Chapter 2:
The Quiet After the Storm
The church doors creaked open as we ran inside, breathless, hands still locked tightly together. Behind us, the chaos still echoed faintly — muffled shouts, Sasha's sharp commands, the distant sound of bodies hitting the ground — but in here, in this quiet, sacred space… it was like stepping into another world.
Soft music played in the background. A few guests looked up, startled, confused by our disheveled appearance — my hair a mess, Sita's cheek red from the slap, both of us with scratches and dust on our clothes. But no one said a word. No one needed to.
We walked down the aisle slowly now, our hurried footsteps finally calming. The priest gave us a small nod, as if to say "It's okay. You made it."
Mia stood near the front pew, eyes wide in disbelief. But when our gazes met, she smiled — that proud, teary kind of smile best friends give when they realize you're growing up… and maybe growing brave, too.
The altar was simple, decorated with white lilies and soft drapes. The sunlight filtered through stained glass, casting colors on the floor like blessings from the sky.
Sita turned to me as we reached the front.
She looked breathtaking — not in a movie-star way, but in a way that made me feel seen. Known. Fought for.
Her eyes searched mine. "Are you ready?" she whispered.
I smiled. "I was ready the moment you punched your cousin."
She laughed softly, and the priest cleared his throat, gesturing for us to stand facing one another.
The ceremony began.
Words were said, blessings given. But all I could hear was my heartbeat — and hers.
When it came time to say our vows, the priest asked, "Ved, do you take Sita to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, through joy and hardship, in this life and the next?"
I looked into her eyes. My heart, once confused, afraid, and full of questions… suddenly knew only one answer.
"I do," I said — firm, clear, free.
Then the priest turned to her. "Sita, do you take Ved to be your lawfully wedded wife—"
"I do," she said before he could even finish. Bold. Certain. Sita.
We slipped rings onto each other's fingers — mine trembled slightly, hers steady and warm.
"You may now kiss," the priest said with a gentle smile.
Sita leaned in, brushing her forehead to mine first. "We made it," she whispered.
And then we kissed.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't fireworks. It was soft… still. Like the world exhaling. Like both of us finally breathing the same breath.
Applause broke out — from Mia, from the few guests who stayed, from people who didn't even know the war we had just fought outside these doors.
But we knew.
We had stood in front of violence, fear, doubt — and still chosen each other.
As we turned to face the small crowd, hands entwined and hearts lighter, I realized something…
This wasn't just a wedding. This was a beginning.
Not of a fairy tale.
But of something real. Something earned. Something worth fighting for.
We stepped out of the church into the golden light of morning.
Married.
Together.
And finally, free.
I gently helped Sita into the car, holding the door open for her as she settled into the seat. Her hands were slightly scraped, her cheek still bore the faint redness from earlier… but her eyes — those eyes — they were shining. Full of fire, full of life, and full of something we both didn't yet have the words for.
Once she was safely inside, I turned back toward the church. Sasha stood at the entrance, bruised knuckles and a proud smirk on her face, the remnants of chaos behind her. Without her, none of this would've been possible.
I walked up to her, wrapped my arms around her tightly, and said, "Thank you… really. I owe you everything."
She gave me a firm squeeze back. "You don't owe me anything, Ved. You chose love — the rest was easy."
And then Mia. My Mia.
She had been there through it all — through my heartbreak, through my hiding, through the silence I wore like armor. Even though she didn't know the whole truth, she had stood by me like only the truest friends ever do.
I hugged her tightly, too. Neither of us spoke for a second — it was all there in the silence. The past. The forgiveness. The unspoken understanding.
"I'm happy for you," she finally whispered. "You look… free."
I smiled, eyes stinging. "I feel it too. For the first time… I really do."
With one last wave, I walked back to the car. My heart thudded with something unfamiliar — not fear, not confusion… but something tender.
I slipped into the passenger seat beside Sita and closed the door.
We didn't speak immediately.
There was something sacred about the silence — a quiet, shared breath between two people who had just chosen each other over everything else.
The engine hummed to life. The car pulled away from the church, from the drama, from the crowd. From our old lives.
Sita reached for my hand. Her fingers were warm, a little rough, steady.
"This is real now," she said softly, gazing out the window as the city passed us by.
I turned to her. "Yeah… it is."
No more pretending. No more running. No more fear.
Just me and her — driving into the unknown, hearts open, past behind us, and a road ahead that was all our own.
A new journey had begun.
And this time… we were writing it together.
After everything — the chaos, the fight, the vows, the escape — I finally brought Sita home. Not just to my apartment, but into a space I had never truly shared with anyone in this way.
This was more than a change of address. This felt like opening a piece of myself.
The sun had begun its descent, casting long golden streaks across the city as we reached my building. I unlocked the door, heart still fluttering from the weight of the day — and as I pushed it open… I stopped.
Both of us froze at the threshold.
