It was a serene Sunday morning, the kind that carries a sense of celebration in the air even before the festivities have begun. The sky above Ahmedabad was a cheerful blue, scattered with fluffy clouds that drifted lazily like the calm before a joyful storm. A soft breeze rustled through the trees outside, as if nature itself was eager to play a part in what was to come.
The engagement was over, and the puja that followed had brought a spiritual stillness to the family homes. Now, the wedding bells were in sight.
Anjana’s parents, feeling the joyful weight of the responsibility that comes with hosting a wedding, decided it was time to sit down and formally begin the planning. Since Sanvi’s parents were older, and deeply respected within the family circle, Anjana’s parents reached out to them, suggesting a collaborative discussion. It was not just a gesture of tradition, but one of love and respect—wanting the wisdom of Sanvi’s parents to guide this next big milestone.
Calls were made early in the morning. Sanvi’s parents, ever warm and generous, responded eagerly and agreed to host the planning meet. “Sab milke karenge toh aur accha lagega na?” (If we all do it together, it will feel even better.)
Not only were both sets of parents invited, but other close relatives too—those who had watched Anjana and Rishabh grow up, who had been there through every festival, every function. Of course, Mahek and her family were also invited; they weren’t just family friends anymore, but practically family. There were hugs waiting to be exchanged, snacks waiting to be served, and endless opinions waiting to be voiced.
Rishabh’s family had extended the invitation to their own close relatives as well. Though Rishabh’s uncle—Vedarth’s father—was no longer in this world, his family had never once treated Vedarth, his mother, or Raghav as anything less than their own. They loved them dearly, fiercely, and this wedding was no different. When Rishabh’s parents called and mentioned the planning meeting, they gently insisted, “Vedarth ki maa aur uske dono bete bhi aayenge. Humare liye woh hamesha se family the aur rahenge.” (Vedarth’s mother and both her sons will also come. They have always been family to us and will remain so.)
At Sanvi’s home, the kitchen was abuzz with activity. Pressure cookers whistled, kettles hissed, and the aroma of fresh coriander, spices, and something sweet filled the air. Sanvi and Mahek were in their element—hair tied up, sleeves rolled, darting between the kitchen and the living room, balancing trays of glasses, plates of dry snacks, and endless refills of chai.
“Mahek, jaldi! The masala chai for the elders is still on the stove!” Sanvi whispered, half-laughing, half-panicking.
Mahek peeked out of the kitchen. “Don’t worry. Andar ka ghee aur bahar ka ghamand, dono time pe nikalte hain!” (Don’t worry. Just like ghee, pride also comes out at the right time!)
Sanvi stifled a giggle and went back to garnishing the dhoklas.
By noon, the living room was bustling. Uncles in crisp kurtas, aunties in floral sarees with their gold earrings swaying, cousins huddled in corners on their phones, and elders already beginning to debate about muhurat and dates. The home transformed into a festive war room, where every voice was confident and every opinion came with a pinch of nostalgia.
Vedarth arrived a bit later, tired but determined. The previous night’s emergency shift at the hospital still lingered in the slump of his shoulders, but when he heard Sanvi’s name mentioned over the phone, he had decided instantly. He wasn’t going to miss this. Not today.
Raghav, freshly dressed and grinning for reasons he refused to admit.
"I can't wait anymore to meet my Mahek." Raghav says excitedly and Vedarth just smiles, shaking his head at his brother's little antic.
They entered with gifts in hand, greeted by warm hugs, cheerful shouts, and the smell of home.
Once everyone was settled with plates and chai, the real conversation began.
“So, we should begin with finalizing the wedding date first,” Anjana’s father began, pulling out a thick calendar.
“Yes,” Sanvi’s father nodded. “But let’s take into account the venue availability too. These days, it’s getting difficult to book good ones on short notice.”
“I was thinking of that banquet hall near the lake,” Rishabh’s mother added. “Bahut sundar location hai, photos bhi ache aayenge.”
“Haan, but parking kaafi kam hai waha,” another uncle interjected. “Humare rishtedaar toh 50 gaadiyon mein aayenge.” (Our relatives will come in 50 cars.)
As this sparked a new trail of back-and-forth suggestions, Mahek served more snacks while Sanvi brought fresh glasses of juice. She hovered near the gathering, half-involved, half-attentive, hoping to find a chance to share her own thoughts.
The discussion veered to food.
