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well hope so badhiya hi honge.

Guys well mera exam complete ho gaya hai

( Just an imagination, kahin nhi hua bs thoda sa time nikal kr work kiya and ek New UPDATE

de diya 😁)

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5000+ words

Ufff 😮‍💨

Enjoy your reading.

Sriya's POV

When we stepped back into the hall, a sight met my eyes that both warmed and shattered my heart: my father was smiling.

It wasn’t the tight, practiced curve of his lips he used for business associates; it was a real, radiant glow—the kind of light I hadn't seen since my mother passed away. In that moment, a fierce clarity took hold of me.

For his sake, to preserve that fragile spark of happiness, I knew I would walk through fire without a second thought.

I felt a presence anchor me from behind—Aryan, silent and steady as a shadow.

Before I could process the weight of his proximity, a blur of energy rushed toward me.

"Bhabhi! Please, come sit with us!" Siya chirped, her eyes dancing with mischief.

The word Bhabhi felt alien, a heavy title for someone as broken as I felt, yet it was strangely grounding. Jatin joined her, puffing out his chest as he introduced himself as my "handsome devar." With a warmth that felt entirely unearned, Siya hooked her arm through mine and pulled me toward the sofa.

They dragged me into their world, chattering with a seamless familiarity as if I had been their sister for a lifetime. They bickered, teased each other about embarrassing childhood photos, and laughed with a raw freedom I had never known.

Watching them, a sharp pang of envy—or perhaps grief—hit me. My childhood with Arun hadn't been defined by

"naughty photos" or playground scrapes; it had been a cold, silent marathon of survival.

"Bhabhi, we saw your performance at the farewell! You have to teach me those moves!" Siya exclaimed, her excitement infectious.

"Don't listen to her, Bhabhi maa," Jatin interjected, rolling his eyes. "She’s a monkey. No amount of dancing will help her; she lacks basic coordination."

For the first time in years, a tiny spark of genuine ease flickered in my chest. I wanted to laugh out loud, to join their rhythm, but I bit my lip to keep the sound inside.

These people didn't look at me with the suffocating pity I usually saw in others, nor did they look at me with judgment.

They looked at me like I belonged.

As the conversation flowed, the air felt lighter. They asked about my likes and my work, their genuine interest slowly coaxing me out of my shell.

They were witty, sharp, and constantly roasting one another, but they never let me drift into the background.

They made space for me.

We eventually exchanged phone numbers, a digital tether to this new reality.

I stole a glance across the room at the two families. Their voices blurred into a soft, melodic hum as they discussed the Roka ceremony, scheduled for just two days away.

For the longest time, my heart had been a drum of cold, frantic fear—but suddenly, the rhythm changed.

A strange, heavy peace settled over me, the kind of quietude that only comes when you finally stop fighting the current and let the water carry you.

It was a silent promise whispering in my chest: Everything will be fine. Happiness isn't a dream; it’s a destination.

My eyes drifted toward Aryan. He sat composed and steady beside his grandfather, Mr. Sunil Desai, whose presence felt like an ancient, sheltering oak. Beside them sat the grandmother, a woman of quiet, matriarchal grace who seemed to anchor the entire room.

I recalled Aryan’s words from the garden when I had asked him, with a voice full of doubt, why he chose me.

Maya had spent the morning trying to poison my mind, painting the Desais as monsters just like her to ensure I remained trapped in fear.

But Aryan’s reply had been a soothing balm to my jagged edges.

"Choosing you wasn't a decision, Sriya. It was an arrival. I’m not just marrying a partner; I’m marrying the right person."

Those words echoed in my mind, each syllable dismantling the walls I had built. Then there was Mrs. Supriya Desai.

She had been my shield when those boys tried to destroy my dignity. She had fought for me, threatened them, and even in her own struggle, she had reached out to console me in the hospital like my own mother would have.

They had seen me at my darkest, most vulnerable moment, and yet they were here—not out of pity, but because they chose me.

I wondered if this was God’s way of saving me, or if I was simply moving from one cage to another. But looking at them, I knew:

this cage had no bars, only open arms.

My introspection was interrupted by a small tug on my shoulder.

Siya was shaking me like a child seeking attention.