The room was glowing.
Dozens of red balloons floated gently above the bed, catching the soft orange light pouring in from the window. A trail of fresh rose petals led from the door to the center of the room. In the corners, small scented candles flickered, filling the air with the sweet, mellow fragrance of rose wine and vanilla.
It was warm. Romantic. Surprising. Overwhelming.
Sita's eyes widened as she stepped inside slowly, drinking in the scene. She turned to me with the most innocent curiosity in her voice, "Ved… what is all this?"
I blinked, just as surprised. "I… I don't know. I swear I didn't do this."
Then I paused.
"Mia," I said suddenly, a small laugh escaping my lips. "This has Mia written all over it."
Sita raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms playfully. "Oh, really? And she has the keys to your apartment?"
I grinned, scratching the back of my head. "Yeah… she does. Has for years, actually. Just in case of emergencies… or well, surprise candle-lit ambushes like this."
Sita chuckled, her eyes glinting with something mischievous. "Nice. So then, which key are you planning to give me?"
I stepped closer, closed the distance between us, and placed my hand lightly over her heart.
"This one," I said softly. "The key to my heart. It's yours now."
She looked at me for a long moment, and then broke into a smile — one that melted every tired part of me.
"Well, in that case…" she said, plucking a small bouquet from the table — the flowers perfectly arranged, wrapped in a deep red ribbon. "Here's your welcome gift, wifey."
I took the bouquet from her, still a little stunned, and before I could even say thank you, she added, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to change. These clothes are screaming 'battlefield bride' and I'd really like to feel like myself again."
She walked toward the bathroom with a teasing wink, leaving me standing there — holding flowers, in a room full of candles and balloons, with my heart feeling just a little more full than it did an hour ago.
I looked around, shook my head in disbelief, and whispered to myself with a smile,
"Mia, you hopeless romantic."
Then I looked toward the bathroom door, still slightly ajar.
And whispered even softer,
"And Sita… you might just be the unexpected miracle I never knew I was waiting for."
As soon as Sita disappeared into the bedroom to change, I stood for a moment — bouquet in one hand, heart still tangled in the softness of what just happened.
There was laughter. There was playfulness.
But beneath it all… there was something real.
And I knew — if we were going to do this, if we were truly going to stand beside each other in this unpredictable bond, we had to make it official. Not just emotionally… but legally.
I picked up my phone with steady hands and called the lawyer I trusted — a quiet, efficient man who had helped me with paperwork once before. His voice came through in a calm tone.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is Ved. I need your help," I said. "I've just gotten married… to a woman named Sita. We need our marriage certificate processed as soon as possible. I want us to be legally recognized. No loopholes. No shadows. Just… real."
There was a pause on the other end, and then a gentle, understanding reply. "Congratulations, Ved. I'll start preparing the documents immediately. Send me your details and I'll have the forms ready within a day."
I thanked him and hung up.
A strange sense of relief swept over me — like one more thread had been tied, one more step taken toward something solid. We weren't just running from something anymore… we were starting something.
I walked into the kitchen, still dressed in my crumpled wedding suit, and opened the cupboard.
I didn't know much about Sita yet — her favorite music, her childhood dreams, her worst heartbreak — but I did know one thing:
She loved coffee.
She'd mentioned it the first day we met — a passing comment, almost forgettable. But somehow, it had stuck with me. Maybe because even then, some part of me knew she might matter.
I took out the good coffee — the expensive one I always saved for guests — and carefully began brewing. The room filled with the rich, earthy aroma. I poured it into her favorite mug (yes, she already had one here… I had bought it the day after we agreed to marry, like some weird, hopeful instinct), added a touch of vanilla syrup, and set it on the table.
Then, finally, I walked into my room and changed out of the wedding suit — the fabric still holding the weight of today's chaos. I slipped into something simple, something comfortable. It felt like shedding not just clothes, but nerves, doubts, fears.
I returned to the living room just as Sita walked out, fresh in a lavender top and soft jeans, her hair tied back casually, eyes softer now — not sharp like earlier, but tired… thoughtful. Real.
She looked at the coffee on the table and raised an eyebrow.
"For me?" she asked, surprised.
I smiled and nodded. "To celebrate our first evening as… whatever we are now."
She walked over, picked up the cup, and took a slow sip. A small smile tugged at her lips — warm, grateful.
"I don't know what this marriage will look like," I said quietly, sitting beside her. "I don't even know what to expect from us. We barely know each other. But… this? Right now? It feels right."
Sita didn't answer right away. She just looked at me — really looked — and then placed her hand over mine.
"I don't know either," she said. "But for the first time in a long while… I'm not scared of not knowing."
And in that moment — simple, coffee-scented, quiet — I knew that no matter what the future held, we had taken the first step.
Not into perfection.
Not into fairy tales.
But into something honest.
And that… was more than enough.
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To be continued...