Thursday - 4:00 PM (Kerala)
Rishaan's POV:
The alarm went off at exactly 4 PM, and Rishaan turned it off quickly before it could wake Samaira. She was still sprawled across the bed exactly as she'd fallen asleep three hours ago, face peaceful, breathing deep and even.
He hated to wake her, but the mehendi ceremony started at 6 PM, and they both needed time to get ready.
"Bangaram," he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently shaking her shoulder. "Time to wake up."
She made a sound of protest and burrowed deeper into the pillow.
"Ira, come on. We have the mehendi in two hours."
"Don't wanna."
"I know. But you have to. Up."
She finally opened her eyes, blinking at him with adorable confusion. "What time is it?"
"Four. You slept for three hours."
"Feels like three minutes." She sat up slowly, hair a complete mess, pillow creases on her face. "Why are weddings so much work?"
"Because Indian families believe in maximizing celebration time. Come on, you need to shower and get ready."
"Ok I'll shower first. I need ten more minutes of consciousness before I can function."
As said she was out in 10 minutes.
He grabbed his toiletries and the outfit for tonight—the cream sherwani with gold embroidery that Meher had insisted would make Samaira swoon—and headed to the bathroom.
The shower was excellent—multiple jets, perfect water pressure, the kind of luxury hotel bathroom experience that made him understand why people paid premium prices for resorts like this. He took his time, letting the hot water work out the tension in his shoulders, mentally preparing for the evening ahead.
Meeting his parents. Introducing Samaira formally. Dealing with whatever judgment or scrutiny came their way.
He could do this. They could do this.
When he emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, towel wrapped low around his hips, hair still wet and dripping, he found Samaira sitting at the vanity in the bedroom, makeup spread out in front of her.
She'd changed into the blush pink anarkali suit—the one they'd chosen for the mehendi—and was working on her eye makeup with focused concentration.
"You're half way already ," he observed.
"Barely." She glanced at him in the mirror, then did a double-take. "You're—you're not dressed."
"I'm getting there. Need to dry my hair first."
He grabbed a towel and stood behind her at the vanity, drying his hair while she continued with her makeup. The domesticity of it struck him—both of them getting ready in the same space, comfortable with the intimacy of it, moving around each other like they'd done this a thousand times before instead of this being their first time sharing a room.
"You're dripping water on me," Samaira said, but she was smiling.
"Sorry." He squeezed more water from his hair. "How are you feeling? More awake?"
"Getting there. The shower helped. Though I'm still jet-lagged and might fall asleep standing up during the ceremony."
"I'll catch you if you do."
"My hero."
He watched her apply eyeliner with steady hands—the precision of an engineer carrying over to makeup application. The pink suit looked beautiful on her, the delicate gold embroidery catching the light, the color perfect against her skin tone.
"You look gorgeous," he said.
"I'm not even done yet."
"Still gorgeous. Will be even more gorgeous when you're done, but currently also gorgeous."
"Flatterer."
"Honest appreciator of beauty."
She finished her eye makeup and moved on to her lips, applying a soft pink that matched the outfit. Then she started on her jewelry—delicate gold earrings, a simple necklace, bangles that chimed softly as she moved.
Rishaan pulled on his pants—the fitted cream ones that went with the sherwani—and started fixing his hair in the mirror, still standing behind Samaira.
"You're in my light," she said, trying to adjust her dupatta.
"Sorry. Here—" he reached around her, helping to pin the dupatta in place over her shoulder, "—let me help."
His fingers brushed against her neck as he secured the fabric, and he felt her shiver slightly.
"Cold?" he asked, knowing perfectly well she wasn't.
"No. Just—you're very close."
"Is that a problem?"
"No. But if you don't finish getting dressed soon, we're going to be late."
"Would that be so terrible?"
"Rishaan—"
"Fine, fine. I'm getting dressed."
He pulled on the sherwani, buttoning it carefully. The fabric was beautiful—rich cream silk with intricate gold threadwork—and he had to admit, Meher had good taste.
"Help me with this collar?" he asked, turning to Samaira.
She stood, coming closer to adjust the sherwani's high collar, her fingers nimble and sure as they straightened the fabric and fixed the hook-and-eye closures.
"There," she said, smoothing down the front. "Perfect. You look—" she paused, taking in the full effect, "—you look really handsome, Shaan."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Like really, really handsome. That sherwani is—wow."
"I was told you'd swoon."
"I'm not swooning—"
"You're a little bit swooning."
"Maybe a tiny bit." She smiled, reaching up to fix a strand of his hair. "But you're still annoying."
"Annoyingly handsome?"
"That too."
He caught her hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to her palm. "You're beautiful, Ira. Absolutely beautiful. And I'm the luckiest man at this wedding."
"The groom might disagree."
"The groom doesn't have you as his date. Therefore, I win."
She laughed, and the sound filled the room with warmth. "Come on, we need to go down. Your grandmother is probably wondering where we are."
They did a final check in the mirror—both of them dressed in coordinating cream and pink, looking every bit the couple they were—and headed downstairs.
6:15 PM - The Mehendi Ceremony
The mehendi was being held in the resort's garden area—a beautiful outdoor space decorated with marigold flowers, fairy lights strung between trees, low seating arrangements with colorful cushions, and of course, the mehendi artists already set up and ready to decorate the bride and female guests.
The first person they spotted was Savitri, resplendent in a beautiful cream and gold saree, standing near the entrance like she'd been waiting for them.
"There you are!" she called out. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost!"