"Where are you lost, Bhabhi? Don't you like us? Are we too annoying?" Her eyes were wide, though a hint of her usual mischief remained.

"N-no... I... I was just... thinking..."

My stutter was cut short as Jatin reached over and flicked Siya’s ear. She winced, slapping his arm with a resounding thack.

"Hey Bhagwan! Do you have hands or elephant feet? That actually hurts!" Jatin yelped dramatically.

"What did you call me? Should I complain to Aryan Bhai?

Have you forgotten what happened last time he caught you giving me those 'trashy' nicknames?"

Jatin visibly gulped. He knew all too well that Aryan had zero tolerance for "jokes" that crossed the line into disrespect, especially toward his sister.

I sat there, momentarily dumbfounded by their dynamic—best friends one second, sworn enemies the next.

I cleared my throat, and they both snapped their attention back to me instantly, abandoning their feud as if it never happened.

Their intense stares made me flush with awkwardness.

"Come here, Sriya," a gentle voice called.

I looked up to see Mrs. Supriya Desai smiling at me, her eyes overflowing with warmth. I stood up slowly, my legs feeling like lead, and walked toward her. She patted the empty space beside her.

As I sat, my head instinctively hung low, the old familiar weight of nerves returning. But then, she reached out and caressed my hair.

The touch was so tender that the nervousness evaporated instantly.

"Listen, child," she said, her voice dropping to a serious but kind register.

"I’m going to ask you something, and I want an honest answer. Don't you dare lie to me."

She sounded exactly like my mother used to when she’d ask about my day or what I wanted for dinner. A lump formed in my throat; I wanted to crawl into her lap and weep.

"Are you ready for this marriage, Sriya?"

She looked at me, her eyes searching my soul  for the truth.

I took a shallow breath and nodded—a small, firm movement.

She beamed, pulling me into a tight embrace. For a moment, I was frozen, trying to savor the motherly scent of her, before I finally reached up and hugged her back.

"You know, I’m so happy that you are going to be our daughter soon," she whispered.

Daughter. The word stung my eyes with unshed tears. I blinked them back fiercely.

If I cried now, they might mistake my overwhelmed heart for unhappiness, and I couldn't risk giving Maya any leverage.

"Supriya! Are you going to keep her all to yourself? Let the rest of us in!"

Mrs. Kiran Desai—the grandmother—approached us with a playful scowl, shooing Supriya aside. Mr. Akhil Desai stood up to give her room. She took my hand, her eyes scanning my face.

"Well, you are beautiful," she remarked, flipping her hair with the flair of a boss lady, "but clearly not more than me."

A small, involuntary chuckle escaped my lips. I stopped immediately, horrified.

Did I just laugh at her? I gripped my dupatta tightly, looking down at my feet, expecting a rebuke.

Instead, the room erupted in soft laughter.

"Maa, stop it," Akhil said, chuckling. "You're going to scare the poor girl with that face."

I looked up to see the grandmother taking a bundle of cash from her bag. She circled it around my head—a traditional gesture to ward off the evil eye—and handed it to her son.

"Give this to the servants," she commanded. Then, turning back to me with a fierce light in her eyes, she said, "She is my Aryan’s fiancee and his soon-to-be bride. There is no chance I’m scaring her."

She cupped my face in her hands. "Everyone else wants to be a 'Dadi-Saas,' but I’m going to be your friend. Would you like that?"

I was still processing the whirlwind of her personality, but I managed a small, shy nod. I didn't see it, but across the room, a pair of dark eyes watched that nod with an intensity that suggested I was the only person in the world.

"Wah! Then from today, you are like my own daughter.

If any trouble comes your way, you tell me.

I’ll handle everything, okay?"

She leaned in and kissed my forehead,my heart felt full, after my mother's death it's the first time someone said this type of thing to me,

then reached for a velvet box.

Inside were two ornate gold bangles. She took one, reaching for my hand.

"Th-there... is... no... need... Mrs. Desai," I managed to get out, my voice trembling with the habit of refusal.

The room went deathly silent. Mrs. Kiran Desai gasped as if I’d struck her. My body went rigid. I messed up. I insulted her.

"What did you call me?" she whispered, her eyes wide.

