite name yet.

"Why, are you scared?" he smirked, taking another step toward me, then another, and another—until he was standing right in front of me.

The space between us vanished, my front barely brushing against his as he reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. His touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent an uninvited shiver down my spine.

Annoyed, I slapped his hand away. "What are you doing?" My voice carried a sharp edge, laced with anger. First, he had startled me, and now he had the audacity to touch my hair. If there was one thing I hated, it was people touching my hair without permission.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my reaction, before his lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile. "Your dance was exquisite," he murmured, his tone smooth, almost appreciative. But the way his dark eyes studied me, there was something unreadable in them—something that made my pulse quicken.

I tried—really tried—not to let his compliment affect me. But the way he said it, the deep, deliberate tone of his voice, did something to me. It stirred something unfamiliar inside me, something I wasn't ready to acknowledge.

And then there was the kindness my father had instilled in me since childhood—the very thing that made it impossible for me to ignore even the simplest acts of appreciation. No matter how much I didn't want to, my lips parted, and before I could stop myself, I murmured a quick, almost reluctant, "Thank you."

My father had always made sure I was quick to show gratitude, no matter the situation. It was a habit ingrained in me, a part of who I was. And even now, in the presence of this infuriatingly confident stranger, I couldn't go against it.

"You shouldn't have returned... but you did," he said, his voice lower now, almost unreadable. "I was really shocked when I saw you there, dancing... and now here."

A strange pulse of confusion shot through me. His words didn't make sense. Shouldn't have returned? What did he mean by that?

Frowning, I asked, "What does that mean?"

For a moment, he didn't respond. He just kept looking at me, his gaze intense, unwavering. The teasing glint in his eyes from earlier had vanished, replaced by something else. Something unreadable.

Something like... confusion?

It was as if he, too, was trying to piece together something he hadn't expected. And in that silence, the air between us shifted, thick with unspoken words and unanswered questions.

Suddenly, my phone rang, breaking the strange tension that had settled between us. I glanced down to see Mom flashing on the screen before looking up at him again. I had to tilt my head upward—he was at least a foot taller than me.

Just as abruptly as he had invaded my space, he stepped back, giving me the much-needed distance I hadn't even realized I was craving.

Taking the opportunity, I stepped forward, desperate to escape whatever was happening between us. Without another word, I turned and walked toward the stairs from where I had entered.

"Stop."

His voice came again, firm and commanding, the same deep timbre I was already trying to forget. But this time, instead of stopping, I ran.

It wasn't easy in heels—definitely not—but if I could dance in them, I could damn well run. My heart pounded as I made my way downstairs, each step echoing in the quiet. When I reached the bottom, I quickly glanced back, expecting—half-expecting—to see him following.

But there was nothing.

Just darkness swallowing the terrace behind me.

Shaking off the unsettling feeling creeping up my spine, I turned and hurried through the hallway, slipping back into the warm, lively chaos of the function. Laughter, music, and chatter filled the air, a stark contrast to the eerie stillness I had just escaped.

I scanned the room, searching for my mother, and finally spotted her sitting with Dhriti and a group of aunties, deep in conversation. The sight grounded me, bringing me back to reality. Whatever that had been upstairs—it was over. Or at least, I wanted to believe it was.

I walked toward Maa, and as soon as I reached her, she turned to introduce me to her friends.

"Valerie, you're looking so thin," one of them remarked, her voice laced with faux concern. Then, with a haughty chuckle, she added, "I guess your father's family didn't feed you well enough."

My fingers curled into fists behind my back as I forced a small smile, willing myself not to let her words get to me. I had heard similar comments before—too many times, in fact—but no matter how much I prepared myself, they still stung.

"It's nothing like that, Aunty," Dhriti interjected, her voice calm yet firm.

None of them knew the truth—about the accident, about my life in California, about the loneliness that had swallowed me whole. To them, I was just the girl who had lived with her father, far away from home.

And maybe, in some ways, that was easier.

"Sup, aunties?" Kabir bhai said casually as he strolled up beside me, looping his arm through mine. Then, turning to Maa, he added, "Mom, I'm stealing Val for a few minutes. Hope you don't mind."

I glanced at him, silently thanking him for the escape, and without waiting for a response, we turned and walked toward the food table, leaving behind the nosy stares and whispered judgments.

