The days between the engagement and the wedding passed faster than Aarohi had expected.

Too fast.

One moment she was sitting in her childhood bedroom staring at the ring on her finger, still trying to accept that she was engaged.

And the next—

she was a bride.

The Sharma house had turned into a blur of laughter, music, and endless relatives. Every room was filled with marigold strings, trays of sweets, rustling silk sarees, and voices calling her name from every direction.

The house that had always felt warm now felt overwhelming.

And in the middle of all that happiness—

Aarohi sat quietly in front of the mirror.

For the first time in her life, she barely recognized herself.

Her bridal lehenga was a deep crimson red, richly embroidered with antique gold thread that shimmered every time she moved. Intricate handwork covered the skirt like delicate art, while tiny stones caught the soft light around her.

The blouse fit her perfectly, elegant and regal, with embroidered sleeves ending at her wrists.

A heavily embroidered dupatta rested over her head, its gold border framing her face beautifully.

Around her neck rested a layered kundan necklace. Matching earrings brushed against her skin. A maang tikka rested delicately on her forehead. Red and gold bangles covered both wrists. And the soft fragrance of jasmine lingered in her hair.

Her makeup was soft. Not heavy. Just enough to enhance what was already there.

She looked breathtaking.

But inside

she was terrified.

Shubhi stood behind her, adjusting the edge of her dupatta.

“You look beautiful.”

Aarohi gave a nervous smile.

“Everyone keeps saying that.”

Shubhi smiled at her reflection.

“Because it’s true.”

Aarohi lowered her eyes.

“What if I’m not ready?”

Shubhi’s expression softened.

“No one is.”

She gently squeezed her shoulder.

“You just take the step anyway.”

Aarohi stared at herself for another second.

And slowly exhaled.

Because whether she was ready or not today her life would change forever.

Across the city, the Rajvansh mansion was no less chaotic.

Only there, even chaos looked elegant.

Luxury cars lined the entrance. Staff moved quickly through the marble hallways. Guests from powerful families filled the estate.

And in the middle of it all stood—

Abhimaan Singh Rajvansh.

Calm. Silent. Untouched by the madness around him.

He stood in front of the mirror while Krish adjusted the stole over his shoulder.

Abhimaan wore an ivory sherwani detailed with fine antique gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs. A deep maroon safa sat neatly on his head, secured with a traditional brooch that reflected under the lights.

He looked less like a groom—

and more like royalty.

Krish studied him before shaking his head.

“You know, most men smile on their wedding day.”

Abhimaan fixed his cufflink.

“I am standing here. That should be enough.”

Krish laughed.

“Poor bhabhi.”

Abhimaan’s eyes lifted sharply.

Krish immediately raised both hands. “I’m joking.”

But Abhimaan said nothing.

Because every time someone referred to Aarohi as his wife—

something inside him shifted.

And he still hadn’t decided what to do with that feeling.

The wedding venue looked like something from a dream.

The open courtyard had been transformed beneath the night sky with crystal chandeliers hanging above white roses, floating candles in glass bowls, and soft golden lights woven through every corner.

The air smelled of sandalwood and fresh flowers.

Guests whispered in admiration.

But Abhimaan barely noticed any of it.

Because then—

Aarohi walked in.

And the entire world disappeared.

She walked slowly beside Kartik, her crimson lehenga trailing behind her in soft folds of silk and gold. Her eyes remained lowered, her hands covered in dark mehendi, and the tiny bells on her bangles made the faintest sound as she moved.

She looked unreal.

Soft. Elegant. Beautiful in a way that felt impossible to ignore.

Abhimaan stared.

For the first time in years—

he forgot himself.

Forgot the guests. Forgot the cameras. Forgot the world.

All he saw was her.

Riya, standing beside him, noticed immediately.

And smiled quietly.

Because she had never seen her brother look at anyone like that before.

Aarohi could feel his gaze before she looked up.