"Dadi! She called you Mrs. Desai!" Jatin shouted, clutching his chest in mock agony. "Oh, the sting! Mrs. Desai! It sounds so... professional!"

"But she called me cute and used my name!" Siya added, suppressed giggles bubbling up. "And she gave you the corporate treatment, Dadi!"

I felt like I had committed a federal crime. I looked at the grandmother, my heart hammering against my ribs, waiting for the storm to break.

The Weight of Belonging

A soft chuckle broke the tension.

"She is so cute," Mrs. Desai—no, the woman before me—murmured.

I looked up to find her eyes crinkling with a warmth that felt like a physical touch. Then, her expression shifted into a playful, mock-glare. "Call me Dadi from now on. And please, call me anything but Mrs. Desai. It makes me feel ancient."

She rolled her eyes with a youthful flair that left me blinking in surprise.

I offered an awkward, tight-lipped smile, my mind racing to keep up.

She spoke with a familiarity so effortless it felt as though she had known me for decades, rather than minutes. Before I could find my voice, she reached out and patted my head, a gesture so maternal it sent a strange ache through my chest.

The quiet moment was shattered when Jatin suddenly rose. Before I could process his movement, he dropped to the floor beside me, brandishing his phone like a weapon of joy. "Let’s take pictures!"

"Say cheese!" he commanded.

Flash.

I was caught staring into the void, a deer in the headlights of sudden affection, while Dadi beamed beside me.

The shutter hadn't even finished clicking before Siya hurried over, whining with the charming entitlement of the family's youngest. "I want a picture too! Don’t you dare take them without me!"

She smoothed her dress with a frantic grace and tucked herself into the circle.

There they were, the Desai family, sitting comfortably on the floor as if the polished marble was a picnic blanket. Siya anchored the left, Jatin the right, with Dadi pressed close to my side.

"Bhabhi-ma, smile please!" Siya nudged me.

At the sound of the title, a small, genuine smile finally cracked through my frozen exterior.

Bhabhi-ma. The word felt heavy, yet strangely light.

The room is soon filled with the frantic, happy logistics of a wedding—dates for the Roka, engagement decorations, and the rhythmic chanting of the Pandit.

He leafed through his calendar and settled on a date just two days away.

A ripple of excitement surged through the room.

I watched them, but my eyes strayed to Maya. She was wearing a smile that didn't reach her eyes, a brittle mask that seemed at odds with the genuine radiance of the Desai's.

I noticed the way they handled her—with a forced, strained politeness, as if they were walking on eggshells, waiting for her to test the limits of their patience.

As they prepared to leave, they showered me with gifts, each package wrapped with a precision that mirrored their care. Phone numbers were exchanged, hands were held, and for the first time in years, I was treated with a reverence I didn't know I was allowed to possess.

I felt a phantom limb reconnecting—a part of my soul I thought had been amputated by years of silence was suddenly humming with life.

But with the light came the shadows. A cold, familiar fear coiled in my stomach. What if they leave? What if this is just a beautiful facade that crumbles the moment I lean on it?

I shook the thought away. No. Think positive. They aren't like the others. After everything that happened yesterday, they stayed. They chose me.

My mind drifted back to the man who was supposed to stay—my father.

He had walked away, leaving my brothers and me to navigate the storm that was Maya. If the man who gave me life could leave, why wouldn't these strangers?

"Bhabhi, are you okay?" Siya’s voice pulled me from the depths.

I forced a nod, my smile and a fragile thing. "I'm f.. fi..fine, S.. s..si.siya."

"You know," she said, her eyes sparkling with a vision of the future, "you’re going to be my best friend. Once you marry Aryan Bhai, we’ll be inseparable."

She threw her arms around me.

I stood frozen at first, unaccustomed to such easy, physical displays of love.

But as she pulled back slightly, declaring how strong our bond would be, I didn't pull away.

I leaned into the hug, silently praying that her strength would be enough to anchor me when the storms of my past inevitably returned.

The house felt cavernous the moment the front door clicked shut.

As the tail lights of the Desai cars faded into the distance, a sudden, sharp ache blossomed in my chest—it felt as though someone had snatched away a lifeline I hadn’t realized I was holding onto.

I retreated toward my room, my footsteps heavy, desperate to avoid the cold, judgmental gazes of my father and Maya.