"Sorry, Ammamma," Samaira said, going to her immediately. "We needed time to get ready."
"And you look beautiful! Both of you!" Savitri examined them with approval. "Look at you, all coordinated. Like a proper couple."
"That was intentional," Rishaan said. "Can't have people thinking we don't belong together."
"No one looking at you two would ever think that, beta. The way you look at each other—everyone can see."
They were pulled further into the mehendi area by Priya, who appeared from nowhere with her usual enthusiasm.
"Come meet Anjali! She's been asking about you!"
The bride-to-be, Anjali, was stunning—dressed in traditional Kerala white and gold, already having mehendi applied to her hands by two artists working simultaneously. She looked up as they approached and broke into a warm smile.
"Rishaan! And you must be Samaira!"
"Congratulations," Samaira said warmly. "The venue is beautiful. Kerala is beautiful. You chose perfectly."
"Thank you! I'm from here, so I wanted to bring everyone to experience it. And I've heard so much about you from Pranav—the Ferrari engineer who's stolen Rishaan's heart."
"Stolen might be strong—" Samaira started.
"Accurate," Rishaan interrupted. "Definitely stolen."
Pranav appeared, putting an arm around his fiancée's shoulders. "They're disgustingly cute together. Fair warning—you'll be subjected to their adorableness all weekend."
"I'm looking forward to it," Anjali said. "We need more happy couples at this wedding."
Before they could respond, the cousin swarm descended again. This time it included partners—Aditya with his girlfriend Nisha, Priya with her boyfriend Karthik, Neha and her husband Rahul.
"Okay, we need the full story," Neha demanded. "How did you two meet? Pranav said something about an engagement party?"
"Anvitha and Ahaan's engagement," Samaira explained. "Rishaan and I are both friends with them. I came in late, exhausted from travel, and he—"
"I was immediately smitten," Rishaan finished. "She tried to be standoffish, but I wore her down with charm and persistence."
"I wasn't standoffish!"
"You absolutely were. It was adorable."
"You're rewriting history."
"I'm correcting your biased recollection."
The cousins were eating this up, all of them grinning and nudging each other.
"They bicker like an old married couple already," Karthik observed.
"Right?" Aditya agreed. "This is excellent relationship energy."
They were in the middle of telling the story of their first gym session together—Samaira's version involving Rishaan being "annoyingly competitive," Rishaan's version involving Samaira being "impressively stubborn"—when they were interrupted by a cool voice.
"Rishaan."
Everyone turned. His mother, Padma Chowdary stood there in an elegant silk saree, his father Rakesh beside her. Both looked polished, proper, and significantly less warm than everyone else at the mehendi.
"Amma, Nanna," Rishaan said, his voice carefully neutral. "You're here."
"Of course we're here. It's family." Lakshmi's eyes moved to Samaira, assessing. "And this must be Samaira."
"Yes." Rishaan moved slightly closer to Samaira, a protective gesture that didn't go unnoticed. "Samaira, these are my parents—Padma and Rakesh Chowdary."
Samaira folded her hands in a respectful namaste. "It's very nice to meet you both. Thank you for welcoming me to your family function."
"Of course," Lakshmi said, the words polite but lacking warmth. "Rishaan mentioned you work for Ferrari?"
"Yes, I'm a principal engineer for Scuderia Ferrari's Formula 1 team."
"How interesting. That must require extensive travel."
"It does. I'm based in Italy but travel to races throughout the season."
"I see. And your family? Where are they from?"
Rishaan's jaw tightened at the slightly invasive question, but Samaira handled it smoothly.
"Andhra Pradesh. My parents are both retired now—my father from corporate work, my mother from project management. They live in our hometown."
"Lovely." Padma's tone suggested it was anything but. "And how long have you and Rishaan been... seeing each other?"
"About three weeks officially," Rishaan said firmly before Samaira could answer. "But we've known each other for several months through mutual friends."
"Three weeks. That's quite fast to be attending family weddings, don't you think?"
"Not when it's serious," Rishaan said, his voice carrying an edge now. "Which it is."
An uncomfortable silence fell. The cousins had all gone quiet, watching the interaction with varying degrees of concern and fascination.
Rakesh finally spoke up. "Well, we should let you young people enjoy the mehendi. We'll talk more later."
It sounded like a promise and a threat simultaneously.
After his parents walked away, Priya let out a low whistle. "Yikes. Your mom is intense."
"She's protective," Rishaan said tightly. "And judgmental. And I apologize on her behalf—"
"Don't," Samaira interrupted gently, touching his arm. "You don't need to apologize for other people's behavior. I can handle a few pointed questions."
"You shouldn't have to—"
"But I can. So let's just enjoy the evening, okay?"
He took a breath, forcing himself to relax. "Okay. Yes. Let's enjoy the evening."
The mehendi ceremony proper began shortly after—Anjali and the other female relatives getting elaborate designs applied to their hands and feet. The atmosphere was festive, with music playing, people chatting and laughing, the scent of henna mixing with marigolds and tropical flowers.
Rishaan stuck close to Samaira, introducing her to relatives who were warmer than his parents—aunts and uncles who welcomed her genuinely, asked about her work with actual interest rather than judgment, treated her like a valued guest rather than an interloper.
But there were others. Cousins who'd never particularly liked Rishaan, who saw him as too serious or too successful or too whatever excuse they used to justify their jealousy.
One such cousin—Vikram, who Rishaan had always found particularly insufferable—approached with a smirk.
