The wedding preparations began with noise, color, and two very different kinds of love.

At the Gill haveli, celebration arrived like a festival. The courtyard filled with the clink of crystal trays, the rustle of silk, and the hum of endless instructions.

Florists came and went with arms full of marigolds and white roses. Tailors arrived carrying garment bags that held sherwanis stitched with delicate threadwork and suits and Phulkari that shimmered even before they were unfolded while jewelers brought trays of heavy gold sets for the bride and family.

The kitchen ran non-stop: giant kadhais bubbled with sweets, dry fruits were sorted into silver bowls, and caterers finalized menus that included every Punjabi delicacy imaginable. Servants polished silver thalis until they gleamed.

Kaushalya moved through it all like a general and a grandmother at once. Her sharp eyes missed nothing.

“These flowers go near the entrance. No, not there. There. Guests should smell the welcome before they see it,” she instructed calmly.

Mehek sat on the steps, holding up a pastel dupatta against the sunlight, already imagining how it would look on Meher.

“She is going to look beautiful,” she declared to Amrita. “I told you. My best friend was born to be the best bride.”

Amrita smiled softly. “Every girl is.” Her happiness knows no bounds that finally her boy is getting married.

Harjit handled the logistics with pride, making sure every detail reflected the family's standing.

The haveli buzzed with life, laughter, and the soft clink of bangles as relatives arrived to help.

Kabir stood near the doorway, watching workers unload boxes from a truck. The word wedding floated in the air everywhere around him, yet it still felt strange in his ears. He had said yes. He had agreed. But seeing it take shape in front of his eyes made something inside him still restless.

Balraj noticed his silence and leaned closer. “Do not worry,” he whispered. “If you run now, Dadi will personally hunt you down.”

Kabir shot him a look, but a corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.

Across the city, in a much smaller house, the preparations were quieter, slower, and full of effort that showed in every small detail.

In Jagir Singh's modest courtyard, the preparations were smaller but carried a different kind of weight and warmth.

Jagir woke before dawn every day. He swept the small courtyard himself, whitewashed the walls with Fateh until they shone, and planted new marigold saplings along the boundary wall.

He borrowed a few extra chairs from neighbors, polished the old wooden charpai until it looked almost new, and repainted the front gate a fresh green.

Every evening he sat with Baljit counting the little savings they had, deciding what they could afford without borrowing more. He bought the best quality rice and dal for the few of their side of guests they would host at home for the pre-wedding rituals, and personally selected a hand-embroided beautiful Phulkari dupatta for Meher from the market, bargaining gently until the shopkeeper gave him a fair price.

Meher sat inside, happily admiring the same phulkari again and again. To her, it was the most beautiful phulkari in the world because her father had chosen it himself for her, and she had already decided that this is what she would wear at her lawa (phere).

Like every girl, she is very happy, a little nervous too, but more than anything, excited for this new beginning in her life. A new home, a new environment, a new place, and a companion to walk beside her for a lifetime.

But there was also a quiet ache in her heart, the one that lives in every daughter’s heart, knowing that for this new beginning she would have to leave her old home behind. And Meher was going very far, to another country, away from her father, the man without whom she could not spend even a moment, away from her family.

Jagir worked longer hours in someone else's fields so he could bring home a little extra money for the wedding. One afternoon he came back with a small packet of good-quality almonds and pistachios, saying quietly to Baljit, "For the groom's side. Even if only a handful of people come from their family, we should offer the best to them everything we can."

Baljit smiled through tired eyes and held his hand, whispering that he was doing more than enough.

Meher watched all of it with a soft ache in her chest. She saw her father's calloused hands scrubbing the courtyard tiles at night, saw him carefully ironing his old clothes so it would look perfect for the wedding function, saw him smile every time someone congratulated him even though his eyes carried quiet worry about whether everything would be "good enough."

Yet every time she tried to help, he would pat her head and say, "Beta, this is my duty. You just stay happy."

One night, long after everyone else had gone to sleep, Meher heard soft voices from the small veranda.

She slipped out of her room barefoot and found her parents sitting close together on the charpai under the dim bulb light. Jagir held a small notebook where he had jotted down expenses, and Baljit rested her head on his shoulder.

"We have done whatever we could," Jagir was saying quietly. "The sweets we ordered are simple but fresh. I have asked the neighbor for their big steel thaali set for the milni. Still... six people from their side. What if they feel we did not do enough?"

Baljit sighed softly. "Kaushalya Bibiji is very kind. She already told you they want the wedding simple. No big baraat, no extra guests. She said it clearly so we do not feel any burden or less in front of them."

She continued, “She even clearly refused to take anything, even declined to have clothes made for Meher, saying that she would be going to London anyway and those clothes would not be of much use there.”

