The scent of marigolds and sandalwood hung thick in the air, weaving through the soft hum of shlokas being chanted. The mandap glowed with the flickering light of a thousand diyas, its golden drapes swaying gently in the evening breeze. Somewhere in the crowd, relatives murmured and shuffled in their seats, but their voices felt like a distant echo. For you, everything had narrowed down to this moment, to the man seated across from you.

Kunal Singh Rawal.

He sat with the same composed demeanor you’d noticed the day you both first met, his white sherwani shimmering under the lights, the emerald brooch at his chest catching the firelight. His eyes, calm and steady, met yours only occasionally, but when they did, it felt like he could see right through the chaos of your heart.

With each step, you tried to hold onto the priest’s words about your vows: of love, respect, and companionship. But your thoughts kept drifting to him. Would he understand your silly jokes? Would he laugh with you in quiet moments, or would you only ever exchange polite smiles?