For a few fleeting hours, the Desai family had wrapped me in a blanket of warmth so thick I’d forgotten the chill of my own life.

I found myself chasing the ghost of Supriya Aunty’s touch; the way her hand had rested on my head wasn't just a gesture—it was a

benediction.

It was the first time since my mother’s passing that I felt seen, not as a puzzle to be solved or a broken thing to be pitied, but as a daughter.

And then there were the siblings—that chaotic, beautiful whirlwind of energy. Most people finish my sentences for me, their impatience thinly veiled behind tight smiles.

But they?

They waited.

They sat in the silence of my stutters and paused as if my words were worth the weight of the wait.

For the first time, the "special" I felt wasn't because of my speech disorder; it was because I belonged.

Aryan's POV

The silence stretched between us, heavy and expectant. She was looking at me, her eyes searching for mine for a truth I hadn't yet dared to voice to myself.

My grandfather’s words echoed in the chambers of my mind: Let your heart speak.

I took a breath, letting the polished, corporate version of myself fall away.

"To be honest," I began, my voice lower, stripped of pretense,

"Sch khu to Mere pass Koi bahut perfect answer nhi hai."

("I don’t have a perfect answer for you.")

I locked my gaze with hers, refusing to let the moment fracture.

"But when I met you for the first time... Aisa laga jaise bheed mein koi apna mil gaya ho.

(It felt as if, in a crowd of strangers, I finally found someone of my own.)"

I saw her swallow hard, her face a mask of beautiful disbelief. I stepped closer, the words tumbling out now, unbidden and raw.

"I can’t give you a clinical definition of my feelings yet, but my heart has already made its choice.

I know how it sounds—crazy, impulsive.

You’re likely thinking about yesterday, wondering if

this proposal is born of pity. But it’s the opposite."

I paused, my voice trembling with a rare sincerity.

"Main aapki zindagi ka ek chota sa hissa banna chahta hoon.

(I just want to be a small part of your life.)"

(हाय😘🥰🤗🌷💗, बस करो यार हमें कोई प्रपोज नहीं करेगा)

The fear hit me then—the fear that my presence might stifle her, that my world might shrink hers.

I took a deep breath and then continued holding eye contact with her , making sure she knows i didn't came here to do pity on her, I'm here to make her mine with all trust and respect.

"I’m not forcing this. But being with you... it doesn't feel like a decision I sat down and calculated, Sriya.

Mai drta hu kahin meri vajah se aapki duniya choti na ho jaye .

I continue pouring my heart out in front of her.

It feels like an arrival. I’m not just looking for a partner;

I’m looking for the person who makes the world make sense. My heart already knows you're the one."

The air between us shifted. I watched her closely, searching for the right word to describe the look in her eyes. It wasn't quite joy, but something quieter—a flickering sense of relief that seemed to settle deep in her chest.

Seeing it, I made a silent vow: I would do whatever it took to keep that look there.

A heavy silence followed, the kind that makes your ears ring.

I saw the tell-tale shimmer of tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away before they could fall, guarding her vulnerability even now.

"T..the..there is.. o..one... m..mm.. more thing... i... wa.. wanna ask," she whispered.

Her voice caught on the words, the stutter more pronounced than before. Yet, beneath the hesitation, there was a new quality to her tone—a desperate kind of peace, as if she were clearing away the final hurdle before allowing herself to believe me. I nodded, a silent invitation for her to continue.

She drew a long, shaky breath.

"I.. h..have... s..ss..speech... di..dis..disorder a..and..."

Her voice trailed off into a fragile silence.

She looked terrified, as if the mere mention of her struggle might shatter the world we were might shatter the world we were trying to build.

She had no idea that I already knew—that to me, her life was like a well-loved book where I had memorized every chapter, even if I was still searching for the missing pages.

When her amber eyes finally met mine, they were searching for rejection. I wasn't going to give it to her.

"I don't care about the disorder," I said, my voice was steady and deliberate.

"I care about the woman I’m going to marry.

My family knows, and they feel the same.

Your voice isn't a problem to be solved—it’s just a part of who you are."

The shock hit her visibly, but then, for the first time since we had arrived, I saw the tension bleed out of her shoulders. She finally let go.

