The next morning, Kabir opened his eyes and stared straight at the ceiling.

He had been awake for at least ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Possibly his entire lifetime.

Meher was still wrapped around him.

One arm across his chest. One leg was thrown over his. Her face tucked comfortably into his shoulder as if this was the most natural position in the world.

Kabir had already tried gently moving her arm and she only tightened her grip.

He had tried shifting slightly. She snuggled closer.

So now he has given up. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for destiny to wake up.

Finally, Meher stirred.

She let out a soft yawn, her nose brushing against his collarbone. Her arms stretched lazily, fingers spreading wide as if she had slept on a cloud.

Then she smiled in her sleep while Kabir stared at her with a perfectly straight face.

Meher stirred slowly, yawning with a soft stretch of her arms, a sleepy smile spreading across her face as she blinked into the morning light. She looked peaceful, content, like she had just had the best sleep of her life.

Kabir watched her with a completely straight face, not moving a muscle.

Then, as awareness hit her, Meher's eyes widened. She realized exactly where she was and how she was positioned. She froze, then slowly lifted her gaze to meet Kabir's steady stare.

Their eyes locked, and Kabir spoke in a calm deadpan tone, repeating her words from the night before. “We maintain a healthy distance. We respect boundaries. We sleep. We are mature enough to share a bed, keep a respectful distance, and sleep like civilized roommates. Right?”

He paused.

“Is this your respectful distance?”

Meher blinked twice as she was caught off guard.

Then instead of apologizing, she sat up.

“So what?” she said casually. “What exactly did I do wrong? We got married yesterday. It is not like I spent the night clinging to some random guy.”

Kabir sat up immediately. “That is not the point.”

“What is the point then?” Meher shot back. “I shifted a little in my sleep. Did I commit a crime?”

Kabir stared at her in disbelief. “You were not a little shifted. You were practically wearing me.”

She folded her arms. “Excuse me? Maturely, as husband and wife, we slept. It is not like I stole your honor or something. Why are you acting like I attacked you?”

Kabir opened his mouth. Closed it. Then he opened it again. “If I had moved even slightly closer, you would have made it an issue.”

Meher pointed at him. “Did I make an issue?”

“No.”

“Exactly.” She shoved him away dismissively. “So stop overthinking. And please, do not ruin my first morning in my sasural. I want to go downstairs and meet everyone happily on the morning of my first day as their daughter-in-law.”

She pushed him lightly on the shoulder. “Move.”

Kabir, still stunned, scooted back. She got off the bed and marched toward the bathroom, muttering, “Subah subah dimag kharab kar diya is admi ne mera pehle hi din. Pta ni sari zindagi kaise niklegi. (He has already ruined my peace first thing in the morning, and it’s just the first day. I have no idea how I’m going to survive a whole lifetime with this man.)”

“I’m the one who should be saying that.” Kabir blinked. Then suddenly something registered. “Wait.”

She was walking into the bathroom.

Kabir jumped off the bed in panic and rushed after her. “Oye. I need to go first.”

But the door shut in his face and he stood there, staring at it in shock.

“I have been holding it for so long because you refused to move,” he complained to the door.

From inside, Meher’s voice came calmly. “In such a big haveli, is there only one bathroom?”

Kabir frowned at the door. “What?”

She opened the door slightly, peeking out. “Is there only one bathroom in this mansion?”

Kabir stared at her. “No.”

“Then why are you standing here like a statue? Go use another one if you cannot control yourself.”

And the door shut again.

Kabir blinked at the door, processing what was happening to his life, when suddenly there was a knock.

He opened it to find Mehek standing there with a tray of tea, smiling brightly.

Kabir's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

Mehek raised an eyebrow. "Wow, one night of marriage and you've already forgotten how to greet people? I brought tea by the way. Is Meher up?"

Kabir grumbled, "Yeah, she's in the bathroom."

Mehek ignored his mood and stepped inside uninvited, setting the tray down on the table.

At that exact moment, the bathroom door opened and Meher stepped out, adjusting her dupatta, looking fresh and completely unbothered.

The second she stepped out, Kabir dashed past her and into the bathroom like a man escaping war and the door shut loudly behind him.

Meher watched him go, barely suppressing a laugh while biting her lip as she stood there trying to look innocent.

Mehek looked between them, puzzled. "What happened?"

Meher shook her head casually. "Nothing."

Mehek shook her head, laughing softly. “Fine. Drink tea and get ready. Dadi said there is no hurry. Come downstairs when you are ready.”

“Okay,” Meher nodded sweetly.

Mehek gave her one last suspicious look and walked out, closing the door softly behind her.

