Maya
I HATED THESE THINGS.
The tension, the drama, the public spectacles-especially at weddings where happiness was supposed to be the centerpiece. But instead, chaos had replaced calm, and in the heart of that chaos stood Utsav's uncle, flanked by his guards, commanding the room with nothing more than his presence.
Aditya's voice had just pierced through the murmurs, loud and resolute. "No matter what, the wedding is happening today!"
A wave of stunned silence rippled through the hall.
For a moment, I saw Utsav's uncle falter-his ever-so-composed face lost a hint of its calm. Just a flicker. But then, he threw his head back and laughed, a deep, unsettling sound that echoed through the lavish hall like a slow thunder.
"Aadi beta," he said, shaking his head with a mischievous smirk, "I was only having a little fun. I didn't come here to cancel your wedding. Do you really think I'd shoot your would-be wife?"
His voice dripped with dramatic amusement. Then he stepped forward slowly, calculated and precise, closing the distance between himself and Aditya, whose entire posture radiated barely suppressed fury.
"No, beta," he added in a softer tone. "I'm here to make sure you're marrying the right person. That's all."
The calmness of his demeanor was in sharp contrast to Aditya's fuming rage. He looked at his father like a volcano about to erupt.
"You didn't even tell me you were getting married," his father continued, voice still calm but laced with subtle accusation. "Tell me honestly-what kind of father is loved so little that his son hides his own wedding? None, right? I may be strict, Aadi, but I only want your happiness."
Aditya's temples throbbed visibly with rage. His hands clenched at his sides. When he spoke again, it was through gritted teeth.
"Oh, shut up, Dad!" he snapped. "I'm so sick and tired of your mind games. You and your endless manipulations. I hate it. I hate it all. And now you think you can twist my wedding into another one of your plans?"
He took a deep breath, stepping forward until only inches separated him from his father. The air between them was charged, crackling.
"Not this time," Aditya said coldly. "This time, I choose love. We're getting married today. Right now. And you can't stop us."
His eyes were red with rage, his voice shaking with the force of emotion. But the man standing in front of him-the man who had raised him, shaped him-didn't flinch. His calmness was terrifying. His stillness spoke louder than Aditya's fury.
And in that moment, watching the two of them face off like kings in a silent war, I realized something.
He was just like Utsav.
The same unreadable expression, the same unshakable poise. It was like seeing a second Utsav standing in the same mansion.
Meanwhile, Utsav stood at the edge of the hall, sharp and alert, his eyes watching everything unfold like a chess master assessing every move. He didn't interfere, didn't speak. It felt like he was the silent orchestrator of this power play. The true puppet master.
Then his uncle finally spoke again, words deliberate and strategically measured.
"You can marry Aditi," he said casually.
A stunned silence swept across the room. Aditya and Aditi both looked at him, dumbfounded.
"But not today."
The next words twisted the entire situation on its head. "I'll meet her. Her family. Understand her background. Her standards. Once I have all the information, I'll let you marry her. I'm not cancelling the wedding, beta. I just want to know my future daughter-in-law better."
His tone was gentle, his words sugar-coated like a father who genuinely cared. But his eyes? His eyes were calculating. He wasn't here to join a celebration. He was here to assess, to manipulate, to control.
"I may be cold, Aadi. Maybe too strict," he added with a carefully placed sigh. "But no father wants to be left in the dark by his son. You will marry her, yes. But let all the family be involved in it."
And that was it.
That was the move.
He didn't want to stop the wedding-he wanted to dominate it. He wanted to control every part of it, bring in every member of the family, and make it his stage. A show of power masked under the guise of love.
Was it manipulation? Or was he truly trying to be part of his son's happiness?
That question was still echoing in my mind when a new voice rang through the hall.
A tall, broad-shouldered man entered through the open doors. He looked around thirty, with slightly curly hair, a 6'2" frame, and a chiseled jawline partially covered with a light beard. His presence turned heads.
I recognized him vaguely. I'd seen him in magazines, on social media. I didn't know his name, but his face was familiar.
"We're family, Aadi," the man said as he strolled into the room, hands tucked casually into his pockets. "Let us in. Let us be a part of your happiness."
Utsav, silent until now, finally moved.
