Temple bells are chiming from the hilltop Durga Devi temple, echoing through the crisp, chilly air of a peaceful Sunday morning.
Women are sweeping the courtyards and drawing colorful rangoli patterns at the entrance of their homes. Elderly folks are watering the plants with quiet focus.
Street dogs are lying lazily on the stone platforms, their eyes half-closed. Birds are chirping cheerfully on electric lines and tree branches.
In the distance, the faint calls of wild animals are drifting from the dense forest beyond.
Ruhani Sharma’s home is echoing with morning bhajans, playing softly from the Doordarshan channel on the old television set. The devotional tunes are filling the air with a sense of warmth and tradition as incense sticks are burning gently near the altar, their fragrance drifting across the room.
𝗥𝘂𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗶 𝗦𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗮 𝗣𝗢𝗩:
I groan, pulling the comforter over my head as the bhajans continue playing from the living room TV. The chants, though devotional, feel like alarm bells to my sleepy ears. I cover them tightly with both hands, trying to drown out the sound.
Just then, my younger brother sneaks into the room like a mischievous cat, grinning to himself. He turns off the table fan on purpose and dashes out, laughing under his breath.
Within seconds, I sit up, my hair a tangled mess. “AARAV!” I yell, grabbing the nearest pillow and storming out of bed.
I find him just outside the door and smack him on the head with the pillow. He drops to the floor dramatically, clutching his chest and pretending to pass out, eyes rolled back.
My heart jumps. “Aarav?” I kneel beside him, patting his cheeks in panic. “AARAV! Don’t joke like this!”
Seeing me genuinely scared, Aarav starts to get up but before he can, Maa storms into the room. Her eyes widen in horror as she sees him on the floor and me standing over him with a pillow in hand.
"Arre baap re"! What did you do to my poor boy?" she yells, charging at me with a barrage of slaps and scoldings. Aarav suddenly springs up, laughing his heart out.
“You should’ve seen your face!” he cackles.
I growl and grab his hair. He grabs mine in return, and we both tumble onto the floor, still pulling at each other like wild animals. Maa gasps in frustration and reaches for her slipper, ready to beat us both into discipline.
But then—
“AARAV! RUHANI!” Baba’s thunderous voice echoes from the hall.
We freeze. Maa immediately drops the slipper, straightens her saree, and hurries to the kitchen, pretending like she’s been peacefully making dry parathas the whole time.
Aarav scrambles to his books, sitting at the table like the picture of sincerity. I try to sneak away, but before I can escape, Baba appears in the doorway.
He stands there, arms folded, his gaze sharp. “Still acting like a child,” he snaps. “If you don’t learn to be responsible now, how will you survive in your in-laws’ home?”
I want to roll my eyes so badly but I know if I do, I’ll die a quick and painful death. So I just nod silently, pretending to reflect on my life choices while secretly plotting Aarav’s downfall.
Later that evening, I walked alone towards the Durga Devi temple, the soft chime of temple bells echoing in the air. I folded my hands and bowed in silent prayer, seeking peace amidst my daily chaos.
Suddenly, two soft hands covered my eyes from behind.
I didn’t need to guess.
That mischievous giggle gave it away.
“Aira Singh Rathore,” I smiled, recognizing the one and only person who could pull this off the sister of my childhood enemy, Veerprakash Singh Rathore, and my one and only best friend in the whole village.
“Finally found time to meet your bestie?” I asked, pouting at her as I turned around.
She grinned and placed a quick kiss on my cheek. “Being a doctor in Dubai is no joke, yaar! Work just keeps piling up.”
I chuckled at her tired but glowing face, yet deep inside, there was a heaviness in my chest. A silent ache. She had gone so far, achieved so much… and here I am stuck, having to leave my studies just to help baba run our old sweet shop.
As if reading my thoughts, she cupped my cheeks gently. “How about you start studying again?” she whispered with hope in her eyes.
I shook my head slowly. “Not possible, Aira…” I said softly.
She didn’t press further. She just nodded, her eyes reflecting quiet understanding. That’s the thing about best friends they don’t need answers. They just stay.
After talking endlessly about our old childhood memories like sneaking into the village head's garden to pluck berries and almost getting caught we couldn't stop laughing. I still remember how we had run away, giggling like little kids, and hid behind a small neem tree, catching our breath as our hearts pounded with excitement.
Wiping a tear of laughter, Aira nudged me.
“By the way, you’re coming with me to Ishaan Mehra’s engagement, okay?”
I blinked, confused. “Ishaan who?”
She rolled her eyes. “Veer’s best friend! Don’t tell me you forgot.”
My smile faded. My eyes widened a bit. “It’s impossible, Aira. Baba will never allow it.”
She folded her arms, giving me that classic I-know-you look. “I knew you’d say that. But I’m warning you if you don’t come, I’m not talking to you ever again.”
I looked away, biting my lip. She knew exactly why I was hesitating.
It wasn’t the engagement.
It wasn’t even Baba.
It was because her brother—Veerprakash Singh Rathore—was going to be there.
And no matter how much I pretended, the thought of seeing him again always sent my heart into chaos.