Meher picked up her cup of tea, smiling to herself.

Kabir stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, drying his hands with a towel. His expression was calm again, composed, as if the morning chaos had never happened.

Meher was sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea in her hands, smiling to herself for reasons he does understand but chose not to say anything further.

She looked up at him, her eyes bright, and for a second he wondered what new trouble was waiting for him.

She lifted the cup slightly toward him. “Here. Dadi sent tea.”

Kabir walked over and extended his hand to take it. But just as he reached out, Meher’s eyes fell on his palm.

The small crooked heart with the letter M inside it had darkened overnight. Her expression changed instantly. She placed the cup back on the table without a word and grabbed his hand with both of hers.

Kabir froze completely. He had not been prepared for that.

Meher’s eyes widened in pure delight. “Aww,” she breathed softly, staring at his palm. “You got mehndi too. With my name.”

“Maa insisted,” Kabir replied, trying to sound indifferent, though he was very aware of her fingers still wrapped around his hand.

Meher did not even respond to that. She was too busy admiring the tiny heart like it was some rare treasure. Kabir watched her in disbelief. It was such a small thing, barely visible, and yet she looked as if someone had handed her the world.

Then suddenly she gasped. Before Kabir could react, she pulled his hand again and made him sit down on the sofa.

Everything happened so quickly that he did not even process how he ended up seated while she stood in front of him with both her hands extended dramatically.

“How could I forget something so important,” she muttered to herself.

Kabir blinked. “What?”

She ignored him completely and began looking around the room as if she had misplaced something precious and Kabir kept looking at her calmly.

“Did you lose something?” he finally asked cautiously.

“I am looking for your hearing machine,” she said seriously.

“My what?” his eyes squinted in confusion.

She looked at him with exaggerated concern. “You clearly do not hear properly. I said something last night and you did not register it. And the same thing happened this morning too. Not just once… but just now, all over again. There must be some defect.”

Kabir stared at her stunned then said. “Excuse me? There is no defect in me. I hear perfectly fine.”

“Really?” she said thoughtfully. “Because I suspected Dadi rushed this marriage for a reason. Maybe she handed me a defective piece of a groom.”

Kabir straightened immediately. “There is absolutely nothing defective about me.”

“Good,” she said briskly. “Then find your name in my mehndi.”

He blinked again. “What?”

“Haye Rabba!” Meher hit her forehead with her palm while whining cutely then she held both her hands right in front of his face. The intricate henna patterns covered her palms and stretched up her wrists in delicate swirls and vines.

“Find your name,” she repeated seriously.

“Can I at least drink my tea first,” Kabir tried, reaching toward the table.

Before he could touch it, Meher swiftly lifted the cup and moved it away. “Do not even think about it. First find your name.”

Kabir groaned softly. “Meher, are you a child?”

“If you do not find it, I can sit here all day,” she replied sweetly.

He let out a defeated sigh while she burst into quiet giggles and placed her hands steadily in front of him. Kabir leaned closer, squinting slightly, trying to make sense of the elaborate patterns. He searched one palm carefully, then the other, then turned her hand slightly to check near the wrist.

“If you do not find it,” Meher added innocently, “you will have to give me a gift.”

He shot her a look. “I will find it.”

He examined her left palm again, then traced the swirling design on her right hand with his eyes.

“Does the color look nice?” Meher asked, admiring her mehendi.

“Hm.” Kabir responded absently, completely focused on finding his name hidden in the intricate design.

“And why wouldn’t it be dark?” she continued proudly. “I didn’t rely on those old myths that it depends on the husband’s love or the mother in law’s affection. I properly warmed my hands over cloves on the pan, applied lemon and sugar syrup, and did everything perfectly. That is why the color turned out like this.”

She kept talking without a pause and Kabir shot her a sharp glare to silence her.

Meher only giggled. “Relax. I was joking.”

Hidden inside one of the paisley motifs near the curve of her thumb, the artist had cleverly woven the letters K A B I R in miniature, blending them into the leafy pattern. It was so subtle that it almost disappeared inside the design.

Kabir narrowed his eyes, then suddenly pointed. “There. That curve inside the paisley. That is my name.”

Meher leaned closer and followed his finger, then broke into a wide smile. “You actually found it.”

“Of course I did,” he muttered. “Now can I finally drink my tea?”

He reached for the cup again but Meher picked it up before him and stepped back with an innocent smile. “It has gone cold. I will make you a fresh one. Consider it your reward for finding your name.”

And before he could argue, she walked out of the room with the cup in her hand.

Kabir sat there, staring at the doorway she had just disappeared through. “What exactly is this girl,” he muttered to himself.