"I know," Jagir replied, rubbing his forehead. "She is thoughtful. But still... she is Kaushalya Gill. Her house shines like a palace. Ours is just... ours. I do not want Meher to feel small on her own wedding day. So at the very least, there should be no shortcoming from our side when it comes to their hospitality."

Meher stepped forward quietly, the soft jingle of her anklets announced her arrival in the silence of the night before her arrival and both parents looked up, startled.

"beta, why are you awake?" Baljit asked immediately, patting the space beside her.

Meher sat down between them, pulling her dupatta around her shoulders. She took her father's hand gently and squeezed it softly.

“Papa,” she said, her voice barely louder than the night air, “you are doing more than anyone ever could.”

Jagir looked at her, surprised.

She continued, words tumbling out, gentle but firm. “You wake up before the sun. You are working in other people’s fields. You count every rupee twice so I can start my new life without worry. You think about how to give them a grand welcome, how many sweets to serve, how clean the gate looks. Do you really think anyone will look at all that and say it is not enough?”

Baljit’s eyes filled as she watched her daughter speak. Jagir was also the same.

Meher leaned closer to her father. “When I walk into that wedding space, I will not see chandeliers or silk tents. I will see you standing there and that will be my pride.”

Jagir swallowed, his throat tight. “But beta,” he said quietly, “a daughter’s wedding is the biggest day of not just her life but also her father's dream. I always wanted you to remember it as something beautiful, not something that felt small.”

Meher smiled softly while shaking her head. “It will be beautiful because it is mine. Because you are giving me this. Because you and Mumma are there. What else do I need?”

She rested her head against his arm, just like she used to when she was little.

“I am not going to London because of big houses or shiny things,” she added. “I am going because you taught me to dream. And wherever I go, I will carry this house with me. You, mumma, Fateh and Seerat. This courtyard. This charpai. This light bulb that flickers when the wind blows. All of it.”

“Just always stay happy, my child. That’s all your old father ever wants,” Jagir said, gently stroking her head.

Baljit reached out and pulled both of them into a gentle embrace. “You two will make me cry,” she said, laughing through her tears. “And tomorrow I still have to wake up early and make ladoos.”

They sat there like that for a long moment. Three figures under a small yellow light, holding onto each other in the quiet.

Across the city, the Gill haveli glowed with rows of fairy lights. Designers pinned fabrics, staff rehearsed seating plans, and Kaushalya oversaw everything with calm authority.

Amrita stood in front of a mirror, holding up two bangles, debating loudly with Mehek. “Gold or pearl. Gold says royal. Pearl says elegant. Meher is both. How do I choose?”

Kaushalya laughed. “Then give her both. Let her decide.”

Somewhere in the corner of his room, Kabir sat with his phone in his hand, scrolling through emails from London. Subject lines about meetings, deadlines, and projects blinked on the screen, reminders of the life waiting for him on the other side of the wedding.

He looked up as Balraj walked in, carrying two cups of tea.

“Thinking about running away again?” Balraj asked casually, handing him one.

Kabir snorted. “Thinking about how my life went from boardroom meetings to wedding playlists in less than two weeks.”

Balraj grinned. “Welcome to marriage, my friend. Where your calendar no longer belongs to you.”

Kabir took a sip, then hesitated. “Do you think she is… scared?”

Balraj raised an eyebrow. “Meher? Scared? No! She could scare even the bravest of people.”

Kabir nodded slightly. “She jokes. She laughs. She acts like everything is easy. But she is leaving her whole world behind.”

Balraj leaned against the wall, thoughtful for once. “Yeah. She is brave. Braver than you, honestly. You are just changing cities. She is changing homes. So from now on, taking the best possible care of her will be your responsibility.”

Kabir said nothing.

The image of Meher sitting in her small courtyard, laughing, talking, belonging somewhere, flashed in his mind.

For the first time, the wedding did not feel like something happening to him.

It felt like something he was about to take someone away from.

Back in Jagir’s house, Meher finally stood up, brushing off her dupatta.

“Okay,” she said brightly, forcing a smile. “Enough emotional drama for one night. I have to look like a bride, not like someone who cried into her father’s shoulder.”

Baljit chuckled. “Go sleep, drama queen.”

Meher bent down and kissed her mother’s cheek, then her father’s forehead. “Good night, Papa. Good night, Mumma.”

Jagir watched her walk back to her room, her anklets softly chiming with every step.

He looked at Baljit and said quietly, “How did our little girl grow up so fast?”

Baljit smiled. “Because you raised her with love. That is how they grow.”

The light went off.

In two different homes, under two very different roofs, the same night wrapped around two families.

One preparing to welcome a daughter.

The other is preparing to let one go.

And in the space between them, a new life waited, quietly, patiently, for morning.