"So, Rishaan finally brought a girl to a family function. Didn't think I'd see the day."
"Vikram," Rishaan acknowledged coolly. "How have you been?"
"Good, good. Working at my father's firm. You know, keeping it in the family unlike some people who had to go start their own companies." The jab was subtle but unmistakable.
Samaira's expression didn't change, but Rishaan felt her shift slightly closer to him.
"Starting your own company shows initiative and independence," she said smoothly. "Not everyone has the courage to build something from scratch rather than inheriting it."
Vikram's smirk faltered. "I'm sure. And you would know about building careers, working for Italian companies instead of staying in India?"
"I would know about earning positions through merit rather than nepotism, yes." Her voice was pleasant, her smile sharp. "It's quite fulfilling actually—knowing you got somewhere because you're good at what you do, not because of your last name."
Rishaan had to suppress a smile. Vikram's face had gone slightly red.
"Well," Vikram said stiffly, "enjoy the mehendi. I'm sure it's all very new to you, being from... where did you say your family was from again?"
"Andhra Pradesh. The same state your family is from, coincidentally. Though we're from a smaller town. Very middle-class upbringing. But we make up for lack of generational wealth with actual skills and work ethic." She tilted her head, smile never wavering. "You might be familiar with the concept?"
Priya, who'd been listening nearby, choked on her drink trying not to laugh.
Vikram mumbled something about finding his wife and retreated.
"That was amazing," Priya said, coming over once he was gone. "No one's ever shut Vikram down like that. He's been insufferable for years."
"He was rude to Rishaan," Samaira said simply. "I don't tolerate people being rude to people I care about."
Rishaan pulled her slightly away from the group, into a quieter corner. "You didn't have to defend me."
"Yes, I did. He was being a condescending ass."
"I'm used to it. Vikram's always been like that."
"That doesn't make it okay. And I'm not going to stand there and let someone diminish your accomplishments." She looked up at him seriously. "You built your own company from nothing, Shaan. You should be proud of that, not made to feel lesser because you didn't just inherit family businesses."
"You're wonderful, you know that?"
"I'm honest. There's a difference."
"Still wonderful."
They were interrupted by one of the aunties—not his mother, thankfully, but one of the more intrusive relatives who seemed to think personal questions were appropriate conversation.
"Samaira, dear," Aunty Radha said, approaching with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Tell me, how do you manage working in such a male-dominated field? It must be very difficult."
"It has its challenges," Samaira said diplomatically. "But I'm good at what I do, so competence tends to overcome gender bias eventually."
"And your family doesn't mind? You living so far away, unmarried, working with all those men?"
Rishaan's hand tightened around his drink, but Samaira answered before he could intervene.
"My family supports my career choices. They trust me to make good decisions and are proud of what I've accomplished."
"How modern. In our time, girls didn't travel so far from home. We stayed close to family, married young, had children—"
"Different generations have different priorities," Samaira said pleasantly. "I'm sure what worked for you was perfect for your circumstances."
"But don't you worry about... well, your age? You must be, what, twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? The biological clock and all that?"
This time Rishaan did intervene. "Aunty, I'm not sure Samaira's biological clock is appropriate dinner party conversation."
"I'm just saying, when I was her age—"
"You were in a different era with different societal expectations," Rishaan said firmly. "Samaira is accomplished, successful, and living life on her own terms. That's admirable, not something to be concerned about."
"Well, yes, but marriage and children—"
"Are personal choices that aren't really anyone else's business," Samaira finished with a smile. "But thank you for your concern, Aunty. It's very kind of you to worry about strangers' reproductive timelines."
The sarcasm was subtle but unmistakable. Aunty Radha looked slightly taken aback.
"I should go check on something," she mumbled, wandering off.
"You're my hero," Samaira said quietly once she was gone.
"You handled it perfectly yourself. I just provided backup."
"Still my hero."
Across the garden, Rishaan's parents were watching the interaction. His mother said something to his father, who nodded, and they both looked at Rishaan with expressions he couldn't quite read.
The mehendi ceremony continued, and after most of the female relatives had gotten their designs, Priya had an idea.
"Samaira! You should get mehendi too!"
"Oh, I don't know—"
"Come on! You're at a mehendi! You have to participate!"
"I have another wedding in a week," Samaira explained. "My best friend's. If I get too elaborate a design now, it won't fade in time—"
"Then get something minimal!" Neha suggested. "Just a small design on your palm. Simple, elegant, will fade quickly."
"The artists are really good," Anjali added from where she was getting her feet decorated. "Come on, Samaira. Join us!"
Samaira looked at Rishaan, who shrugged with a smile. "If you want to. No pressure."
"Okay," she decided. "Something small."
She sat with one of the mehendi artists and requested a minimal design—a delicate floral pattern on her right palm, simple but beautiful. The artist worked quickly, the cool paste forming elegant loops and curves.
Rishaan sat beside her, watching the design take shape.
"It's pretty," he observed.
"It is. And small enough that it should fade before Anvitha's wedding."
"Practical and beautiful. Very you."
Once the design was done, Samaira had to wait for it to dry—hands held carefully away from her body, unable to touch anything.
"This is the part they don't warn you about," she said. "Now I'm completely helpless."
"Good thing you have a devoted boyfriend to take care of you," Rishaan said.
And he did. For the next hour, he became her hands—holding her drink to her lips when she wanted water, feeding her snacks when the appetizers came around, adjusting her dupatta when it slipped.