“We must have a mix of North Indian and Gujarati,” said one aunt firmly. “Anjana’s side prefers spicy food, but Sanvi’s folks enjoy traditional fare too.”
“And no Chinese counter! It's so unhealthy and it's very cliché. ” said another elder, rolling her eyes dramatically.
There were chuckles, side murmurs, not-so-quiet agreements, and nods from almost every corner.
And then came the topic of decorations.
“I was thinking of doing something elegant and mesmerizing. ” Sanvi said, stepping a little closer. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. "A grand canopy stood in the center, adorned with cascading pastel blossoms in hues of blush pink, lilac, and soft blue. Crystal chandeliers hung gracefully from the floral-laden ceiling, casting a warm golden glow over the entire setup. Every corner of the mandap radiating elegance, with intricately arranged flower pillars and a plush, rose-hued carpet that led up to a throne-like seating area. It wasn’t just decor—it was poetry built with petals and light. Just a short distance away, the haldi setup brought a burst of sunshine to the celebration. Draped in vibrant marigold garlands and creamy white jasmine strings, the area exuded traditional charm with a regal touch. Tall golden finials framed a pristine white seat nestled in a bed of fragrant yellow petals. Surrounded by rich green foliage and blooming yellow flowers, it felt like a sacred little garden dedicated to joy, laughter, and blessings. maybe a photo booth with handwritten notes wall for guests?”
There was a pause.
One of the aunties looked up from her chai with raised brows. “Yeh nayi ladkiyon ke ideas hai. Silly lagta hai. Shaadi hai, Instagram shoot nahi.” (These are new-age girls' ideas. Feels silly. It’s a wedding, not an Instagram shoot.)
Another uncle snorted. “Beta, traditions matter more than photo walls. Keep it simple and classic—red, gold, and white. Sabse safe.”
Sanvi opened her mouth to explain the vision again, but a cousin quickly changed the topic to the wedding outfits. And just like that, her voice was lost in the clamor.
“I want to wear a pastel pink lehenga,” Sanvi said softly during the discussion about bride and groom outfits. “With intricate mirror work. Something that feels like... me.”
A pause again. This time longer. And then—
“Pastel pink?” one aunt gasped.
“But she’s on the chubbier side, no?” another whispered, loudly enough to be heard. “These light colors don’t suit everyone. Thoda dark color socho, beta.”
A silence fell over the room.
Sanvi blinked, a dry laugh escaping her lips. “Of course, aunty. I’ll think about it.”
But her voice was tight. Her fingers clenched around the corner of her kurti. The warmth in the room now felt stifling.
Mahek’s lips thinned in anger, and Raghav’s grip on his glass tightened. Vedarth didn’t speak, but his eyes remained locked on Sanvi’s face—watching every flicker of her forced smile, every blink that held back emotion.
Anjana and Rishabh exchanged a glance. They had seen this too many times before—bright, independent women being dimmed down by the weight of generational judgment.
But Sanvi? She took a breath and changed the topic herself.
“Anyway, shall I bring some more snacks?” she said, her tone light.
As she turned to leave, her dupatta swayed behind her. But the image of her soft smile—one that masked a storm—lingered in everyone’s mind.
The room carries on with its chaotic energy until Vedarth, who has been silently watching, finally speaks up. Calmly but firmly, he says something like:
“I think Sanvi’s ideas are thoughtful and creative, and I believe pastel pink would look stunning on her. You all might not see it, but she has an eye for beauty—and more than that, the confidence to carry it.”
Then he looks directly at her and adds,
“You don’t need anyone’s approval to shine, Sanvi. You already do.”
Everyone goes silent. Sanvi is stunned—not just by his words, but by the quiet conviction in them. Her heart skips a beat, not because someone defended her, but because it was him. And for the first time in a long time, she feels seen.
Sanvi blinked, stunned—not just by what he said, but the way he said it. Firm, respectful, unwavering. As though her voice truly mattered. As though she mattered.
From across the room, Mahek’s eyes softened as she watched Vedarth. A small, knowing smile crept onto her face as she leaned towards Raghav and whispered, “Your brother....I'm proud of him.”
Raghav, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Vedarth either, smirked. “That's my gentleman brother.” He bumped Mahek’s shoulder lightly.
Meanwhile, Anjana gave Rishabh a gentle nudge with her elbow. “Your brother just earned a thousand brownie points from me.”