The next morning arrived with a rush of footsteps and the kind of nervous excitement that only a wedding can bring. There were only a few days left now, and every corner of Jagir’s small house felt like it was holding its breath along with the people inside it.

The sound of a car stopping outside the gate cut through the morning.

Before anyone could react, Mehek came running inside like a storm of laughter and happiness. “Meher!” she called out, and in the next second she had already wrapped her arms around her best friend and lifted her off the ground.

Meher squealed, “Put me down, you mad woman,” but she was laughing just as hard.

Their laughter spilled into the courtyard, bright and contagious, filling the space with warmth and noise.

Right behind Mehek, Kaushalya stepped in.

The moment Baljit and Jagir saw her, both of them left whatever they were doing and hurried forward.

“Sat Shri Akal, Maa ji,” Jagir said respectfully, folding his hands.

Baljit quickly pulled out a chair. “Please sit, Maa ji. I will bring tea right away.”

Kaushalya smiled kindly and waved her hand. “Take your time, beta. There is no rush because I'm not leaving without drinking your famous tea.”

She looked at Meher, who was still catching her breath from Mehek’s dramatic hug.

“I have come to steal my daughter for a few hours,” Kaushalya said warmly. “I want to take her shopping. I want her to choose a wedding outfit of her choice.”

Jagir nodded at once. “Whatever you feel is right, Maa ji.”

Meher hesitated, then took a small step forward. “Dadi ji,” she began softly, “can I say something, if you don’t mind?”

Kaushalya reached out and gently smoothed Meher’s hair. “Of course, beta. Say whatever is in your heart.”

Meher lowered her gaze for a moment, then spoke carefully. “I want to leave this house as my father’s daughter. I mean, I want to wear what my parents can give me. I want to wear the suit my mother stitched for me. The little jewelry my Nani and Papa have managed to collect with their hard work. The chooda and kalire that my Mama ji and Nani will bring. I know the wedding is simple anyway, and I want to be simple too. I hope you do not feel bad. I am sorry if I asked for too much.”

She finished and looked down, her fingers twisting the edge of her dupatta in nervousness.

Kaushalya stood up at once from the chair, stepped closer and gently lifted Meher’s chin so she could look into her eyes.

“Today,” she said with quiet pride, “you have made me feel proud of my decision all over again. There could not have been a better girl for my Kabir than you.”

Meher blinked, surprised.

“Wear your mother’s suit,” Kaushalya continued softly. “It is more precious than any designer outfit in the world. What a mother stitches with love cannot be bought with money.”

Meher’s face lit up with relief and happiness. “Thank you, Dadi ji. Thank you so much.”

Kaushalya smiled. “But for the reception, you will come with me and choose something you like. That will make me happy.”

Meher nodded eagerly. “Okay.”

A little while later, Meher and Mehek left with Kaushalya for shopping. Meher tried on a few dresses, laughing at her reflection, spinning in front of the mirror like a child. Right in the middle of it, her phone buzzed.

A bank message.

Her salary had been credited.

Her face lit up instantly. She stared at the screen for a second, then whispered, “Finally.”

That evening, when she returned home, her hands were full of shopping bags.

Jagir looked up from the courtyard and frowned slightly. “Maa ji took you shopping and you got too many things…...”

Meher grinned while interrupting him gently. “The things Dadi ji bought have already gone to haveli with her. These are from me. My salary came today.”

Jagir’s expression softened. “That is very good, beta. You bought something for yourself.”

Meher shook her head and started pulling things out of the bags. “No. I bought for all of you.”

“Mumma,” she called out. “Fateh. Seerat. Come here.”

Baljit came out first, wiping her hands on her dupatta. Fateh and Seerat followed, curious.

Jagir immediately started protesting. “Meher, what was the need for this? You should have saved it. This money is for your future.”

Meher did not say anything. She just walked up to him and wrapped one arm around his side, standing close which made him stop talking instantly.

Then she spoke softly. “My salary came today. I brought these for my family. Just like you always do. You want me to wear new clothes for the wedding. I also want you all to wear new clothes at my wedding. I did not buy much. Only for the wedding and the reception. Please do not say no, Papa.”

Jagir went quiet as she started taking out the clothes. First she showed Seerat her dresses then to Fateh and then to her mother.

Baljit picked up her own clothes, a beautiful suit and a saree. She touched the fabric carefully. “Beta, this looks expensive.”

Meher smiled. “My salary and a little savings. Everything fits perfectly.”

Fateh held up his new kurta, eyes wide. “But this savings was for your going abroad.”

Meher laughed softly while pulling his cheek. “That saving was needed for a good thing. So I used it for a good thing.”

Seerat, standing in the corner, hugged her new dress to her chest and started bouncing. “Look at mine. Look at mine. I am going to look like a princess.”