In the kitchen, Meher slowed her steps and composed herself. She saw Amrita standing near the stove. Instantly, she walked forward and bent to touch her feet. “Good morning Aunty ji.”

Amrita placed her hand gently on Meher’s head and blessed her. “Bless you, beta.”

“Did you not drink your tea yet?” Amrita asked warmly.

“I had mine,” Meher replied politely. “Kabir’s became cold, so I thought I would make another one.”

“I will send one for him,” Amrita said, palming her face lovingly. “And do not call me aunty anymore. From today, I am your mother too. Just like I am for Mehek and Kabir.”

Meher’s smile softened. She nodded respectfully. “Yes, Maa.”

Just then Kaushalya walked into the kitchen. The moment she saw Meher, her face lit up. “My child is awake.”

Meher quickly bent to touch her feet as well. “Good morning, Dadi.”

“Good morning, mere bache.” Kaushalya blessed her and gently cupped her face. “There is no work for you in the kitchen on your first morning after marriage. Whatever you want to do in a kitchen, you can do in your own home later in London. For now, come sit with me. Talk to me. Tonight you will leave.”

Meher blinked in surprise. “Tonight, Dadi?”

“Yes, beta. That is why we kept the reception in the daytime. In the evening you both will leave for Delhi. Your night flight is booked. Kabir’s work is waiting. Now that the wedding is done, his boss will not grant him more leave.”

Meher stood there absorbing the information quietly. So soon. She is going to leave her home and her parents soon.

Behind her, in the bedroom, Kabir was still sitting on the sofa, staring at the empty doorway and wondering how in less than twenty four hours his carefully organized life had turned into something so completely unpredictable and strangely… entertaining.

Kaushalya gently tapped Meher’s cheek and told her to stop standing there thinking too much. “Go and get ready,” she said fondly. “It is your reception today, my daughter has to look the most beautiful of all.”

Meher nodded obediently and went upstairs. A long shower helped settle her thoughts, and soon her room turned into a whirlwind of activity.

The beautician arrived with her kit, and Mehek took charge like a self appointed manager. She adjusted the dupatta, fixed the pleats, directed the hairstylist, and commented on everything from eyeliner thickness to the placement of the necklace.

“You are not blinking enough,” Mehek complained. “Brides are supposed to blink slowly and mysteriously.”

“I am not a chandelier,” Meher replied. “I blink normally.”

By the time the final touches were done and everyone was gone, Meher stood before the mirror in a heavy embroidered lehenga, the fabric rich and grand, a striking contrast to the simplicity she had carried the previous day. The deep hues shimmered softly under the lights. The jewelry framed her face elegantly, and her hair fell in styled waves over her shoulders. She looked radiant, not because of the weight of the outfit, but because she wore it without being overwhelmed by it.

Just then there was a knock at the door. Kabir stepped in.

Mehek had called him to take his wife to the venue because she had already left ahead with the family. He entered casually, but the moment his eyes fell on Meher, he stopped.

Completely.

The room seemed to fall silent around him.

Yesterday she looked breathtaking in her simplicity, wrapped in phulkari, glowing in quiet grace. Today she stood before him in a grand reception outfit, every detail polished, every layer heavy, and yet she carried it with the same ease. Nothing about her looked forced. Nothing about her seemed too much.

She did not look like someone dressed up to impress. She looked like she belonged exactly where she was.

Kabir’s gaze lingered longer than he intended. Longer than was safe.

And Meher noticed.

She watched him through the mirror for a moment before turning slowly to face him. A teasing smile curved her lips. “Am I looking that good, Mr Gill, that you cannot look away?”

Kabir snapped out of it instantly. He cleared his throat and pretended to adjust his cuff as if that had been his sole focus all along. “We are getting late,” he said in an overly neutral tone. “Let’s go.” while Meher bit back her giggles.

He turned to leave, but before he could take more than two steps, Meher slipped her arm through his.

She leaned slightly closer and said softly, “There is no tax on compliments you know. Even if you refuse to give one, I have no problem saying that you look very handsome in that black tuxedo.”

Kabir slowed for a fraction of a second. He glanced down at her. She was smiling straight ahead, as if she had said something completely ordinary.

He did not respond. But something about the way his steps matched hers after that was different.

They walked out together. The afternoon air was warm, and the car waited at the entrance. Kabir moved ahead and opened the passenger door for her without being told, without hesitation.

Meher gathered her lehenga carefully and was about to step in when he instinctively reached down and lifted the heavy fabric slightly so it would not get caught. He adjusted the folds gently, ensuring it settled properly as she sat.