"I could get used to this service," Samaira teased as he held a samosa to her mouth so she could take a bite.
"Don't. I like when you're capable and independent. This is just temporary assistance but I'm happy to provide whenever you want."
"Still sweet."
"I have my moments."
Priya was watching them with open amusement. "You two are adorable. Like sickeningly, disgustingly adorable."
"Thank you?" Rishaan said.
"It's definitely a compliment. Relationship goals, honestly."
As the evening wore on and the mehendi started to dry and flake off, Rishaan helped Samaira scrape away the dried paste carefully, revealing the reddish-brown design beneath.
"It's going to look even better tomorrow once it darkens," he said, examining her hand.
"You know a lot about mehendi for a man."
"I grew up going to family weddings. You learn things."
Around 9 PM, as they were getting ready to head back to their room, Rishaan's father approached.
"Rishaan, can I speak with you? Privately?"
Rishaan's stomach sank, but he kept his expression neutral. "Now?"
"Yes. Your mother and I would like to talk to you in our suite. It won't take long."
Samaira touched his arm lightly. "Go. I'll head up to the room."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. Go talk to your parents."
He wanted to argue, but the look on his father's face suggested this wasn't optional.
"Okay. I'll be up soon."
He watched Samaira head toward the elevators, then followed his father to his parents' suite on the other side of the resort.
9:30 PM - The Parents' Suite
Rishaan's POV:
His parents' suite was similar to his own—spacious, well-appointed, ocean view. His mother was already seated on the couch, looking formal and serious despite the late hour and casual wedding atmosphere.
"Sit," she instructed.
Rishaan remained standing. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Your girlfriend," his mother said bluntly. "This Samaira."
"What about her?"
"We've been watching you both tonight. The way you interact, the way you defend her, the way you're so obviously serious about this girl you've known for less than a month."
"Three weeks officially. But I've known her for over six months through mutual friends."
"Still not very long for the kind of commitment you seem to be displaying."
"Long enough to know what I want."
His father spoke up from where he was standing by the window. "Your mother is concerned about the... practicalities of this relationship."
"What practicalities?"
"She lives in Italy," his mother said. "Her career requires constant travel. You're here managing two businesses. How exactly is this supposed to work?"
"We'll figure it out."
"That's not an answer, Rishaan."
"It's the only answer I have right now. We're making it work. That's what people do when they care about each other—they find solutions."
"And her family?" his mother pressed. "Middle-class background, small-town upbringing. Very different from our social circle."
"You mean very different from the wealthy, status-obsessed circle you prefer," Rishaan said coldly. "Samaira's parents are good people who raised an extraordinary daughter. Their financial status is irrelevant."
"Social compatibility matters—"
"No, it doesn't. Not to me. Not when it comes to choosing who I want in my life."
"Rishaan, we're just trying to look out for your best interests—"
"My best interests? Or your social reputation?" He was done being diplomatic. "Because it seems like you're more concerned about what people will think than whether I'm actually happy."
"That's not fair—"
"Isn't it? When's the last time you asked if I was happy? When's the last time you showed interest in my life beyond how it reflects on the family business or social standing?"
His parents were silent.
"I love her," Rishaan said, the words coming out firm and certain. "I'm in love with Samaira. I want a life with her. And if you can't support that, if you can't be happy for me because she doesn't meet your arbitrary standards, then that's your problem, not mine."
His mother looked genuinely shocked. "You love her? After three weeks?"
"Yes. After three weeks. After six months of friendship before that. After countless conversations and moments and realizations that she's the person I want to build a future with."
"But her career—"
"Makes her happy and fulfilled. I'm not going to ask her to give that up for me."
"So you'll what, have a long-distance relationship indefinitely?"
"If that's what it takes, yes. We'll figure out the logistics. Maybe I'll spend more time in Italy. Maybe she'll eventually transition to less travel. Maybe we'll find a middle ground. But we'll do it together, because that's what partners do."
His father sighed. "You're serious about this."
"Completely serious. Amma, Nanna—I respect you both. But I'm also twenty-eight years old. I've built my own company, I manage your textile business, I make my own decisions. And I've decided that Samaira is who I want. That's not changing."
His mother stood, looking troubled. "We just want you to be sure—"
"I am sure. More sure than I've been about anything in my entire life."
There was a long silence. Then his father spoke.
"We saw how you were with her tonight. How you defended her, supported her, stood by her when relatives were being difficult."
"And?"
"And it was clear that you care deeply for her. That she cares for you too." He paused. "We may not understand the speed of this relationship, but we can see that it matters to you."
It wasn't approval. But it wasn't condemnation either.
"Thank you," Rishaan said stiffly.
"We'd like to get to know her better," his father continued. "Properly. Perhaps dinner tomorrow night? Just the four of us?"
Rishaan wanted to refuse on principle—they didn't deserve more time with Samaira after their cold reception tonight. But he also knew that building bridges was better than burning them.
"I'll ask her. If she's comfortable with it, fine. But if she says no, I'm not pushing."
"Fair enough," his father agreed.
His mother still looked unhappy, but she nodded. "We'll talk more tomorrow."
"Is that all?"
"That's all."
Rishaan left quickly, before anyone could add more conditions or express more concerns. He was done defending his choices for the night.
10:15 PM - The Suite
When Rishaan entered their suite, he found Samaira on the couch, wearing comfortable pajama pants and—he did a double-take—one of his hoodies that she'd apparently found in his luggage.