Everyone laughed, but their eyes were shining.

Jagir finally reached out and patted her head lovingly. His voice came out thick. “You did not have to do this, beta.”

“I wanted to. Let me do this much for my family.” Meher rested her head against his chest. “And now it's time for the most special person in my life.”

Meher pulled out the last bag slowly and took out a neatly folded kurta pajama first. “This is for you. For the wedding.” Then she took out a pent coat set. “And this is for the reception.”

Jagir stared at it. His hands froze in mid-air. He froze and his throat tightened.

For a few seconds, he did not move at all. His eyes stayed on the clothes in her hands, but it felt like he was not really seeing them. It was like he was seeing something else entirely.

“Meher…” he murmured, almost in disbelief.

And Meher put his Kurta pajama in his hand. 

Jagir held it in his trembling hands with utmost care, running his fingers over the fabric like he was afraid it might disappear if he looked away.

Then he took the coat from her, slowly, carefully, as if it were made of glass. He lifted it, felt its weight in his hands, then pressed it lightly between his fingers.

“I have never owned something like this,” he whispered to himself. “Not even when I was your age.”

Baljit looked at him, and she knew what was coming even before he said it while the eyes of all three children filled with tears when they heard their father’s trembling voice and saw the way he looked at those clothes, as if they were something incredibly precious, something from the whole world that perhaps didn’t even deserve to be in his hands.

Jagir gave a small, breathless laugh thinking how many years he has been wearing the same two shirts. One for work. One for functions. When one fades, he makes it his work shirt and buys another for functions.

And as he thought about how he could not even remember the last time he had bought new clothes for himself, his eyes filled with tears. The same man who had always made do with old clothes so he could meet his children’s needs was now being given new clothes by that very daughter, bought with her own earnings, which made him overwhelmed with emotions.

Meher’s smile faded looking at her father's teary eyes and said softly, voice shaking, holding back her own tears with great difficulty, “My school fees were due, so  you did not buy new shoes that year. Fateh needed books, so your kurta could wait another season. Seerat wanted a doll at the fair, so you told yourself you didn’t need a sweater in winter.”

He looked at the coat again. “I always thought, what will I do with nice clothes anyway? My children should look good. That is enough for me.”

“No, you deserve more papa for everything you did for us.” Meher felt her throat burn and she let go of her tears.

Jagir turned to her. “And now you are standing here, giving me something I never even asked for. Something I never even imagined for myself.” He swallowed hard. “This is not just a coat, beta,” he said. “This is the first time in my life my daughter looked at me and thought, my father should wear something special too. This means the world to me which I can't describe in words.”

Jagir had never worn a coat and pants in his life, which is why, for him, it was not just a piece of clothing to cover his body. It was a deep emotion, an unfulfilled wish maybe, one that his daughter had finally fulfilled today.

“I have never worn something like this. Never.” he admitted. “Why did you spend so much on me? You should have bought something for yourself.”

Meher shook her head. “It was very necessary for me. Everyone is doing something for me. I wanted to do something for you. You have done everything for me my whole life. This is nothing compared to that.” She said while wrapping her arms around him tightly.

Jagir hesitated for half a second, then hugged her back, tightly, like he used to when she was small and scared of thunderstorms.

“I used to carry you on my shoulders to the market,” he said softly near her hair. “People would look at you and say, what a pretty girl. And I would think, one day I will have to make sure the world treats you kindly.” His voice broke. “I never thought one day you would look at me and try to make the world treat me kindly.”

Baljit wiped her eyes with the edge of her dupatta.

Meher pulled back just enough to look at him. “Papa, you always say it is your duty to give us everything. Let this be my duty today. Just this once.”

Jagir closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the tears he was trying to hold slipped freely. He nodded slowly. “Alright,” he whispered. “If it makes my daughter happy, then I will wear it.”

Fateh, who had been watching quietly with moist eyes, spoke up in a small voice. “Papa, you will look like a hero in that.”

Jagir let out a soft, shaky laugh. “A hero?”

Seerat jumped in, nodding furiously. “Yes. Like in the movies. Our Papa will be the best looking at the wedding.”

That finally broke him.

Jagir laughed through his tears and pulled all three of them into his arms. Meher, Fateh, and Seerat, squished together against his chest.

Baljit stepped closer and wrapped her arms around them too.

At that moment, the coat and the clothes were forgotten.

What mattered was the man who had spent his whole life standing in the background, making sure everyone else in his family shone.

And the daughter who, for the first time, had stepped forward to make sure her father did too.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

In that small courtyard, surrounded by simple walls and soft evening light, a family stood together, holding new clothes, old love, and a future that was coming too fast and too close.

It was not grand. It was not loud. But it was real and it was enough.