She looked at me with a gaze so heavy with unmerited gratitude, it felt like a weight I wasn't prepared to carry.

It was as if she believed I had done her a profound favor, but the truth was far more selfish.

I hadn't—and I likely never would.

She had no inkling of the wreckage she’d caused in my mind since the very first day she stepped into my world.

No one could imagine the sheer real estate she occupied in my thoughts, or how my focus fractured the moment she entered a room.

The silence between us stretched, thick and stagnant, yet strangely anchored.

I didn't break it; I couldn't.

I was too busy memorizing the way the light hit her, while she kept her eyes anchored to the floor, her fingers nervously pleating and smoothing the fabric of her white dupatta.

Finally, the quiet snapped.

"D... do y..y..you ..w.wa.. wanna....as...ask .s.. something?"

A small, involuntary smile tugged at my lips. She still wasn't looking at me, her uncertainty radiating off her in waves.

I could feel her bracing for a question that might tip the balance of this fragile moment, so I chose mercy.

I wouldn't push—not yet.

"Hmmm... well, I don't know if I want to ask that something specific just yet,"

I said, my voice dropping an octave. "But soon. I promise."

I let the words hang in the air for a beat before shift smile tugged at my lips. She still wasn't looking at me, her uncertainty radiating off her in waves.

I could feel her bracing for a question that might tip the balance of this fragile moment, so I chose mercy.

I wouldn't push—not yet.

"Hmmm... well, I don't know if I want to ask that something specific just yet,"

I said, my voice dropping an octave. "But soon. I promise."

I let the words hang in the air for a beat before shifting gears, trying to soften the intensity.

"We don't know each other very well," I continued, watching her carefully.

"So for now, can I ask you something else?

Just something that’s been... literally confusing me."

She gave a small, tentative nod. The door was open, and I wasn't about to let the chance slip away.

She looked up then, her eyes cautious but curious, caught in the web of the "confusing" mystery I’d just teased.

I leaned back slightly, my gaze tracing the delicate line of her jaw before finally meeting her eyes.

"That day we first met," I began, my voice steady despite the riot happening in my chest.

"You were wearing the same color. White & blue. And you looked... terrified. Not of me, but of the space you were occupying.

My question is simple: Why do you act like you’re taking up too much room in a world that feels empty without you in it?"

The air in the room seemed too thin. I saw her breath hitch, her fingers freezing mid-fidget against the silk of her dupatta.

It wasn't the light, easy question she was likely bracing for—it was a mirror.

I was holding it up to her, forcing her to see the value I saw, even if she wasn't ready to acknowledge it.

"You look at me like I’m a savior," I whispered, stepping a fraction closer, "but I’m just a man who can’t seem to look away.

Why is it so hard for you to believe you're the

one doing the favor just by existing?"

She didn't pull away, but the blush that crept up her neck was a vivid contrast to the stark white of her clothes.

She looked like a bird poised for flight, yet grounded by the sheer weight of my honesty.

"I... I .d..d... don't  kn... know ho...h.. hh. how t..tt. .to a.  ...answer that," she breathed out while shuttering, her voice barely a thread of sound.

"Good," I replied, a ghost of a smirk returning.

"That means you'll have to think about it.

And while you're

thinking, maybe you'll start

to see what I see."

She tried to avoid my gaze, her eyes darting everywhere but toward me. It was devastatingly cute.

Watching her flustered state, I couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at my lips—a silent, helpless reaction to the way her composure seemed to fray at the edges.

I could see the soft crimson creeping up to the tips of her ears, a telltale sign of her growing bashfulness.

Part of me wanted to stay in that moment forever, simply admiring the way she reacted to my presence.

But then, a sharp pang of reality hit me. I had already hurt her once a while ago through my own stupidity, and I couldn't afford a second mistake.

If I pushed too hard or acted recklessly, I risked making her uncomfortable—or worse, losing the fragile ground I was trying to regain.

I forced myself to compose my features, pulling back from the edge of my own infatuation.

I cleared my throat, the sound of a deliberate break in the heavy silence between us.

"Let’s go inside," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Everyone must be waiting for us."

She gave a small, quick nod and immediately turned on her heels toward the mansion. I followed, keeping a respectful distance behind her, conscious of the space she needed.