Rishabh chuckled, eyes flicking to Vedarth and then to Sanvi. “He’s always been like that. Just doesn’t speak much unless it really counts.”
The discussion slowly resumed, this time with more sensitivity and openness. But Sanvi had already checked out mentally. Her heart was still echoing with the sound of Vedarth's words. She stood up quietly, making an excuse about needing fresh air, and walked toward the balcony.
The late afternoon sun was casting golden rays across the neighborhood. The wind gently lifted the corners of her dupatta as she leaned against the cool railing, trying to calm the storm of feelings in her chest.
Footsteps.
She turned her head slightly and found Vedarth stepping onto the balcony, quieter than a breeze. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood beside her, letting the silence settle.
After a long pause, he spoke, voice low and calm.
“You know... pastel pink will look amazing on you.”
Sanvi looked at him, surprised. “You really think so?” she asked, trying to play it off lightly, but her voice wavered.
He smiled, just a little. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
Another pause.
“Also... your ideas? About the decor? I’d love to hear them properly. Maybe we can sketch them out sometime? Just you and me?”
Her lips parted slightly, caught off guard. This time, there was no laughter to deflect the pain or hide behind. Just a genuine, blooming warmth inside her. And for once, she allowed herself to feel it.
“Okay,” she said softly, turning back to the sky, her smile touching the corners of her eyes.
He looked at her then, properly. “You lit up when you talked about that pastel lehenga and the decorations. I saw it. And I didn’t want anyone taking that spark away.”
Sanvi chuckled shyly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You notice a lot, don’t you?”
“Only the things that matter,” he replied, tilting his head.
She looked away, her smile flickering before fading again.
Vedarth frowned slightly, then leaned forward a bit. “You know, you should really smile more.”
She blinked, a bit flustered. “Why?”
“Because it’s healing.”He held her gaze. “There’s something about your smile that feels like home after a long day. Don’t let them take that away either.”
Sanvi turned to him, heart skipping a beat. She didn’t know what to say, so she simply smiled—a real one this time, soft, vulnerable, and warm.
Vedarth’s eyes crinkled in approval. “That’s the one.”
The wind picked up slightly, carrying the sounds of distant laughter from inside the house. It was time to go back, but neither of them moved for a while.
Eventually, Sanvi spoke. “We should go back in before Mahek starts hunting for me.”
“Lead the way,” Vedarth said with a playful tilt of his head.
As they returned, the living room was now buzzing with lighter energy. The earlier tension had dissolved into light-hearted conversations, cousins teasing each other, relatives sharing old wedding stories, and the clinking of teacups.
Mahek was sitting with Raghav and Anjana, animatedly telling a story about a wedding disaster involving a runaway groom’s shoe. Rishabh chimed in with his own embarrassing tale, causing everyone around to burst into laughter.
Sanvi’s mother called everyone to the dining area. The table was now covered with a generous spread of homemade dishes—paneer butter masala, jeera rice, puris, dal tadka, aloo-gobhi, papad, and of course, a chilled bowl of aam ras and gulab jamuns waiting as dessert.
The room filled with the comforting aroma of spices and the warmth of shared memories. Jokes flew across the table, someone’s baby began babbling in the background, elders began praising the food, and a comfortable chaos unfolded around them.
Sanvi, seated between Mahek and Anjana, felt her mood lift with every bite, every laugh, and every glance she caught of Vedarth quietly smiling across the table.
Her heart, earlier heavy with hurt, now felt lighter.
Maybe, just maybe, this wedding wasn’t just going to bring two families together.
It was about to create something more.
Something unexpected.
Something real.
***************************
Okay but... that balcony moment?? yeah, my heart did a little somersault writing it.
Sanvi's silence screamed, and vedarth heard it. that’s the kind of tenderness we all deserve, don’t we? the kind where someone doesn’t just see you, they understand the ache you’re hiding behind your smile.
This chapter had chaos, taunts, snacks, lowkey heartbreak, soft gazes, silent support, and a whole lot of love that’s just starting to bloom. it makes me feel so warm writing these tiny moments that build up something so big.
If you smiled at vedarth’s quiet rebellion, or felt a pinch in your heart when sanvi laughed off the hurt—just know, i wrote it with you in mind. because you, too, deserve to be defended, adored, and reminded that your smile is the prettiest thing you wear.
Until next time—
With love,
-The Author ❤️✨
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