He stepped forward, calm as ever, but I caught the faintest flicker of irritation in his eyes.
"You're not family, Advik," Utsav said quietly, each word like the edge of a blade.
Advik blinked. "Still holding a grudge, Utsav? Come on, I'm your brother-"
"Step-brother."
Utsav's voice was cold, final. The distinction was brutal.
His words hit like a slap, cruel and cutting. Just like his aura.
And with that, the wedding-meant to be a celebration-had spiraled into complete and utter chaos.
Amid all this, my friend Aditi sat in the middle of the mandap, dressed in bridal red and gold, eyes brimming with tears. Her hands trembled in her lap as she tried to hold herself together, the dream of her perfect day shattering piece by piece before her.
No one noticed her.
Everyone was too busy playing their games.
And in the midst of this tangled mess of egos, manipulations, and hidden histories, a love story was being strangled before it could even begin,.
"No more fighting, Utsav. We're family, remember?" Mr. Mehrotra's voice sliced through the tension like a scalpel-sharp, precise, and oddly calm for a man who had just shaken the foundations of his son's wedding.
"And you, Advik-" he added, turning to the tall, broad-shouldered man who stood with his hands stuffed into his pockets like he owned the room, "stop mocking Utsav."
Aditya opened his mouth to retaliate, to speak the thousand unsaid things that burned behind his furious eyes, but his father didn't let him speak.
"It's settled," Mr. Mehrotra said with a finality that made the entire hall hold its breath. "This marriage will happen-but with family involvement. We're all a part of Aadi's life, and we deserve to be part of his happiness too."
His voice was even, laced with false warmth, and accompanied by a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Then, slowly, his gaze shifted toward the mandap-toward Aditi.
She was still seated there, her bridal lehenga slightly crumpled, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Mascara ran down her cheeks, mixing with tears, a heartbreaking contrast to the ornate gold jewelry resting on her delicate skin. The room that had once echoed with the rhythm of shehnai now drowned in silence and confusion.
We girls huddled around her, whispering soothing words, though nothing we said could calm the storm she was trapped in.
"Aditi, don't cry-" Mr. Mehrotra began softly, taking a step toward her.
But before he could say more, Aditya stepped in between like a shield. His voice trembled with rage as he growled, "Stay away from her, Dad. Or I swear, I'll forget that I even belong to you, Mr. Mehrotra."
The venom in his tone cut deeper than any weapon. His eyes were red, his fists clenched at his sides, and his jaw so tight it looked like it might snap.
Still, Mr. Mehrotra remained as unmoved as a stone statue. "Aadi beta, relax. She's like a daughter to me," he replied smoothly, his tone infuriatingly composed.
Then he turned his attention to Aditi again, speaking in that maddening, condescending calm, "Don't cry, sweetie. You'll be a part of our family, I promise. But you must understand-hidden marriages are never right. We all just want to share in your happiness. That's all. This wedding will happen-but with our blessings, and with the presence of the entire Mehrotra family. They'll arrive tomorrow from abroad."
The declaration hit the room like a thunderclap. Aditi's quiet sobs became louder, more broken. Aditya's shoulders trembled, but he said nothing, as if drained of all strength.
Mr. Mehrotra, satisfied with the chaos he had caused, turned and began walking toward his room. He paused midway, his tone turning almost cold as he threw in, "Also, no one is allowed to leave the premises. Important guests like Aditi and Aditya's friends will remain here until this marriage is settled."
With that, he retreated to his room, leaving stunned silence and shattered emotions behind him.
As the heavy double doors closed behind him, I noticed something-a flicker of satisfaction on Advik's face. A smug smirk that disappeared as quickly as it came. But I saw it. And so did Utsav, who stepped forward from the shadows of the hall for the first time, his gaze fixed like a predator's.
Their eyes met.
Advik's smirk tightened before he turned and walked off toward his room without another word.
"Come on, Aditi," I said gently, kneeling beside her and wrapping an arm around her trembling form. "Let's go to your room, okay? Don't cry like this."
Ishanvi was already on the other side, helping lift Aditi to her feet. "Yes, Aadu, come with us. You don't have to stay here."
