Chapter 17

The evening air was abuzz with anticipation as the sangeet preparations neared their peak. The Datta household was alive with laughter, music, and the clinking of jewelry as everyone got ready. Mayank stood in front of the mirror in his room, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp white shirt. He paired it with a perfectly tailored navy blazer and matching trousers, his hair styled just enough to look effortlessly charming. He glanced at his watch—always punctual, even for functions—and decided to head downstairs.

The venue was glowing under the warm yellow lights, and guests were slowly filtering in, dressed to impress. Mayank made his way to the center, exchanging pleasantries with family members and greeting friends who had come for Arundita's wedding. His eyes wandered, though he wasn't entirely sure what—or who—he was looking for.

It wasn't until Niharika descended the stairs that the world seemed to shift into focus. She was wearing a delicate white lehenga with intricate silver embroidery that shimmered as she moved. The U-neck blouse and fitted sleeves added an understated elegance, and her hair, softly curled at the ends, framed her face and fell neatly down her chest. Her makeup was subtle—just enough to highlight her features—and she carried herself with quiet grace, unaware of the eyes drawn to her.

Mayank noticed. In fact, he couldn't look away. His breath hitched slightly as he took her in, a flicker of pride swelling in his chest as he caught a few men discreetly glancing at her. He felt something unexplainable stir within him—a protective instinct, almost territorial. Without a second thought, he walked toward her.

"You look really nice," he said, his voice steady despite the sudden racing of his heart.

Niharika turned to him, a small, surprised smile playing on her lips. "Thank you."

"Come," he said, gesturing toward the garden. "Let's walk."

She hesitated for a moment but nodded, falling into step beside him. The evening breeze was cool, the distant hum of music from the sangeet serving as a gentle backdrop to their conversation.

"Why didn't you come for the rest of the haldi?" he asked, glancing at her.

"I did," she replied softly, looking ahead. "I put haldi on Arundita and stayed around after that. You just... didn't see."

Mayank stopped mid-step, her words cutting deeper than he expected. She wasn't accusing him—her tone was too neutral for that—but the truth behind her statement made him feel a pang of guilt. He realized she was right. He had barely paid her any attention since their arrival, busying himself with preparations and catching up with family.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice sincere.

She shook her head lightly, brushing it off. "It's okay."

As they turned to head back inside, Niharika's dupatta snagged on Mayank's watch. She stopped, startled, and looked down.

"Wait," she said, her voice soft as she carefully untangled the delicate fabric. Her fingers brushed against his wrist briefly, and he froze, his gaze fixed on her as she concentrated. The way her brows furrowed slightly, the careful movement of her hands—everything about the moment felt unexpectedly intimate.

"Got it," she murmured, stepping back.

Mayank found himself smiling faintly. "Thanks."

Inside the hall, the sangeet was in full swing. Families had taken their seats, enjoying the performances and cheering for the dancers. Niharika sat quietly beside Mayank's parents, clapping along politely. She seemed to genuinely enjoy the show, her face lighting up at the occasional high-energy number.

When a lively Bollywood song started playing, Arundita bounded toward Mayank, grabbing his arm. "Come on, Dada! You have to dance!"

"Aru—no—" Mayank tried to protest, but she dragged him to the dance floor with ease.

He turned back, catching Niharika's eye as he was pulled away. On an impulse, he gestured for her to join them, his hand motioning for her to come. Niharika's eyes widened, and she shook her head slightly, staying rooted to her seat.

As the song went on, Mayank couldn't help but notice her watching from the sidelines. She seemed torn—her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her dupatta—but didn't move. A sudden thought crossed his mind: maybe she wanted to dance but was too shy. Without hesitating, he excused himself from the crowd and walked toward her.

Niharika looked up in surprise as he extended his hand toward her. "Come," he said simply, his tone gentle.

Her gaze darted nervously toward her parents and in-laws. Seeing their encouraging nods and smiles, she hesitated for only a moment before placing her hand in his.

Mayank led her to the dance floor, where the music was loud and the energy infectious. Rahil joined them, instantly comfortable and pulling Niharika into the moment. But she remained hesitant, moving tentatively to the rhythm.

Mayank noticed. Instead of pushing her to keep up with the crowd, he moved closer, matching her slow, unsure movements. "Be comfortable," he said softly, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. "No one's going to say or do anything."

His words had a calming effect, and Niharika found herself relaxing, her steps becoming a little more fluid. They danced together, their movements simple but in sync, until the music slowed and the crowd began to disperse.

~•~

Niharika lingered near the dance floor as the others headed toward the buffet. She wasn't a fan of large crowds, especially during meals. She found a quiet corner, content to be alone.

Mayank returned with a plate of food and spotted her standing off to the side. "Why aren't you eating?" he asked, walking over.

"I'm not hungry," she replied, though the faint growl of her stomach betrayed her.

He raised an eyebrow, setting his plate in her hands. "The crowd won't disappear. Start eating, or you'll keep waiting."

Before she could protest, he turned back toward the buffet. She watched him go, a small smile tugging at her lips as she took a bite.

As the night wound down, the families began retreating to their rooms. Niharika was about to enter hers when her parents called her toward the poolside. Curious, she followed, only to find Mayank and his family already there.

"What's going on?" she asked, looking around.

Maya Datta smiled warmly. "We wanted one picture of you two. We have to hide this marriage, but at least let us take one memory."

Niharika's cheeks flushed slightly, and she glanced at Mayank, who looked equally uncomfortable. "Okay," she said hesitantly.

They stood side by side, Maya adjusting their positions. Mayank's thoughts wandered as he noticed how small she looked next to him, her head reaching his chest. He couldn't help but think it was... adorable.

"Come closer," Maya said, gesturing. "Look married!"

Mayank hesitated before placing his hand on Niharika's waist. She stiffened slightly, the touch sending goosebumps up her arms, but she hid it well. They smiled for the camera, their poses natural but cautious.

"Now, look at each other once," Yangeeta urged, grinning.

They turned toward each other, their gazes locking. For a moment, the world around them faded. Mayank found himself admiring the curve of her face, the sparkle in her eyes, and the faint blush on her cheeks.

"You two look so in love!" Maya exclaimed as the pictures were reviewed, breaking the spell. Both Mayank and Niharika stepped back quickly, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

Later that night, Niharika was in her room, changing into her nightwear. Rahil knocked on the door and peeked in as he made himself comfortable on the single bed next to her. "Was today better with Mayank Dada?"

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yes."

"Good." He smiled back before leaving her to her thoughts.

Meanwhile, in his own room, Mayank poured himself a drink and sank into the chair by the window. His phone buzzed with a message from his mother: See the pictures.

He opened the attachment and scrolled through the photos. His eyes lingered on Niharika, zooming in on her smiling face. She's... pretty, he thought, surprised at the realization.

When he reached the picture of them looking at each other, he paused. The image felt too real—too genuine. He stared at it, a strange mix of emotions bubbling within him.

What are we doing? he wondered, the glass of whiskey in his hand momentarily forgotten.

🩷