Sanvi's POV:
The engagement day.
The kind of day that’s supposed to begin with soft morning light, soothing music, and a dreamy smile. But in our house, it began with chaos.
“Maa! Meri jhumki kahan hai?” I yelled, standing at the dressing table with one earring on and the other mysteriously missing. (Mom! Where's my earring?)
“In the drawer. Second shelf,” my mother yelled back from the kitchen.
I yanked it open and sighed with relief as the jhumki glinted back at me. I quickly pinned it in place and looked at my reflection—flushed cheeks, kohl-rimmed eyes, and a golden embroidered peach saree. Simple, yet elegant. Perfect for my cousin Anjana di’s engagement.
“Sanvi, beta! Jaldi neeche aaja! Car aa gayi hai!” Dad called.(Sanvi, dear! Come down quickly! The car is here!)
“Coming!” I called, grabbing my purse. I had packed the day before. I’d tossed in a few essentials—lip balm, safety pins, bobby pins, a tiny bottle of perfume. And my another anklet, which I meant to wear but forgot about completely in the morning madness.
We reached the engagement venue by 10 AM, a gorgeous open lawn at a nearby banquet hall. Soft marigold garlands hung from bamboo stands, and the center stage was draped in cream and red fabric with shimmering lights. I found myself smiling.
Di’s dream engagement. And it was finally happening.
I got down from the car and immediately felt someone tug my pallu.
“Sanvi You’re here!” It was Mehak, my friend, who had volunteered to help with the decorations and she's also a good friend of Anju di.
“Finally!” she exclaimed. “I thought you'd never arrive!”
“I was trying to locate a rebellious jhumki. Don’t ask,” I said, laughing.
She rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, you’re here now. And I need your help.”
“With what?”
“The flowers. They’ve arrived, but the decorator bailed. I need someone to supervise the arrangements.”
I stared at her for a second. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
I sighed, tightening my pallu around my waist. “Fine. Show me where.”
We rushed toward the garden storage area, where two huge cane baskets sat, overflowing with fresh roses, lilies, and tuberoses. The fragrance hit me like a dream, but the sight made me freeze.
“Why are these baskets so big?” I exclaimed.
“Because the decorator ordered everything in bulk and now it's our headache,” Mehak said matter-of-factly.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “No manpower?”
She flashed a sheepish grin. “Just you and me.”
“Awesome,” I muttered.
Vedarth's POV:
By noon, we were en route to the venue.
I sat beside my mother, half-listening to her talk about the saree she planned to wear tomorrow. My focus kept drifting to my phone, scanning hospital notifications. Although I had informed Jayvardhan sir that I’d be out today and tomorrow, emergencies had a way of finding me.
“Vedarth, stop checking your phone. This is family time,” Ma scolded.
“Yes, ma,” I said, slipping the phone into my pocket.
Our car stopped at the entrance of the banquet hall. The lawn looked beautiful from outside—the marigolds, the fairy lights, and the hum of pre-function chaos already in full swing.
As we walked in, I took in the crowd—relatives buzzing, laughter ringing out, kids chasing each other around. It was a typical Indian celebration. Familiar. Warm.
“Beta, go help Rishabh. He must be inside checking the stage arrangements,” my mother said.
I nodded and moved ahead—but just as I crossed a pathway near the garden store area, something crashed into me.
And by something, I meant someone.
“Ahh!” a voice yelped as a large flower basket tilted dangerously.
My reflexes kicked in. I steadied the basket before it toppled entirely and instinctively reached out to the person struggling beneath its weight.
“Whoa, careful!” I said.
“I’m fine. I can do it,” the voice said with irritated urgency.
I looked down to see a girl—no, a whirlwind of peach and flowers—barely managing to keep the cane basket upright. Her pallu had slipped slightly, revealing a delicate waist glistening with sweat. Her face was partially hidden behind the flowers.
“Let me help you,” I offered, already reaching to grab one side of the basket.
“I said I got it!” she snapped.
(So stubborn.)
I smirked. “And I said I’ll help. Or would you rather get buried under roses?”
She huffed, clearly annoyed. “Fine. But don’t drop it.”
“Never. Doctor’s hands—steady as ever.”
“God help me,” she muttered.
Together we carried the basket toward the main area. She didn’t even look at me properly, clearly too focused on placing it in the right spot.
“You’re welcome,” I said once we set it down.
She brushed her saree and stood upright, finally turning toward me.
But before I could even see her face—
“Sanvi!” A girl shouted from across the lawn, waving frantically.
The girl whipped around. “Coming!” she yelled back, then turned to me briefly. “Thanks. Bye.”
And she ran off.
I stood there, stunned. She was gone before I could even catch her name.
Sanvi’s POV:
I ran toward Mehak, who looked frantic.
“What now?”
“The DJ is having speaker issues. His cable isn’t compatible with the sockets here.”
I groaned. “Why do these things happen only to us?”
“Because we’re cursed,” she replied, already pulling out her phone to call someone.
I got to work, talking to the manager, checking with the electrician, trying to solve what felt like an impossible problem. In the flurry of moments that followed, I barely registered the guy who helped me with the flowers.
Wait—what was his name?
Did he even say it?
Ugh, I didn’t even see his face properly.
Not that it matters.
I mean, he was probably some random cousin from the groom’s side. I doubt I’ll even see him again.
Vedarth's POV:
I wandered back toward the entrance, still wondering about that girl.
She was chaos incarnate.
And yet something about her lingered in my mind. The flowers. The soft but sharp tone. The attitude.
“Vedarth!” I heard Rishabh calling from the other side.
I sighed and walked toward him, my brain still stuck in that one strange yet oddly charming encounter.
Who was she?
*****************************
And there it was.
An accidental collision. A flower basket. A few sharp words exchanged. A girl running away before he could see her clearly.
Cliché Bollywood, eh?
She didn’t know she had just bickered with a man whose path would intertwine with hers in ways she couldn’t yet imagine.
And he didn’t know that the girl he found amidst marigolds would soon become more than a memory blurred by roses.
Sometimes, beginnings aren’t poetic.
They’re chaotic.
But sometimes… chaos is exactly what fate needs to weave a love story worth remembering.
Until next time—
With love,
-The Author. ❤️✨
Write a comment ...