As we carefully supported her and began to walk her out, Shravni's voice rang through the hall, fiery as ever. "You let your dad make a joke out of our friend, Aadi! You stood there and said nothing!"
Aditya didn't respond. His gaze was vacant, fixed on the mandap where flower petals still lay scattered like the ruins of a battlefield.
I quickly grabbed Shravni's arm, dragging her away from the wreckage. "Not now, Avni. Please. We need to get Aditi away from all this."
Chaos had swallowed the wedding whole. Aditya's father had twisted everything like a seasoned puppeteer, tugging invisible strings. Utsav's icy silence had been more telling than any confrontation. And Advik-his presence was like poison in the air.
Back in my mind, I couldn't stop wondering-why did Utsav hate Advik so much? Was it a rivalry rooted in childhood? Was it academic? Business? Or something deeper? Something darker?
Whatever it was, the hatred was unmistakable. Utsav looked at Advik like he wouldn't hesitate to kill him if unshackled by something-someone. Perhaps honor. Perhaps loyalty to the Mehrotras. Or perhaps it was the restraint of a man who knew too well what consequences followed bloodshed.
But I forced myself to stop spiraling.
Aditi needed me.
And as I closed the door to her room, she finally broke. The strength that had carried her all day gave way to pure, raw heartbreak.
"Why? Why me?" she sobbed, collapsing onto the bed like a broken doll. "Why did this happen, Maya? What did I do wrong?"
Her cries echoed in the room, raw and sharp, piercing through us like daggers. For a moment, none of us could speak. The silence in that room was deafening except for her sobs. Tears welled up in our eyes too, but I blinked mine back, forcing my voice to stay steady.
"It's okay, sweetheart," I whispered, brushing her hair back from her forehead. "It's going to be okay."
"The wedding isn't cancelled," Ishanvi added, sitting beside her. "It's just postponed. Just until tomorrow, Aditi. You'll still marry him. This isn't the end."
But Aditi didn't stop crying. Her heart had taken the hit, and right now, no amount of logic could heal that.
And Shravni, being the firebrand she always was, didn't hold back.
"Seriously? That sanki buddha crashes a wedding, humiliates our friend, and we're just supposed to act like everything's fine? I swear, if he wasn't Aadi's father, I would've slapped that smirk off his wrinkled face. Buddha kahi ka!"
"Shravni!" I snapped gently, trying to calm her while wiping Aditi's tears. "I know you're angry, but this isn't the time. Aditi needs us now-not our rage."
"My rage is for her," she growled, pacing the room like a caged lioness. "That old man doesn't care about family. He just wants control."
"I get it," I said quietly, my throat tight. "I get it more than you know. But right now, we have to be strong. For her. We can fall apart later."
Shravni exhaled, visibly trying to hold herself together.
But we all knew-this was far from over.
Tomorrow, the entire Mehrotra clan would arrive.
And with them, more secrets, more history, more tension.
But for tonight... our only job was to hold Aditi together-piece by fragile piece
It had been two hours since the chaos unraveled-two long, heavy hours since the wedding was abruptly postponed. Aditi was finally asleep, her head nestled into the pillow, soft snores barely audible beneath the soft hum of the ceiling fan. Her tear-streaked face still carried traces of pain despite the temporary escape that sleep offered her. She had changed into her usual comfort clothes-an oversized T-shirt and cotton shorts-but even that cozy familiarity couldn't hide the emotional exhaustion that radiated from her fragile form.
I sat beside her on the floor, my back resting against the edge of her bed, eyes silently tracing the rise and fall of her chest. In this moment, everything felt still-eerily quiet after the emotional storm that had passed through this house. But I knew better. Silence, at times, screamed louder than words.
Aditi didn't deserve this. Not her.
My fingers absentmindedly twisted the hem of my kurti as my thoughts began to wander, slowly traveling down the memory lane that we both had walked for over a decade. We were just ten years old when we first met. Her father was a business acquaintance of mine-well, of my father-and had brought her along for a casual meeting. That was the first day I saw her: a shy, quiet girl, dressed in a bright red frock that matched the ribbons in her hair, her hands clinging tightly to a soft white teddy bear.