She was dozing lightly, phone in her hand like she'd been waiting for a message, head tilted at an angle that would definitely give her a neck ache if she stayed there much longer.
He stood there for a long moment, just looking at her. She'd stolen his hoodie. The sight of her in his clothes, in their shared space, comfortable enough to fall asleep waiting for him—it made something in his chest feel impossibly full.
He crossed the room quietly, carefully lifting her into his arms bridal-style.
She stirred immediately, blinking up at him with sleepy confusion. "Shaan?"
"Hey, bangaram. You fell asleep on the couch."
"Was waiting for you. What happened?"
"Let me get you to bed first. Then we'll talk."
He carried her to the bed, setting her down gently.
"I can walk, you know," she said, but she was smiling.
"I know. But this was nicer."
She sat up against the pillows, pulling the hoodie tighter around herself. "So? What did your parents want?"
"We can talk about it tomorrow—"
"Shaan. Tell me now."
He sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "They wanted to talk about us. About the relationship. About concerns."
"What kind of concerns?"
"The usual. Too fast, too serious, logistics of long-distance, your career requiring travel, different social backgrounds—all the judgmental nonsense I expected."
"How did you respond?"
"I told them I love you."
Samaira went very still. "You what?"
"I told them I'm in love with you. That I want a life with you. That their concerns about timing or social backgrounds or logistics don't matter because you're who I choose."
She stared at him, eyes wide, and for a terrifying moment he couldn't read her expression.
"Shaan—"
"I haven't told you yet," he said quickly. "I know. I wanted to wait until after this weekend, until after you'd survived meeting my family, until the timing was better. But my mother was going on about how fast this is, how impractical, how different our backgrounds are, and I just—I couldn't listen to it anymore without being completely honest about how I feel."
"What did they say?"
"My mother was shocked. My father was more measured. They don't understand it, don't think three weeks is long enough to know. But I told them I'm twenty-eight years old and I make my own decisions." He ran a hand through his hair. "My father suggested dinner tomorrow night. Just the four of us. Said they want to get to know you better."
"That's... that's actually progress?"
"Small progress. My mother still looks like she swallowed something sour whenever your name comes up. But it's better than outright hostility."
Samaira was quiet for a long moment, processing everything. Then: "You told them you love me before you told me."
"I know. I'm sorry. I wanted the first time I said it to be special, romantic, not as a defense mechanism against my mother's judgment—"
"Shaan." She reached out and took his hand. "It's okay. I understand why you said it. And honestly? The fact that you'd defend our relationship that strongly to your parents—that means more than any romantic declaration."
"Still. You deserved better than finding out secondhand."
"Maybe. But I'm finding out now, directly from you, and that's what matters." She squeezed his hand. "How are you feeling? That couldn't have been an easy conversation."
"It was terrible. But necessary. I needed them to understand that this isn't casual, isn't something I'm going to give up on just because they have concerns."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm exhausted. Emotionally drained. But also—relieved? Like I finally stood up for something that actually matters instead of just going along with their expectations."
"I'm proud of you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I know how hard it is to stand up to parents, especially when you've spent your whole life trying to meet their expectations. The fact that you chose us, chose what makes you happy—that takes courage."
He moved from sitting on the edge of the bed to lying beside her, suddenly feeling the weight of the entire day—travel, family interactions, defending their relationship to multiple judgmental relatives, the confrontation with his parents.
"I should change," he said, gesturing to the sherwani he was still wearing. "Get ready for bed."
"You should. But first—thank you. For defending me tonight, for standing up to your family, for making me feel protected even when things got uncomfortable."
"Always, bangaram. That's my job now."
"I like that job description."
He kissed her forehead, then reluctantly got up to change. He grabbed comfortable sleep pants from his bag and headed to the bathroom.
When he emerged a few minutes later—face washed, teeth brushed, wearing just the sleeping clothes—he found Samaira already under the covers on the left side of the bed, still wearing his hoodie.
"You're keeping that?" he asked, amused.
"It's comfortable. And it smells like you."
"You could have me instead of my hoodie."
"I have both now. Best of both worlds."
He climbed into bed on the right side, both of them naturally settling on their sides facing each other.
"Ira," he said after a moment. "I need to ask you something."
"Okay."
"I usually sleep without a shirt. It's how I've always slept, just more comfortable for me. But if that makes you uncomfortable, I can keep it on—"
"Shaan, it's fine. Sleep however you're comfortable."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure. We're sharing a bed. We might as well both be comfortable."
He sat up slightly, pulling off the sleep pants' matching shirt—a simple t-shirt he'd thrown on after changing. The room was dim, just ambient light from the windows, but he could see Samaira watching him.
"Better?" she asked.
"Much better. Thank you for understanding."
"Thank you for asking instead of assuming."
They settled back into their respective sides, and for a few minutes, they just lay there in the quiet dark, listening to the distant sound of ocean waves through the slightly open balcony door.
"Shaan?" Samaira's voice was soft, slightly drowsy.
"Yeah?"
"Your parents invited us to dinner tomorrow. Do you want to go?"
"Only if you're comfortable with it. I won't push if you'd rather avoid more awkward family time."
"I think we should go. Show them we're serious, that we can handle their scrutiny, that we're not going to disappear just because they're skeptical."
"You're braver than I am."
"Or more stubborn."
"That too."
Another stretch of comfortable silence. Then Samaira shifted, moving closer to him.
"Can I—is it okay if I—" she seemed uncertain, which was rare for her.
"Come here, bangaram."
