Chapter 8 – The Wedding Flames
दिल की दरारों में तूने बसाई जगह,
बिन कहे समझा सब कुछ मेरी रग।
टूटे ख्वाबों को तेरा सहारा मिला,
तेरी आँखों में पाया मैंने अपना किनारा।
The wedding day dawned with the usual chaos—cousins running around with flowers, relatives arguing over jewelry, and the priest barking last-minute instructions. The Mehra and Khanna houses buzzed like twin hives, their rituals stitched together by tradition and noise.
But inside her bridal room, Trisha sat in near silence.
Her crimson lehenga shimmered under the soft light, embroidered with gold that caught with every nervous breath she took. The heavy dupatta pressed against her head, making her feel like her body carried the weight of someone else's destiny.
She caught her reflection in the mirror—kohl-lined eyes, trembling lips, cheeks painted in delicate blush. It didn't feel like her. She looked like a doll draped in someone else's dream.
A knock startled her. The door opened just enough for Priya maa to peek in.
"Beta, are you ready?" Priya's voice was unusually soft, her usual sharpness hidden beneath pride.
Trisha nodded mutely. Priya smiled faintly, closing the door, leaving Trisha again in silence.
Her heart pounded. This wasn't just a wedding—it was a shift in the axis of her life. And she didn't know if she was ready.
---
Meanwhile, Abhineet stood before his mirror, tying the deep maroon turban with deliberate care. His sherwani fit perfectly, the fabric whispering of elegance and tradition. Relatives crowded outside his room, laughing, teasing, demanding selfies.
But his mind wasn't on them.
Every ritual, every chant, every color reminded him of a face he had lost long ago—his friend Yuvraj. The memory of that night, the desperate screams, the gunfire, the helplessness, shadowed him. Weddings were supposed to be beginnings, but for him, they were reminders of endings.
He clenched his jaw, forcing his reflection to hold steady. He couldn't let grief bleed into today. Not when all eyes were on him.
---
The mandap glowed under strings of marigold and fairy lights. Smoke from the sacred fire curled upward, mingling with chants. Guests filled the hall, laughter and conversation weaving into the rhythm of the dhol.
When Trisha walked in, the hall hushed.
Every gaze turned toward the shy bride, her eyes lowered, her steps measured. But Abhineet's gaze was different. He didn't just see a bride. He saw the way her fingers clutched her lehenga nervously, the way her lashes fluttered, the way her body screamed of restraint.
He stood taller when she reached him. For the first time, he offered his hand openly—not just to steady her, but to guide her.
Her eyes flicked up, hesitant, before her fingers slid into his palm.
Heat jolted through them both.
Together, they sat by the fire. The priest's voice boomed, rituals unfolding in order. Family surrounded them, showering rice, blessing with laughter. But in the circle of firelight, it felt like only the two of them existed.
---
The garland exchange began. Cousins lifted Abhineet on their shoulders, teasing, forcing Trisha to stretch on tiptoes to reach him. The hall roared with laughter.
Trisha hesitated, her arms not long enough, her embarrassment rising. She hated attention like this.
Abhineet noticed. His smile, rare and quiet, appeared. Instead of waiting for her to struggle, he leaned down, just enough, meeting her halfway.
Gasps and cheers echoed through the hall. But the only thing Trisha noticed was how his eyes lingered on hers as she slipped the garland over his neck.
When it was his turn, he didn't make her strain. He bent low, sliding the garland over her with deliberate ease, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered—
"You thought I'd let you stumble again?"
Her lips parted in surprise, but no words came.
---
Then came the pheras.
With each round around the sacred fire, the priest recited vows—promises of duty, care, trust.
Abhineet walked with steady steps, his presence unshakable. Trisha followed, her steps uncertain but slowly aligning with his.
By the fourth round, something inside her softened. She was no longer just walking out of obligation. She was walking with him.
The fire crackled, their shadows dancing together on the mandap floor.
---
Finally, the sindoor.
Abhineet picked up the pinch of vermilion, his fingers steady despite the intensity of the moment. Trisha's heart thudded as he leaned forward. The world blurred—the chants, the people, even her fear.
When the red dust touched her parting, she closed her eyes. It felt like both a weight and a release.
And when she opened them, Abhineet was still watching her, not with triumph, but with something far quieter. Almost reverence.
---
The hall erupted with applause, relatives rushing forward with sweets and blessings. The couple was pushed into photo poses, showered with petals, teased endlessly.
Through it all, Trisha barely spoke. But she noticed one thing: whenever she faltered, Abhineet's hand was there. Not forcing, not claiming—just steadying.
---
Later that night, after the farewells and the tearful bidaai, the car ride stretched in silence.
Trisha sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her dupatta pooled around her. She felt hollow, as though she had been uprooted.
Abhineet glanced at her once, then back at the road. Finally, he said quietly—
"You don't have to pretend."
She blinked, startled. "What?"
"That you're comfortable. With all of this. With me." His tone wasn't harsh, but blunt. "I can see you're not."
Her throat tightened. She turned her face toward the window, not trusting her voice.
But then, after a long pause, she whispered—"You weren't supposed to notice."
For the first time that day, Abhineet smiled. "I notice more than you think."
Her chest tightened at his words. For a man she had barely spoken to, he had already read her more clearly than her family ever had.
The silence that followed wasn't suffocating this time. It was fragile, tentative, almost... comforting.
---
That night, as she entered her new home, the weight of rituals behind her, Trisha realized something:
She was no longer walking alone.
And for the first time in years, the thought didn't terrify her.
तेरी चुप्पी में भी था एक सुकून,
मेरी उलझनों का बन गया जुनून।
राहें अनजानी, मंज़िल अजनबी,
तेरे संग चलना लगा अपना सा सभी।
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✨ End of Chapter 8 ✨
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