I had walked up to her, a confident child even back then, and held out my hand with a friendly grin, hoping we could be friends. But she had taken a step back, her eyes wide, almost fearful, as though I were some strange ghost invading her comfort zone. Her grip tightened around her teddy bear, her only shield against the unknown. It took her father's reassuring voice and a gentle nudge to convince her I meant no harm. That was when she extended her tiny hand and shook mine-tentatively, hesitantly.
That handshake became the beginning of everything.
From that moment on, we were inseparable. We shared everything-our school lunches, textbooks, clothes, secrets, and even dreams. She dreamed of becoming a Bollywood actress, and I envisioned myself standing beside her as a singer, lending my voice to the stories she would tell on screen. We used to rehearse lines and melodies in front of the mirror, believing-hoping-that one day the world would watch us shine together.
Now, here she was-curled up on a bed, her dreams crumbling around her like ashes. And I sat here, helpless, watching her fall apart piece by piece.
I still remember the day she first told me about Aditya. Her eyes had lit up in a way I hadn't seen before. That was three years ago. They met, they fell, and they built a story I thought would last. From secret late-night calls to shared coffee dates, I had watched her love grow-gently, steadily, fiercely. I had been there when they argued and she wept into her pillow. I had been there when he surprised her with small gifts that made her giggle like a child. I had been there-always.
But nothing prepared me for today.
Nothing could've prepared me to see that same girl-so full of love, loyalty, and longing-reduced to a trembling, broken version of herself on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.
What cruel joke was the universe playing?
What cosmic rule declared that the softest souls had to bleed the hardest?
My heart clenched at the thought, and I instinctively reached out, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. A tear escaped my eye, but I quickly wiped it away. No, I couldn't afford to fall apart. Not now. Not when she needed me most. I had to be strong. For her.
Just then, a gentle knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts.
I stood up slowly and opened the door to find Aditya standing there, his face pale and shadowed with guilt and turmoil. His usual arrogance had vanished. The fire in his eyes that often intimidated others was gone, replaced by an unsettling quiet.
"Is she asleep?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded. "Yes... she cried herself to sleep. She was exhausted."
He gave a tight nod in return, his jaw clenched as if he were holding back a thousand unsaid words. The tension in his shoulders was undeniable. His whole body screamed restraint-like a dam that could burst at the slightest nudge.
"I want to be with her for a while," he said after a moment.
I studied him. There was no aggression in his tone. No entitlement. Just pain-and the weight of his own helplessness.
"Of course," I replied softly. "Take your time."
And then, I stepped aside, allowing him to enter.
He walked past me and slowly closed the door behind him, walking toward Aditi like a man seeking redemption. I didn't look back. I didn't want to intrude on the little solace he might find with her presence.
I stepped out and leaned against the cool wall of the corridor, my mind spiraling again.
Everyone was so focused on the storm-on the wedding drama, on Mr. Mehrotra's authoritative decree, on Utsav's silent wrath, on Advik's smugness-but no one had asked what this meant for the girl in the red lehenga who now lay asleep with a broken heart.
No one saw how much this took from her.
And as I stood there in that dim hallway, one thought consumed me-why does the world always test the kindest people? Why does it always demand that soft-hearted women fight the hardest battles?
And why-why can't I do anything to shield her?
The truth was, Aditi's story was a mirror of so many women I had seen around me. Girls who dream with open hearts, who love with unguarded souls, and who end up shattered when the world fails them. I had made peace with being a protector long ago. That's why I never let people close. That's why I had built walls so high around myself-so I could be the fortress for others. Especially for girls like Aditi.
But even protectors bleed in silence.
Even the strongest need to be held.
As the night deepened and the mansion fell into a hush, I leaned my head back against the wall and let my eyes close for a moment-not to sleep, but to remember what it means to be strong.
Strength isn't about holding swords. Sometimes, it's about holding hands. Wiping tears. Picking up the broken pieces of someone else's dream. And if fate wanted me to carry that weight for Aditi, then I would do it. No questions asked.
Because love isn't always about romance.
Sometimes, love is being the shadow that stands behind someone in silence-catching them when they fall, holding them when they cry, and protecting their heart like it's your own.
And I knew-this war wasn't over. The real battle had just begun.
But tonight, I would guard her dreams.
Tomorrow, I would face the storm.
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