And when she finally did—

Abhimaan was already watching her.

His expression remained calm.

But his eyes were not.

There was something in them tonight that hadn’t been there before.

Something darker.

Something deeper.

Something that made her heartbeat lose its rhythm.

She quickly looked away.

But the feeling stayed.

The ceremony began.

The sacred fire flickered between them. Prayers filled the air. Flower petals fell softly around them. Families watched with emotional eyes.

And throughout every ritual—

Aarohi became aware of one thing.

Abhimaan noticed everything.

When her dupatta slipped slightly— he noticed.

When her heavy bangles tangled— he noticed.

When she looked overwhelmed— he noticed.

And every single time—

his gaze softened.

Only for a second.

But only for her.

Then came the sindoor.

The priest handed Abhimaan the silver container.

And suddenly the air changed.

The room grew quieter.

Because this was no longer just tradition.

This was the moment that would make everything real.

Aarohi slowly lowered her eyes.

Abhimaan looked at the red powder in his hand.

Then at her.

And for the first time all evening—

his fingers hesitated.

Just slightly.

Aarohi looked up in surprise.

Their eyes met.

And for one brief moment—

everything around them disappeared.

Then slowly, carefully,

Abhimaan lifted his hand and filled the parting of her hair with sindoor.

A soft breath escaped Aarohi.

Because somehow—

that one touch felt far more intimate than it should have.

Then came the mangalsutra.

Abhimaan stepped closer.

Aarohi could hear her own heartbeat.

As he moved behind her, his fingers brushed lightly against the back of her neck while fastening the chain.

Her breath caught.

His hand paused for half a second.

Then he stepped away.

But the moment lingered.

Silent. Unspoken. Impossible to ignore.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Rajvansh.”

The words echoed around them.

And suddenly—

they were married.

No longer strangers.

No longer simply two people chosen by family.

But husband and wife.

Hours later, during the reception, Aarohi stood beside Abhimaan greeting an endless line of guests.

Her smile was beginning to ache. Her jewelry felt heavier. And her feet were throbbing inside her heels.

She shifted her weight slightly, trying to hide it.

But Abhimaan noticed.

Of course he did.

Without a word, he turned toward her.

“Sit.”

Aarohi blinked. “What?”

“You’re tired.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“Aarohi.”

She looked at him.

And for the first time there was no coldness in his voice.

Only quiet authority.

“Sit.”

Before she could protest, he gently guided her toward the chair beside the stage while he continued greeting guests alone.

Aarohi stared at him in surprise.

No one else seemed to notice.

No one else seemed to understand.

But she did.

And for the first time that evening—

she saw something beneath his silence.

Something no one else seemed to see.

A few minutes later, once the guests had moved away, Abhimaan returned to stand beside her.

Aarohi looked up at him.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He adjusted the cuff of his sherwani before meeting her eyes.

“You could barely stand.”

Aarohi frowned slightly.

“I was fine.”

His gaze dropped briefly to her uncomfortable heels before returning to her face.

Then in a voice low enough that only she could hear, he said—

“You do not need to pretend with me, little wife.”

Aarohi froze.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her dupatta.

For a moment she forgot the music. Forgot the lights. Forgot the hundreds of people around them.

She could only stare at him.

“What did you call me?”

Abhimaan’s expression never changed.

But something softer flickered in his eyes.

“You heard me.”

And before she could say another word—

he turned back toward the guests as if he had not just stolen the breath from her lungs.

Aarohi sat there in complete silence.

Because for the first time since this marriage had begun—

being his wife suddenly felt real.

And somehow—

that terrified her more than anything else.

From across the room, Meenu watched them quietly.

And smiled.

Because love rarely began with grand confessions.

Sometimes—

it began with the smallest words.

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And just like that... they are finally husband and wife. ♡

What did you think of Abhimaan noticing Aarohi without her saying a word?

Because sometimes the quietest men love the deepest.

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