His touch was careful, respectful, and deliberate.

There was no show in it. No performance. Just quiet consideration.

Meher paused for a second before sitting fully inside. She did not say anything. She only looked at him with a faint, almost shy smile that she did not even realize she was wearing.

Kabir closed the door softly and walked around to his side of the car. He sat down beside her, composed again, but the silence between them no longer felt awkward. It felt aware.

The driver started the car.

When they reached the venue, Kabir stepped out first. He walked around to her side and opened the door for her again.

This time he extended his hand.

Meher looked at it for a moment before placing her hand in his. As she stepped out, her eyes lifted to his face properly for the first time that evening.

Not as a playful roommate. Not as someone she was teasing. But as her husband.

The man she would now build her life with. The man whose name was hidden in her mehndi and written in her fate. The man who had quietly adjusted her lehenga without a word.

Her gaze softened and Kabir felt it. For a brief second, neither of them moved.

Then, still holding hands, they walked toward the entrance together. The lights glowed brighter as they stepped forward side by side, not racing ahead of each other, not dragging the other behind.

Just walking together and for the first time since the wedding had begun, it did not feel like two separate lives colliding.

It felt like one beginning.

The reception venue looked like a festival wrapped in gold. Crystal chandeliers shimmered from the ceiling, strings of fairy lights cascaded down the walls, and fresh flowers framed the grand stage where Kabir and Meher will sit together.

The air was filled with laughter, loud Punjabi music, and the constant hum of relatives announcing their presence before even reaching the couple.

As Kabir and Meher entered hand in hand, the hall seemed to brighten. Guests turned, whispers spread, and within seconds the applause began.

Meher’s family had already arrived. The moment Jagir saw his daughter walking in, glowing under the lights, his eyes shone with pride. Baljit clasped her hands together, her face radiating happiness despite the faint redness in her eyes from earlier tears.

Kabir gently squeezed Meher's hand before walking toward her parents first. Jagir placed his hand on their heads, looking at Meher as if memorizing her face again. “You look very beautiful, beta,” he said softly.

“And you look very emotional, Papa,” she replied with a small smile, trying to lighten him.

Baljit hugged her carefully so as not to disturb her makeup. “My daughter looks like a queen,” she whispered.

Kabir stood respectfully beside her, greeting them warmly and touching their feet for blessings before settling on the stage.

The guests lined up one by one, offering congratulations, blessings, jokes, and sometimes long speeches no one had asked for.

Harjit handled the formal greetings while Kaushalya watched everything with quiet satisfaction.

Soon it was time for the cake cutting. A massive three tier cake stood at the center of the stage. Mehek loudly declared that Kabir was not allowed to smash cake on Meher’s face because she had spent too much time getting ready. Balraj, of course, encouraged the opposite.

Kabir and Meher both ignored their best friends and held the knife together. For a brief moment, their hands overlapped, and both exchanged a glance that held something softer than teasing. They cut the cake as applause filled the hall. When Kabir lifted a small piece to feed Meher, she raised an eyebrow as if warning him. He behaved. He always does. She fed him next, and Mehek clapped dramatically as if witnessing history.

Then the music shifted. The DJ announced the couple’s dance.

Kabir did not hesitate. He turned to Meher and extended his hand. “Shall we?”

Meher smiled confidently and placed her hand in his. “Try to keep up.”

“We'll see.”

They stepped onto the dance floor as the lights dimmed slightly. The first song was soft, romantic.

Kabir placed one hand gently at her waist and held her other hand. For a second, both seemed aware of the crowd watching, but then something shifted. The music carried them.

Kabir moved with surprising ease. Meher followed, matching his rhythm effortlessly. Their steps were natural, unforced. At one point, Kabir spun her lightly and gave her a perfect twirl that made her lehenga flare around her like a blooming flower. The girls in the crowd squealed in approval.

Laughter escaped them both. For the first time since the wedding began, they were not teasing or arguing or pretending indifference. They were simply enjoying the moment.

Balraj, Harjit, Mehek, and even Kaushalya began showering money over them in the traditional way, warding off evil and celebrating their happiness. The notes fluttered around as relatives cheered loudly.

“Look at them,” Mehek whispered dramatically, resting her head on Balraj's shoulder. “Already looking like a Bollywood climax.”

“Yeah.” Balraj whispered.

Kabir leaned closer to Meher during the dance and murmured, “You are enjoying this too much.”

“Yes, I told you we'll take it slow but I did not say I would not enjoy the perks of marriage,” she whispered back, smiling.

Lunch followed, a lavish spread of every Punjabi dish imaginable. Guests ate heartily, complimented the arrangements, and continued offering blessings.