She moved into his arms, his arm wrapping around her waist naturally. She fit perfectly against him, her head tucked under his chin, their legs tangling together.
"This okay?" he murmured against her hair.
"This is perfect."
"Good. Because I wasn't planning on letting go."
"I wasn't planning on moving."
They lay like that, wrapped around each other, and Rishaan felt the tension of the day finally start to release. This—having her here, in his arms, safe and comfortable and choosing to be close to him despite everything—this was everything.
"Shaan?"
"Hmm?"
"About what you told your parents. About loving me."
His breath caught. "What about it?"
"Is it true?"
He could lie. Could deflect. Could say it was just something he said in the heat of the moment to make a point.
But he wouldn't lie to her. Not about this.
"Yes," he said quietly. "It's true. I'm in love with you, Samaira. Completely, entirely, irrevocably in love with you."
She was quiet for so long he started to panic.
"Ira—"
"I'm in love with you too," she whispered. "I have been for a while now. I was just too scared to say it."
Relief and joy flooded through him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I love you, Rishaan Chowdary. Even though you're annoyingly perfect and make me want impossible things and completely rearranged my entire worldview in three weeks."
"Only three weeks?"
"Officially three weeks. But I think I started falling the first night at the engagement party when you smiled at me and I forgot how to be standoffish."
He tightened his arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "I love you."
"I love you too."
"We should sleep. Big day tomorrow."
"I know. But I don't want to sleep yet. I want to stay awake and feel this."
"Feel what?"
"Happy. Safe. Loved. All of it."
"We can feel it tomorrow too. And the day after. And every day after that."
"Promise?"
"I promise, bangaram. Now sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up."
"Okay." She laced her fingers through his where they rested on her stomach. "Good night, Shaan. I love you."
"I love you too, Ira. So much."
Within minutes, her breathing had evened out, deep and peaceful. Rishaan stayed awake a bit longer, just holding her, thinking about everything that had happened.
They'd said it. They'd both said it.
And somehow, despite his family's skepticism and the complications of distance and careers, everything felt right.
He fell asleep with Samaira in his arms, the sound of the ocean in the background, and the knowledge that they were building something real.
Something worth fighting for.
Friday Morning - 9:30 AM
Samaira's POV:
Samaira woke slowly, awareness returning in pieces. Warmth surrounding her. Strong arms wrapped around her waist. The steady rhythm of breathing against her neck.
Rishaan.
They'd fallen asleep tangled together and somehow stayed that way all night. his arm still around her, their legs still intertwined.
And she was still wearing his hoodie.
She smiled, not opening her eyes yet, just savoring the moment. They'd said "I love you" last night. Multiple times. It was real. This was real.
Behind her, Rishaan stirred.
"You're awake," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
"How did you know?"
"Your breathing changed."
She turned in his arms so she could see his face. His hair was completely messed up, pillow creases on his cheek, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looked adorable.
"Good morning," she said.
"Good morning, bangaram." He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "How did you sleep?"
"Really well. You're very comfortable."
"You're very warm. Also, you're still wearing my hoodie."
"I told you, it's comfortable."
"I'm not complaining. You look good in my clothes."
"Yeah?"
"Definitely yeah."
They lay there for a few more minutes, neither wanting to move, before Samaira's stomach growled loudly.
"Okay, that's our cue," Rishaan said, laughing. "We need to feed you."
"What time is it?"
He reached for his phone on the nightstand. "9:30. We slept late."
"We stayed up late talking."
"Worth it."
"Definitely worth it."
They got ready leisurely—Samaira showering first while Rishaan ordered coffee through room service, then switching so he could shower while she started on her hair. No rush, no pressure, just comfortable domesticity.
By the time they were both dressed casually—jeans and comfortable tops since the sangeet didn't start until evening—it was nearly 10:30.
"We missed the early breakfast crowd," Rishaan observed. "Probably for the best. Less family interaction before we've had proper caffeine."
"Smart thinking."
The restaurant was indeed less crowded when they arrived. Most of the wedding guests had either already eaten or were still sleeping off the previous night's mehendi festivities.
But sitting at a large table near the windows were several of Rishaan's uncles—his father's brothers and cousins, all men in their fifties and sixties who Samaira vaguely remembered being introduced to yesterday.
"Rishaan!" One of them called out. "Come join us!"
Rishaan looked at Samaira questioningly. She nodded, and they made their way over.
"Uncle Ramesh, Uncle Mohan, Uncle Venkat," Rishaan greeted them. "This is Samaira."
"The famous Samaira!" Uncle Ramesh—Pranav's father—said warmly, standing to pull out a chair for her. "Please, sit! We've heard so much about you!"
"Good things, I hope," Samaira said, settling into the offered seat.
"Excellent things. Pranav told us about your work with Ferrari. Formula 1 engineering! That's incredibly impressive."
The other uncles nodded in agreement, and Samaira felt herself relax slightly. These men were genuinely interested, not judgmental.
"Thank you, Uncle. It's challenging work but very fulfilling."
"I imagine so," Uncle Mohan said. "My son works in automotive engineering—nothing as prestigious as F1, but similar field. He'd love to talk to you about it."
They spent the next hour having breakfast and talking—about racing, about engineering, about careers and travel and the changing world. The uncles asked thoughtful questions, shared stories about their own children's careers, treated Samaira like a valued guest rather than someone to be scrutinized.
At one point, Uncle Venkat leaned back in his chair and looked at Rishaan with something like pride.