The moment she stepped across the threshold, however, her pace faltered. She came to a sudden halt, her eyes instantly

locking onto her father, who stood across the foyer deep in conversation

with my family.

Even from a few steps back, I felt the shift in the air.

Her body language sharpened—a sudden tension in her shoulders, a stillness that felt more like bracing for impact than a mere pause.

Something was wrong; I could feel it in the way she looked at him.

But before I

could process the unease radiating from her,

Jatin and Siya swept in, their cheerful energy cutting through the tension as they led her away into the crowd.

I leaned against the doorframe, a silent observer to the chaos.

Siya and Jatin were in rare form, performing their introductions with a level of theatricality that bordered on the absurd.

They traded barbs and dramatic gestures, clearly relishing the chance to tease one another.

At first, Sriya looked utterly overwhelmed—her cheeks flushed, her eyes darting between the two siblings—but as the rhythm of their bickering settled, I saw her shoulders drop.

They were following my instructions from last night to the letter: make her feel like she belongs and don't make her uncomfortable.

A small, genuine smile bloomed on her face.

Even from across the room, I couldn't catch their words, but the sight of that smile anchored me.

I began to walk toward the sofa where Siddharth and Dadu were seated, but my gaze remained locked on her.

As I watched, Sriya’s expression shifted. The laughter faded, replaced by a distant, contemplative look. She stared at Siya and Jatin as if she were trying to memorize the feeling of a real family.

The siblings noticed her slip away; Siya immediately broke the silence, pouting her lip in a classic "puppy face" maneuver, with Jatin mirroring her instantly.

Sriya looked momentarily flustered—the nervous energy returning—until Siya whispered something that made her break into a fresh laugh.

A wave of relief washed over me. I’d have to find a way to reward those two; they had successfully breached the fortress she’d built around herself.

I was staring—I knew I was—and I didn't care. Until, that is, I caught Dadima’s eye.

She was watching me with a knowing smirk, her eyebrows arched in a silent command to stop being so obvious. I merely shook my head, a small smile playing on my lips.

Dadima, never one to let a moment pass without a bit of mischief, nudged Choti Papa. A whispered word to him, a quick message passed to Choti Ma, and suddenly, the trap was set.

"Sriya, beta, come sit with us," Choti Ma called out.

As Sriya settled beside them, I felt a familiar prickle of anticipation.

Choti ma had that look in her eyes—the one that usually preceded a family upheaval. They spoke softly

at first, Dadima asking with uncharacteristic gravity if she was truly ready for this marriage.

When Sriya nodded, her gaze steady, Dadima reached into a velvet box.

Time seemed to slow as she slid a pair of intricate gold bangles onto Sriya’s wrists.

My breath hitched. Those weren't just any ornaments; they were my mother’s bangles, given to her the day her own marriage was fixed.

Seeing them circle Sriya’s slender wrists—fitting as if they were forged specifically for her—sent a surge of pride and possessive joy through my chest.

"Thank you, Mrs. Desai," Sriya whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Dadima immediately feigned a look of deep offense.

"Mrs. Desai? Is that who I am to you?"

The room went deathly quiet. It was a calculated silence, the kind my family used to draw someone in. Siya and Jatin's playful remarks and dadima's words were full of teasing which makes everyone's laugh heartily.

When Sriya realized she’d been teased and let out a soft, melodic chuckle, the tension broke like a wave.

They were doing it. They were folding her into the fabric of our lives, stitched by fate.

The atmosphere shifted then, the playful energy grounding into something more formal as the conversation turned toward the Roka and

engagement preparations. The priest’s voice crackled over the speakerphone, confirming the auspicious date.

"Two days,"

he announced.

Two days. In forty-eight hours, the world would know what I already felt in my soul. She would be officially mine, and the transition from stranger to "Mrs. Desai" would finally begin.

Kya lgta hai Bina drama ke shadi ho jayegi ? 😁

Ok good bye loomies

Don't forget

"वो तारा दबा देना "⭐

Badi mehnat lgi is chapter ko likhne me 🥺 💖

Chlo thik hai byeee

Have a nice day

Milte hai Holi ke baad

😁 bye bye 🫂 💓 🤗 💖