Rain tapped against the windowpane like whispers that refused to be silenced. Udaipur’s monsoon had a way of cloaking the city in a hush, almost as if the skies themselves were mourning something unspoken. Shreenika Randhawa sat by the arched jharokha of her ancestral haveli, her fingers tracing the delicate patterns carved into the marble sill. Her eyes — soft, expressive, and far too haunted for someone so young — remained distant, locked on a world only she could see.
Behind those eyes was a story she had never told. Not in full. Not even to herself.
The aroma of petrichor wafted in through the open window, stirring something inside her. She exhaled — long and slow — but it brought no peace.
Today was the day her life was about to change.
She could hear faint sounds of hushed conversations downstairs, her mother Kavita’s anxious tone blending with the clinking of chai cups. Her father, Rajendra, was calm as always, speaking in a voice too low to catch. Her older brother, Manveer, had returned from Udaipur the night before — and since then, nothing in the Randhawa house had been the same.
On the table in front of her sat a photograph. A man, tall and serious, captured mid-conversation — not a posed image, but one that said more than a thousand rehearsed smiles. His name, written on the back in neat cursive: Abhiraj Rathore.
She had stared at it longer than she admitted to herself. His eyes held a story too. Something restrained. Something raw. Something that echoed the silent battles she fought alone.
---
"You agreed to this, Manveer? Without asking me?"
Abhiraj Rathore’s voice was low, even, but it carried the kind of weight that made boardrooms fall silent. Dressed in a crisp black shirt with his sleeves rolled up, he stood at the edge of his father’s study, his posture rigid but composed. His jaw tightened — a small but significant tell.
Across from him, Manveer Randhawa leaned back into the leather armchair, unbothered by the storm brewing in his best friend’s gaze.
"I didn’t agree to it as your friend," Manveer said. "I agreed to it as her brother."
Abhiraj’s eyes narrowed. "You’re asking me to marry your sister, and you didn’t think to run it by me before making it sound... official?"
"I didn’t ask you to marry just anyone. I asked you to marry her."
A pause. Silence bloomed between them, dense and taut.
Manveer stood up, walking to the window, mirroring the same rain Shreenika watched miles away. "She needs someone who won’t just protect her — she needs someone who won’t break her. And you need someone who will look at you and not see your wealth or your last name. You two are... alike, Abhi. More than you think."
Abhiraj didn’t respond immediately. He turned toward the rain.
His voice was quieter when he finally spoke. "She doesn’t know what she’s signing up for."
"Neither do you. And that’s the only reason this might actually work."
---
The families agreed to meet. A dinner was arranged at the Rathore family's Udaipur residence — a sprawling modern haveli with sandstone pillars and glass accents that overlooked Lake Pichola.
Shreenika’s heart thudded in her chest as she stepped out of the car with her parents and Manveer. The warm yellow lights pouring from the verandah made everything feel too real, too fast.
They were greeted by Abhiraj’s mother, Veerangana Rathore — elegant, warm, with a smile that immediately put her at ease — and his father, Rudraveer, who had the gentle firmness of a man who’d earned his legacy. Even Abhiraj’s younger brother Aryan cracked a joke to ease the tension, earning a rare, amused smile from her usually stoic father.
Only the grandmother, Rajeshwari Rathore, stood stiff and silent behind the pleasantries — her sharp gaze appraising Shreenika with a disapproval that wasn’t even masked. Still, Shreenika held her ground with quiet dignity.
Dinner passed in a blur of introductions, stories, awkward laughter, and sidelong glances. Manveer and Abhiraj retreated for a private conversation. Their parents discussed timelines and traditions. Aryan and the cousins chatted like old friends. And somewhere in the middle of it all, Shreenika caught a glimpse of Abhiraj — truly saw him — standing at the edge of the balcony with his hands in his pockets, staring at the lake.
Their first real conversation happened much later, after the formalities were done, after dessert was cleared, and the others gave them privacy in the garden.
"Do you want to ask me anything?" he asked, his voice as quiet as the night wind.
She looked at her hands. Then at him. "Do you always look this serious?"
He blinked, startled. Then smiled. Just barely.
"Only when I'm about to make life-altering decisions."
A flicker of amusement crossed her eyes.
"I don’t know how to be a wife," she admitted softly.
"I don’t know how to be a husband."
Silence. Then, she tilted her head. "That makes us even."
And for the first time in years, Shreenika felt her breath settle.
She didn’t know if this was love. But it wasn’t fear either. And that — in her world — was enough to begin with.
---
Three Weeks Later
The air shimmered with golden warmth as the courtyard of the Rathore Estate bloomed with marigolds, jasmine, and hundreds of twinkling fairy lights. The engagement ceremony was more than just a ritual — it was an event that brought together two legacies, two families, and two people bound by something deeper than tradition.
Shreenika stood at the threshold of the garden, draped in a breathtaking blush pink lehenga. The delicate embroidery glistened under the lights like dew on rose petals. Her long, wavy hair had been woven into an elegant braid adorned with tiny pearls. Her eyes — wide and uncertain — searched the crowd as she adjusted the sheer dupatta over her head.
“Breathe, Shree,” whispered her cousin Isha, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You look like a dream.”
But Shreenika felt like anything but. Her past lingered behind her like a shadow. Yet tonight, as her father placed a soft kiss on her forehead and led her toward the raised platform, something in her heart shifted.
And then she saw him.
Abhiraj, dressed in a subtle mint-green sherwani that complemented her pink, looked like he'd stepped out of a timeless painting. His hair was neatly styled, his beard trimmed, and his eyes — though guarded — softened the moment they met hers.
Their families surrounded them, beaming, clapping, offering blessings. Rajeshwari Rathore stood at a distance, her expression unreadable.
As the priest began the rituals, Shreenika’s fingers trembled slightly when Abhiraj reached for her hand. He noticed.
“Still not sure?” he murmured, just for her.
She gave a breathless smile. “Still scared.”
He didn’t let go. “Then we’re still even.”
When the rings were exchanged, a soft applause rose from the crowd. Fireworks sparkled over the lake. Music filled the air. And for a moment — just a moment — Shreenika felt like the shattered pieces of her soul had stilled.
Not healed. Not yet.
But maybe, just maybe... it was the beginning.
---
Author's note:
Hey beautiful souls! 💕
I can't tell you how much it means to me that you've taken time to read my story. Every view, every vote, every comment fills my heart with gratitude. This story is my safe space, and now, it's yours too. ✨
If it touched your heart, made you feel something—even a little—please show some love. Drop a comment, hit that star, or just say hi. I’d love to know you’re here. Your support truly means everything. 💌With all my love,
Author kratii 🤍
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