The aroma of spices filled the air as we reached the starters section, where a delicious spread awaited us—crispy chicken garlic, spicy chicken chili, paneer chili, sev puri, pani puri, chaat, samosas, and a dozen other tempting dishes. My stomach grumbled at the sight.

I picked up a plate and grabbed a generous serving of chicken garlic crispy along with paneer chili, while Kabir bhai loaded his plate with sev puri, pani puri, and samosas, his plate nearly overflowing.

With our hands full, we found an empty corner and settled into the chairs, wasting no time before digging in, savoring every bite. The familiar burst of spices on my tongue was a welcome distraction—a moment of comfort in the middle of everything overwhelming.

"Isn't this your third time eating the starters, Kabir?"

Rudra bhaiya's wife, Naina bhabhi, appeared beside us, balancing a plate of crispy chicken as she settled into the chair next to me.

"Bhabhi, you should never count the plates," Kabir bhai said dramatically, his mouth still full of food.

I let out a soft laugh and scooped up a spoonful of chili paneer, offering it to bhabhi. She smiled and took a bite, humming in appreciation.

She looked radiant tonight, dressed in a rich red saree that draped beautifully over her, accentuating the soft curve of her baby bump. The glow on her face wasn't just from the makeup or the excitement of the function—it was the kind of warmth that came from contentment, from happiness.

And for a fleeting moment, as I sat there with them, eating and laughing, it almost felt like I belonged.

"Baby, how much are you eating? Don't you want to have the main course and dessert?" Rudra bhaiya's voice interrupted our gossip mid-sentence.

Just as I raised my head, my eyes widened at the sight before me.

Standing in front of us was Rudra bhai, alongside Jiju—and the stranger from the terrace.

My stomach twisted slightly as I frowned, my gaze shifting between them. What was he doing here?

I quickly tried to finish the food in my mouth, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his intense stare. That smirk on his face—it was the same one from earlier, teasing yet unreadable. Like he knew something I didn't. Like he was enjoying whatever was unfolding right now.

"What do you—" I started, but my voice trailed off as I met his gaze.

The stranger's smirk deepened, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. He tilted his head slightly, as if waiting for me to finish my sentence, but I couldn't find the words.

Kabir bhai chuckled, oblivious to the tension crackling between us. "Val, this is Ekansh. Jiju's closest cousin. He just flew in today for the wedding."

Ekansh.

The name settled uncomfortably in my mind, as if I was supposed to recognize it, yet it meant nothing to me. And yet, something about the way he was looking at me—like he already knew me—made my skin prickle.

I swallowed the last bite of my food and placed my plate down, suddenly not feeling as hungry anymore.

"What do you mean?" Bhabhi glared at bhai, as if he had just stopped her from entering heaven.

"I already have a separate department for the main course and dessert. You don't have to worry," bhabhi said with a dramatic wave of her hand before popping another bite of crispy chicken into her mouth.

Kabir bhai sighed, shaking his head. "At this rate, bhabhi, you'll be eating more than me."

"And what's wrong with that?" Bhabhi challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Before bhai could respond, I felt a shift in the air. My gaze flickered back to Veer, who was still watching me with that unreadable smirk.

"Not a fan of food, dancing doll?" he asked, his voice low, teasing.

I stiffened, my fingers curling around the edge of my plate. "I like food just fine," I muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Good," he said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his sherwani. "Because I'd hate to think you were starving yourself just to fit into that dress."

My head snapped up, eyes narrowing. Was that an insult or a compliment? The nerve of this guy.

Before I could say anything, Jiju clapped Ekansh on the back. "Don't mind him, Valerie. He likes getting under people's skin."

Ekansh just chuckled, clearly entertained.

And I had a sinking feeling that this was only the beginning.

Ekansh. 

His name.

Ekansh.

His name rolled through my mind, smooth and effortless, as if it had always belonged there. A part of me wanted to say it out loud, just to see how it felt on my tongue—but I didn't.

Instead, I smiled at Jiju before shifting my gaze to the playful bickering between Rudra Bhai and Bhabhi. The way they went back and forth, arguing over food like it was a matter of life and death, made me chuckle lightly.

For a moment, just a moment, I let myself enjoy the chaos around me—the laughter, the teasing, the warmth of family.

And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, I could still feel Ekansh's gaze on me. Steady. Amused. Like he had figured out something about me that even I didn't know yet.

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