Chapter 29

The past few days had been a whirlwind of emotions—confusing, overwhelming, but undeniably beautiful.

It had started with Siya showing up unannounced outside my school. Her words had been sharp, full of bitterness and venom. She had tried to paint Veer as cold and incapable of love, a hollow shell of a man. I'd been furious, not because I believed her, but because I couldn't fathom how anyone could say such cruel things about him.

Veer wasn't cold. He wasn't incapable of love. He was a man who had been hurt, who had built walls to protect himself from a world that had disappointed him over and over again. But beneath those walls was a heart capable of incredible tenderness—a heart he had started to trust me with.

That evening, when I saw the wreckage of the living room and Veer standing amidst it, the fear and vulnerability in his eyes were clear. His outburst wasn't just anger—it was panic, rooted in the fear of being abandoned.

He had clung to me, opening up about his insecurities and the scars left by his parents' death. And in that moment, I realized just how deeply I loved him.

It wasn't a love built on grand gestures or perfect moments. It was a love born from seeing him at his most vulnerable and wanting nothing more than to stay by his side, to be the safe space he had never had.

Veer had been so attentive during my periods, going out of his way to make sure I was comfortable. He had rubbed my back, held me close, and even ordered chocolate cake to cheer me up.

The way he cared for me, even in the smallest of ways, only deepened my feelings for him.

And now, with Diwali just around the corner, I wanted to show him that same care in return.

The house was alive with the spirit of the festival. Strings of marigold flowers adorned the doorways, and diyas were arranged neatly on trays, ready to be lit. But my focus was on the kitchen, where I was surrounded by ingredients for every sweet and savory dish I could think of.

The counter was piled high with bowls of kaju katli, gulab jamun, rasgulla, and gujiya, while trays of chakli, chivda, and salted snacks cooled nearby. The aroma of sugar, cardamom, and frying dough filled the air, wrapping the space in a warmth that felt like home.

I was in the middle of shaping a batch of gujiya when I heard the front door open. Moments later, Veer walked into the kitchen, his tie slightly loosened, his hair mussed from the long day.

"What's going on here?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity.

"Diwali preparations," I replied, not looking up from my task.

His gaze swept over the spread of sweets and snacks, and I saw his hand reach toward a bowl of kaju katli. Without thinking, I swatted his hand away.

"Not yet!" I scolded.

He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Why not?"

"Because first, we offer it to God," I said firmly. "It's prasad. Only after that can you eat it."

"Prasad first, then me," he said, leaning against the counter with a mock sigh. "Got it."

As he watched me work, his expression grew softer.

"You know," he said after a moment, his voice quieter, "this is the first Diwali I'm celebrating since my parents died."

I paused, my hands stilling over the tray of gujiya. His words were a reminder of how much this festival must mean to him, not just as a celebration, but as a way to reclaim something he had lost.

"Then we'll make it special," I said, my voice steady. "For both of us."

He stepped closer, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from my face. "It already is, Tara," he said softly. "Because of you."

As we stood in the kitchen, surrounded by the chaos of Diwali preparations, I felt a sense of warmth and belonging I hadn't felt in years.

This wasn't just about celebrating a festival. It was about building something new together—something that honored the past but also looked forward to the future.

And as Veer reached for my hand, his touch grounding me, I realized that this wasn't just his first Diwali after his parents' death. It was our first Diwali together—a sweet, messy, and wonderful beginning to the life we were creating, one small moment at a time.

The kitchen was finally quiet. After hours of stirring, frying, shaping, and tasting, the sweets and snacks were done, neatly arranged in trays and tins, ready for Diwali.

I wiped my hands on my apron, exhaustion settling into my bones. But there was a deep sense of satisfaction too. This was the first Diwali Veer and I would celebrate together, and I wanted everything to be perfect.

Just as I was about to sit down for a moment, Veer appeared in the doorway. He looked relaxed, his tie and blazer discarded, his clothes changed

"Tara," he said softly, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Yes?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Come to our room," he said, gesturing for me to follow.

I frowned slightly, wondering what he was up to. "Can it wait? I'm a little tired."

"No," he said, his tone firm but gentle. "It can't wait."

I followed him to the bedroom, curious and a little wary. As I stepped inside, I noticed that the lights were dimmed, casting a warm glow across the space. Veer walked over to the dresser and pulled out a small box, motioning for me to sit in front of the mirror.

"Veer, what's going on?" I asked, but he didn't answer. Instead, he opened the box, revealing a stunning diamond necklace.

The jewels sparkled under the soft light, the intricate design delicate yet bold.

"Veer," I said, my voice a mix of surprise and exasperation. "You can't just—"

"Yes, I can," he interrupted, placing the necklace gently around my neck. His fingers brushed against my skin as he fastened it, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Veer, this is too much," I protested, staring at our reflection in the mirror. The necklace looked like something out of a dream, but it felt overwhelming. "You can't keep giving me such expensive gifts."

He leaned down, resting his hands on my shoulders and meeting my gaze in the mirror. "I can, and I will," he said firmly. "Don't underestimate my wealth, Tara. I'm one of the richest men in the world. This is nothing."

I turned to look at him, my chest tightening with emotion. "It's not about the money," I said softly. "I already feel like I have so much, Veer. You don't need to do all this."

His expression softened, and he crouched down beside me, taking my hand in his. "I know I don't need to," he said. "But I want to. Because you deserve it."

Just as I was trying to wrap my head around the necklace, Veer reached for another box sitting on the bed.

"Veer—" I started, but he held up a hand.

"Let me," he said, opening the box to reveal a royal blue silk saree with intricate silver zari work along the borders. The fabric shimmered as he held it up, the deep blue contrasting beautifully with the silver accents.

"It's for Diwali," he said simply, his voice low and warm.

I stared at the saree, my throat tightening. It was exquisite, something I could never have imagined owning.

"Veer, this is too much," I said again, shaking my head.

"It's not," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Tara, you've given me more than I ever thought I could have. Let me give you this."

I looked at him, my heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper—something that felt like it could burst out of my chest at any moment.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice trembling.

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. "it's my duty to gift you beautiful things there is no need to say thankyou ."

As I held the saree in my hands, its smooth fabric cool against my skin, I felt an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude. Veer had a way of making me feel cherished in ways I never thought possible.

The gifts were beautiful, yes, but it was his thoughtfulness, his desire to see me happy, that truly took my breath away.

And as I looked at him, his eyes full of quiet affection, I realized once again how lucky I was to have him by my side.