Se-Ri's POV
The day of the haldi arrived like a slow burn — bright, chaotic, saturated in yellow. Everyone smelled like turmeric, roses, and anticipation.
Rhea sat on a carved swing in the courtyard, drenched in marigold petals and so much haldi she looked like a gilded statue. The music was loud. Cousins danced. Aunties cried. Photographers clicked endlessly.
I smiled, posed, did my duty. But inside, something frayed.
Rhea wouldn't always be there for me after today. That realization settled heavily in my chest.
I started feeling lonely in a way that surprised me.
Everyone here had someone.
Rhea had Rajveer.
Amisha had her ever-present boyfriend.
Even Ren — nineteen and clueless — kept sneaking off with a girl cousin who wore too much highlighter.
I had... noise. Applause. Polite admiration.
But no one to lean on. No one who knew where I kept the soft parts of myself.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I wandered out to the pool in a white cotton salwar-kameez and matching dupatta. No jewellery. No makeup. Just me.
The water was still. Everything else — in my chest, in my head — was not.
I sat at the edge and dipped my feet in, eyes on the ripples. I didn't hear him approach.
But I felt him.
Leo sat down beside me without a word. He carried a bottle of wine and two glasses.
"I didn't bring champagne," he said. "Felt wrong for this kind of night."
"What kind of night is this?"
"The kind where you need to not be alone."
He poured two glasses. I accepted mine.
We drank in silence for a while.
Then I said quietly, "I was twelve when my parents died. Car crash. My mother died on impact. My father held on for three days. He never woke up."
Leo looked at me. "You must've suffered a lot."
"I did — at first. But my family stepped in. Dadaji and Dadi became my parents. Rhea... she was like my second mother. Always there, through every breakdown, every big win. My family made me stronger."
He took a sip. "Do you miss your parents?"
"Sometimes. Like today. It's rare, but when it hits..."
He looked at me carefully. "When was the last time you missed them?"
My eyes weren't teary, but they stung.
"At the inauguration of my company. Serenité. My mom inspired it — she believed in healing. I just wanted her there. Just to see it. To feel proud."
I swallowed. "Sometimes I think... I'll be left alone. I'm afraid of that."
He met my eyes. Steady. "You won't be."
He wiped the tear that had pooled at the edge of my lash with his knuckle, then let his arm rest gently on my shoulder. I felt warmth I hadn't felt in years. Maybe ever.
We finished the wine slowly. I became a little unsteady. Alcohol always hit me like a whisper — soft, then sudden.
I stood. Almost.
Leo caught my elbow. "Okay?"
I blinked. Swayed. "Think I should sit."
"Let's get you inside."
He walked me to my room, steady and calm. I held onto his sleeve like the fabric was anchoring me.
At the door, I turned.
"You don't have to stay," I said.
"I know."
I wasn't planning to do anything. But when he reached to open the door, I touched his chest.
And then I kissed him.
Not planned. Not careful.
Just... true.
He didn't pull away.
He kissed me back.
And for a moment, there was no wedding. No family. No grief.
Just this.
Just us.
We moved inside the room, still kissing — unsure who led who.
I unbuttoned his shirt, not with seduction, but with something messier. Urgency. Need. Like I didn't want to be alone in my skin anymore.
He let me. No rush. No push. Just his hands — careful, certain — finding my waist, then my back, pulling me closer.
When he lifted the edge of my kurta, I didn't stop him.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't reckless.
It was quiet. Honest.
He carried me to the bed, lips never leaving mine.
His palm found my cheek, then slid down slowly — reverent, not claiming.
When he undid the clasp at my back, I exhaled.
And then it happened — not all at once, but in layers: the unspooling of two people who had spent too long pretending they didn't need anyone.
No one watched.
No one judged.
Just breath. Skin. Memory.
And the quiet ache of something real, finally being allowed to exist.
I didn't know if the gates had opened to hell...
or heaven.
But I stepped through them anyway.