Two days before the wedding, the house shimmered with lights, laughter, and constant echoes of celebration. But Karan sat on the terrace alone, away from the music and noise.
Arun found him there, legs stretched out, a half-finished plate of samosas by his side, untouched.
"You okay?" Arun asked, plopping down beside him.
Karan gave a tired smile. "Yeah… just soaking it in."
Arun hesitated, then spoke carefully. "I'm going to say something, and you're allowed to get mad."
Karan raised an eyebrow.
"It's been four years since Priyal," Arun began. "You're not in love with her, I know that. But that time… broke you. And after that, you never let anyone get this close again. Until Isha."
Karan stayed silent.
"Isha's the real thing, bro. But sometimes... real love scares us more than fake ones ever did. You're not having second thoughts, are you?"
"No," Karan said quickly. Too quickly.
Arun looked at him with quiet understanding. "I just don't want you walking into this with any leftover fear. Marriage isn't about proving you're over the past. It's about being ready for the future."
That night, Karan didn't sleep much. Arun hadn't planted doubt about Isha—he loved her without question. But the old fear? Of messing up, of not being enough, of failing someone again?
That fear came crawling back.
—
Wedding day.
The bride's room sparkled with gold lights and jasmine scents. Isha sat still, her eyes lined with kohl, her red lehenga pooling around her like fire. Reem adjusted her necklace, but Isha barely noticed.
She felt it.
That same off-beat rhythm in Karan's presence. Something was off. Not cold feet. Not doubt in love. But fear.
When Karan entered the room for a moment with the elders, she caught his eye. His smile was too practiced. His hand trembled when it adjusted the edge of his stole.
And in that moment, Isha—sharp, intuitive, heartbreak-survivor Isha—read it all.
After the elders left, she took his hand. Pulled him into the quiet hallway.
"You're scared," she said softly.
He opened his mouth, but she silenced him with a look.
"I'm not angry. But I won't let you walk into this burning."
She leaned in, whispering, "Wanna feel good?"
He blinked, startled.
"You remember once," she said with a tiny smile, "you told me you wanted to run away with me?"
He gave a small breath of a laugh. "Yeah. But what does that—"
"Then let's do it," she said. "Let's run. Not from love—but for it. We'll be back before the pheras. Let's give this moment the madness it deserves."
Karan looked at her, at her kajal-lined eyes, at the absolute fearlessness in her face—and for the first time that day, his heart steadied.
"Isha…"
She tightened her grip on his hand.
"You said you felt 18 when you fell for me. So let's run like two 18-year-olds. For a few minutes. So when we return… we do this with no shadows."
The world paused.
Then—
"1… 2… 3…"
And they ran.
Down the stairs. Past gasping aunties. Through a blur of glittering lights and stunned whispers. Her anklets jingled wildly, his pagdi slipped off, and neither cared.
They jumped into the car laughing breathlessly.
"I feel insane," he said, grinning.
She rested her head on the seat. "Insane is good. Insane is real."
He turned to her. "I love you."
"I know," she said.
The wind rushed through the open window as the car sped through quiet city lanes. Her red dupatta fluttered like wildfire behind her, and Karan drove like his chest was finally breathing after years.
Isha sat beside him, barefoot, hair messy, eyes soft. They hadn't said much since they'd run from the wedding hall. But the silence between them wasn't heavy. It was new. Freeing.
Karan glanced sideways, his throat still tight. "You really meant it?"
She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "About running away?"
He nodded.
She smiled, slow and sure. "I didn't just mean it… I needed it. You needed it."
Karan exhaled shakily. "I don't know what came over me. I just... panicked. Not because I don't want you. But because it's you. The real thing. I didn't want to fail you."
Isha placed her hand over his on the gearstick. "You're not allowed to say that again."
Karan blinked. She continued, her voice low, firm. "You don't get to carry the fear of the past into what we're building now. We're not them. You're not who you were with her. And I'm not going anywhere."
The car slowed near the lakeside road — the place they once came to in the early days. He stopped, engine purring. They sat in the quiet hum of the night.
Isha turned in her seat to face him. "You think this is our happy ending?"
He looked surprised by the question.
She answered it herself. "It's not. This isn't a fairy tale that ends with lights and pheras. This is the start of a messier, realer, stronger thing."
Karan looked down, his jaw clenched. "And what if I mess up again?"
"You will," she said, with a gentle shrug. "So will I. But we'll hold each other through it. That's what makes this real."
She leaned in and cupped his cheek, eyes softening as she said it:
"This isn't the happy ending, Karan. It's the endgame."
A moment passed.
He couldn't speak. His throat closed, and the only thing he could do was bury his face in her palms and let the tears fall. Silent. Steady. Healing.
Isha didn't flinch. She held him like a promise, thumb gently brushing his temple.
"Do you remember that first night you walked me back from Reem's house?" she whispered.
He nodded against her hands.
"I had never felt that kind of safety before. You looked at me like I was home."
"You are," he murmured.
She smiled. "Then trust your home."
They sat like that for a long time — no big speeches, no drama. Just raw breath and heartbeats, and the hush of two people choosing each other all over again.
When they finally drove back to the wedding hall, the sky had darkened deeper. The stars had taken their seats.
They came back just before the pheras. Breathless. Dusty. Reprimanded.
But unburdened.
The crowd hadn't moved much. The band guys were still scratching their heads. Reem stood at the gate, arms crossed, giving Isha a we'll talk later look.
Karan adjusted his sherwani, and Isha tugged at her blouse strap. But their eyes were calm now.
They didn't walk in like a picture-perfect couple. They walked in like them — messy, a little sweaty, deeply in love.
The rest of the night was a blur
As he tied the mangalsutra and filled her hairline with sindoor, his hands didn't tremble anymore.
Because this time, he wasn't running from anything.
He had run with love.
And found his way home.