I try my best to say no, throwing every excuse I can think of, but Aira just gets up, brushing the dust off her kurti with that usual dramatic flair.
Before walking away, she turns slightly and says with a sly smile, “By the way, Ishaan Mehra already sent the invitation to your house.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
She grins, her voice teasing. “I convinced your baba yesterday. And your maa? She already packed your bags.”
I blink, stunned.
“It’s a four-day trip,” she calls over her shoulder. “See you there… or don’t even bother calling me your best friend again.”
And just like that, she walks away, leaving me sitting on the temple steps, heart pounding, head spinning.
Four whole days at the engagement.
And Veerprakash Singh Rathore will be there.
𝗩𝗲𝗲𝗿𝗽𝗿𝗮𝗸𝗮𝘀𝗵 𝗦𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗵 𝗥𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗣𝗢𝗩 :
My eyes widen and my breath hitches the moment Ishaan says it.
He gave the engagement invitation to Ruhani Sharma.
My jaw tightens. My fingers curl into a fist as the memory flashes before my eyes ,school farewell, her in that hideous brown saree, and me stupidly saying it looked like cow dung. The next second? She almost breaks my nose with her sandal.
I glare at Ishaan. He just stands there, hands in his pockets, flashing that innocent grin like he hasn’t just invited a hurricane to his engagement.
I sigh and look away, muttering under my breath, "Why the hell would you invite Ruhani?"
He shrugs casually. “Your sister Aira said so.”
Aira. Of course. I sigh again, this time adding her name to the list of people I plan to kill after the engagement.
But then Ishaan says something that makes my chest tighten.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t miss her… or like you don’t want to see her.”
My throat goes dry. I don’t respond.
Because pretending?
That’s all I’ve been doing for years.
It’s late at night when I finally get to the telephone. The base is quiet, and I dial my home number with fingers that remember every digit by heart.
The line clicks, and Maa picks up.
“Veer?” Her voice cracks immediately.
My chest tightens.
I haven’t seen her in six months not since I got commissioned as a lieutenant. I know she misses me. I hear it in every word she says, every little question, every second of silence that follows when she’s too emotional to speak.
I smile faintly and speak softly the only woman I ever speak softly to.
After a few minutes, Baba takes the phone. His tone is always firm, heavy, full of expectations.
“Your duty? Any delays? How’s the weather?”
Not one word about how I am.
But I’m used to it. That’s just Baba. Discipline over sentiment. I still answer everything with “Yes baba,” and “All good, baba.”
Then suddenly I hear two high-pitched voices overlapping in the background. One, unmistakably my sister Aira’s. And the other…
My jaw clenches.
That voice.
Sweet. Mocking. Loud. Laughing. Familiar.
Ruhani Sharma.
I grit my teeth. Why is she even there?
Aira’s laughing through the phone now, clearly enjoying herself. I ask tightly, “Why did you tell her to come to Ishaan’s engagement?”
She gives a dramatic commentary like she’s anchoring a reality show, says something about ‘destiny’ and ‘payback for your school drama’, then runs off yelling, phone left dangling.
I scowl and call out, “Hello? HELLO?” My voice turns gruff, impatient.
Then comes silence.
And then…
“Hi,”
Soft. Quiet. Nervous.
Her voice.
The same voice I’ve tried to forget for two years. The same voice I’ve missed like a fool.
My breath hitches.
My pulse kicks up.
Damn it.
Even now she has this power over me.
𝗕𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝗣𝗢𝗩 :
Ruhaani clutched the phone with sweaty palms, her heart in her throat.
It was him.
Veerprakash.
Her Veer. Or… not anymore.
But she couldn’t show it.
She wouldn't.
Her voice is steady, playful, “So… you’re Aira’s brother?”
She knew she is poking the bear. She felt the heavy pause on the other end.
No answer. Just silent, angry breathing.
(From his side:)
Veer’s eyes narrowed.
“Brother? Yes I am for aira but ”
Is she serious? He paces slowly, the cord of the military telephone stretching taut as he moves.
His voice raise in his head: Is this a joke to her? After everything?
“She talks a lot about you… Mr. Lieutenant, is it?”
That mock sweetness in her voice made his blood boil.
Veer clenched his fist.
What the hell is she playing now?
𝗖𝗟𝗜𝗖𝗞..( The call ended)
Veer stared at the receiver.
One second. Two.
And then
“What the fuck!” He slammed it down, the sharp thud echoing in the empty hallway.
His chest heaved.
He wasn’t even sure if he was angry because she acted like he didn’t matter
Or because part of him had wanted her to care.
He ran a hand through his hair, voice low:
“She still knows how to piss me off...
"Act all you want, Ruhani...” he muttered under his breath, eyes sharp.
“But wait till we meet at the engagement. Let’s see how long you pretend then.”
(Author’s note) :
And with that little storm of a conversation, the calm before the real chaos ends. Let’s wait till the engagement day where names are written, glances are stolen, and tempers finally clash
S𝖳𝖠𝖸 𝖳𝖴𝖭𝖤𝖣 𝖡𝖴𝖡𝖡𝖫𝖤𝖲😊😉. 𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗒.
~~ Joy🩷🐻❄️
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