Slowly, by late afternoon, people began leaving. Hugs were exchanged, photographs were taken, and the grand noise softened into tired contentment.

By evening, the families returned home. The reception clothes were replaced with comfortable travel outfits. Suitcases were brought down and placed in the car. The house, which had been bursting with celebration for days, now carried a strange quiet again.

When Meher stepped outside with a heavy heart after changing, she saw her parents standing there. They had come to see her off before she left for London.

The moment her eyes met Jagir’s, her emotions betrayed her completely. She ran to him. All composure dissolved. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, and tears filled her eyes instantly.

Jagir held her close, his own voice trembling as he said trying to hold back his tears, “Take care of yourself, beta. Do not worry about us here. Just stay happy.”

She nodded against his chest, unable to speak.

He gently pulled back and looked at Kabir. Folding his hands instinctively, he said, “Beta, my daughter is innocent. If she makes any mistake, please forgive her.”

Kabir immediately stepped forward and caught his hands. “Please do not fold your hands, Uncle. She's my wife now. My responsibility.”

Baljit hugged Meher next, her tears flowing freely now. “Call us every day,” she said. “Take care of your health. Eat properly and take care of your husband properly.”

“Yes, mumma.” She whispered.

Fateh hugged her quickly, pretending not to be emotional, and Seerat clung to her again. “Come back soon,” Seerat whispered.

Meher wiped her sister’s tears and smiled through her own. “You take care of Mumma and Papa. I will call you all the time.”

She then bent to touch Harjit’s feet. He blessed her warmly. “Both of you take care of each other,” he said, glancing at Kabir meaningfully, who gave a slight nod of understanding to his father.

Amrita hugged Meher tightly. “My daughter just came home yesterday,” she said, her voice thick with emotions. “And now she is leaving again.” Then she turned to Kabir with mock sternness. “Take proper care of her.”

“Yes, Maa,” Kabir replied softly.

Finally, both of them went to Kaushalya. She placed her hands on their heads. “Stay together,” she said firmly. Then she looked at Kabir. “And I don’t want any complaints.”

She turned to Meher and added with a mischievous smile, “If he troubles you, call me. I will take the first flight and beat him with my stick.”

Even through her tears, Meher laughed.

Soon it was time to leave. Mehek and Balraj accompanied them to the airport. As the car drove away, Meher kept looking out the window. Her parents stood there, smiling bravely through tears, waving until the car disappeared from sight.

At the airport, the atmosphere shifted again. Suitcases rolled beside them. Announcements echoed overhead. Mehek hugged Meher tightly. “Call me if he irritates you,” she whispered. 

“I will,” Meher replied.

Balraj pulled Kabir into a firm hug, patting his back as he said softly, “Keep her happy. She is leaving everything behind for you.”

“Hmm.” Kabir replied, that single sound carrying more weight than words ever could.

Then as usual he murmured something that made Kabir roll his eyes.

When it was time to part, Mehek squeezed Meher’s hand one last time. “Be happy,” she said simply and looked at her brother, “Bhai, you too.”

Kabir hugged his sister one last time and kissed her head lovingly while threatening Balraj to take care of her properly.

Kabir and Meher walked toward the boarding gate. He reached for her hand without looking at her this time.

She let him hold it.

As they stood in line to board, Meher glanced at him. He looked ahead, composed as always, but his fingers tightened around hers slightly.

It may have seemed like just a small gesture to others, but in that quiet moment, it said everything that words could not.

The announcement for their flight echoed.

Together, they stepped forward and as they walked toward their new city, their new life.

Both of them settled into their seats. As soon as the flight took off, Meher’s stomach dropped and fear rushed through her. She shut her eyes tightly, fingers curling into a fist.

Kabir watched her quietly. He knew this was her first flight. Without saying a word, he slowly reached out and placed his hand over her clenched fist, silently assuring her.

The fear melted almost instantly. That simple touch said everything. You’re not alone.

Meher slowly opened her eyes. Their gazes met while the plane soared higher into the sky.

“Thank you, Kabir,” she said softly.

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Well… maybe the groom wasn’t entirely my choice,” she said with a teasing glance, “but the lehenga was. And when you let me twirl like that… you completed my wedding dream. Every girl has that one dream moment. So… thank you.”

Kabir chuckled. “You’re thanking me for that? You really are crazy.”

“However I am now you’re the one who has to tolerate me.” She said laughing.

He couldn’t help but laugh, especially seeing her laugh so freely now. The fear of flying had completely disappeared from her face.

“God help me,” he muttered dramatically, shaking his head but the small smile playing on his lips betrayed him completely.