"You've done well for yourself, beta. Your own company, managing the family business, and now a brilliant girlfriend who challenges you intellectually. Your parents should be very proud."
Rishaan's expression flickered with something complicated—appreciation mixed with old hurt. "Thank you, Uncle."
"We are proud," Uncle Ramesh added. "Even if we don't say it enough. You've accomplished a lot on your own merit, not just through family connections. That matters."
Samaira reached under the table and squeezed Rishaan's hand. He squeezed back, grateful.
The conversation was interrupted by an influx of cousins, all of them looking significantly more awake than yesterday despite the late night.
"There you are!" Priya said, descending on their table with Neha, Aditya, and several others. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"
"We were having breakfast," Rishaan said. "Like normal humans do."
"No time for normalcy! We have dance practice in thirty minutes!"
"Dance practice?" Samaira repeated.
"For the sangeet tonight!" Neha explained like it was obvious. "We're doing a group performance for Pranav and Anjali. You're both in it."
"We are?" Rishaan looked alarmed.
"Yes! Come on, everyone's gathering in the banquet hall. We need to rehearse!"
"But we don't know the choreography—"
"That's what practice is for! Come on!"
They were literally pulled from their breakfast table by enthusiastic cousins, barely managing to grab one more bite of food before being dragged to the resort's banquet hall.
Inside, chaos reigned. About twenty cousins and friends of the wedding couple were attempting to learn choreography to a Bollywood medley while a very patient instructor tried to maintain order.
"Okay, from the top!" the instructor called. "Five, six, seven, eight—"
Music blasted from speakers, and everyone attempted to follow along with varying degrees of success. Samaira, who had decent rhythm from years of bharatanatyam lessons as a child, picked up the steps relatively quickly. Rishaan was less graceful but enthusiastic.
"You're terrible at this," Samaira teased as he nearly stepped on her foot during a turn.
"I'm an engineer and businessman, not a dancer!"
"I'm also an engineer and I'm doing fine!"
"You're showing off."
"I'm just competent."
Priya appeared beside them, demonstrating a complicated step sequence. "Here, watch me. Hip, step, turn, hands up—see?"
They practiced for two hours—learning steps, coordinating formations, laughing when people inevitably messed up the timing. By the end, they had something resembling a coherent dance routine.
"We're doing this in front of everyone tonight?" Rishaan asked, looking slightly panicked.
"Yes! It'll be fun!" Neha assured him.
"Fun for you maybe. I'm going to embarrass myself."
"We'll all embarrass ourselves together," Aditya said philosophically. "That's what makes it bonding."
After practice, hot and sweaty and exhausted, the group dispersed for lunch and rest before the evening's sangeet ceremony.
"I need a shower," Samaira said as they walked back to their suite. "And possibly a nap."
"Same. Dancing is harder than it looks."
"You'll be fine tonight. Just follow my lead."
"I always follow your lead, bangaram."
Friday Afternoon - 2:30 PM
After quick showers and a light room service lunch, they settled in their suite for a much-needed break before the evening festivities.
Samaira grabbed her phone. "I should video call my parents. They asked me to show them the resort."
"Good idea. I need to check work emails anyway—apparently there's a crisis with the Singapore client."
While Rishaan settled on the couch with his laptop, Samaira stepped out onto the balcony for better light and called her parents.
Her mother answered immediately, face lighting up. "Chinni! We've been waiting for your call!"
"Hi, Amma! Hi, Nanna!" Her father appeared in frame beside her mother. "I wanted to show you the resort. Hold on—"
She flipped the camera to show the view—pristine beach, ocean, coconut trees swaying in the breeze, the luxury resort grounds stretching below.
"It's beautiful!" Lakshmi exclaimed. "Look at that ocean! And the beach!"
"Kerala is gorgeous," Samaira agreed, panning the camera slowly. "The resort is incredible. Private beach access, amazing food, beautiful rooms—"
"How's the wedding so far?" her father asked.
"Good! The mehendi was last night—I got a small design on my palm so it'll fade before Anvitha's wedding. Tonight is the sangeet. Tomorrow is some pre-wedding puja, and Sunday is the actual wedding ceremony."
"And Rishaan's family?" her mother asked carefully. "How are they treating you?"
Samaira moved back inside, settling into one of the balcony chairs where she could still see the view but have more privacy for this conversation.
"Mixed," she admitted. "His grandmother and most of his cousins are wonderful. Really welcoming. His uncles—his father's brothers—were so kind at breakfast this morning. But his parents..."
"Still cold?" her father guessed.
"His mother is. His father is more neutral. But last night Rishaan talked to them. He—" she paused, smiling despite herself, "—he told them he loves me. That he wants a future with me. That their concerns don't change how he feels."
"He said that?" Lakshmi's hand went to her heart. "To his parents?"
"He did. And then he came back and told me, and I told him I love him too."
"Oh, chinni!" Her mother was definitely crying now. "That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you!"
"We're happy for you too, bangari," her father added, his voice gruff with emotion. "This boy—he's good. He treats you well."
"He does. He really does."
They talked for another twenty minutes—Samaira telling them about the mehendi, the dance practice, the upcoming sangeet. Her parents sharing updates from home, asking questions about the resort, generally being supportive and loving in the way only parents could be.
"We should let you go," her mother finally said. "You need rest before tonight's function. But call us again soon?"
"I will. Love you both."
"Love you too, chinni. Enjoy the wedding!"
After disconnecting, Samaira sat on the balcony for a moment longer, just soaking in the sun and the view and the peaceful moment.
Then she heard Rishaan's voice from inside—tense, professional, clearly dealing with something complicated.
"No, that's not what we agreed on. The shipment specifications were very clear—"
She stood, moving back into the suite quietly.
Rishaan was on the couch exactly as she'd left him, but his posture had changed. He was tense, frustrated, phone pressed to his ear while simultaneously typing on his laptop. He'd taken off his shirt at some point—probably because of the heat—and was sitting there in just his jeans, feet propped on the coffee table, laptop balanced on his thighs.
The afternoon sun from the balcony was streaming in, hitting him at an angle that made his skin glow golden, highlighting the lean muscle of his shoulders and chest, his hair slightly messy from running his hands through it in frustration.
He looked—Samaira's breath caught—he looked beautiful. Stressed and frustrated, yes, but beautiful.
Without thinking, she pulled out her phone and quietly snapped a photo. The lighting was perfect, the composition striking—Rishaan framed by the balcony view, sunlight painting him in warm tones, completely absorbed in his work.
She'd treasure this photo. This moment of him being completely himself, competent and capable and handling multiple crisis situations simultaneously.
She set her phone down and moved to the bookshelf where Rishaan had left the thriller he'd been reading. Grabbing it quietly, she approached the couch from behind.
Rishaan was still on his call. "—yes, I understand there are delays, but that doesn't change our contract terms—"
Samaira settled beside him on the couch, turning so her back was against his side, leaning into him comfortably. She opened the book to where he'd left the bookmark, finding her place in the story.
Immediately, without interrupting his conversation, Rishaan's left arm came around her waist, hand splaying across her stomach, pulling her closer against him. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, still talking into the phone.
"—I'll need that confirmation by Monday, latest. Email the revised terms to Prerna, my assistant—"
Samaira relaxed completely against him, reading her book while he worked, his thumb absently stroking her stomach in soothing circles while he continued to type one-handed and handle his call.
This—this quiet coexistence, being together without needing to fill every moment with conversation, being comfortable enough to just exist in the same space—this was intimacy. Real, profound intimacy.
After about fifteen minutes, Rishaan ended his call with a frustrated sigh, setting his phone aside but continuing to work on his laptop with one hand while the other stayed around Samaira's waist.
"That sounded stressful," she said softly, not looking up from her book.
"Singapore client is being difficult. Again." Another sigh, deeper this time. "Sometimes I wonder why I agreed to handle my family's international contracts."
She could feel the tension in his body, the frustration radiating from him.
Samaira set her book aside and turned, shifting so she was kneeling beside him on the couch, looking at him properly.
"What's wrong?" she asked gently. "Specifically?"
He met her eyes, and she could see the exhaustion there. "The Singapore textile deal—we agreed on shipment specifications months ago. Now they're trying to change terms last-minute, claiming market conditions have shifted. If I agree, we lose profit margin. If I don't, we might lose the contract entirely."
"What do you want to do?"
"Stand firm on the original terms. We negotiated in good faith, we've fulfilled our end of the agreement. Changing now sets a bad precedent."
"Then do that. Stand firm."
"What if they walk away?"
"Then they walk away. You can't build a sustainable business by letting clients push you around, Shaan. You know that."
He smiled slightly. "You're right. As always."
"I'm an engineer. Being right is my job."
"Also being supportive, apparently."
"That's the girlfriend job. I can multitask."
He kissed her forehead, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For understanding. For not being annoyed that I'm working during our weekend away."
"You're handling a crisis. That's what responsible business owners do. I'm not going to be upset about you being good at your job."
She leaned forward and kissed his jaw softly, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. "Besides, watching you work is very attractive."
"Is it?"
"Very. You get this focused, competent look. It's hot."
"You think me being stressed about textile contracts is hot?"
"I think you being good at what you do is hot. The stress is unfortunate but the competence is extremely attractive."
He laughed, and the sound was lighter than before. "You're very good for my ego."
"Someone needs to be. Now finish whatever you're working on. I'm going to order us coffee."
She called room service while Rishaan returned to his laptop, working with both hands now that she'd moved. The coffee arrived quickly—two cups of rich, fragrant brew that the resort clearly took pride in.
"Thank you," Rishaan said when she handed him a cup.
"You're welcome. Now, come here."
"I'm right here."
"Come closer here."
She sat on the couch facing him, and he shifted so they were closer together. She folded her legs beside her, and he reached out, resting his hand on her folded legs naturally, his touch warm and grounding.
Samaira took his free hand in both of hers, playing with his fingers absently—tracing the lines of his palm, testing the strength of his grip, threading their fingers together and apart.
Rishaan watched her with soft eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.
"What?" she asked, catching his expression.
"Just looking at you. Admiring you."
"I'm not doing anything admirable. I'm just playing with your hand."
"You're existing. That's admirable enough."
"That's a very low bar for admiration."
"Not when it's you."
She felt her cheeks warm. "You're very smooth."
"I'm very honest. There's a difference."
"Still smooth."
They sat like that for a while—coffee cooling in their cups, the ocean visible through the balcony, afternoon sun painting everything golden. Rishaan occasionally typed something on his laptop with his free hand, but mostly he just watched Samaira, content to let her play with his fingers while he worked through less urgent emails.
"I love you," he said suddenly.
She looked up, meeting his eyes. "I love you too."
"Just wanted to say it. In daylight. When we're both awake and coherent."
"It counts just as much when we're half-asleep at night."
"I know. But I like saying it when I can see your face. When I can watch you smile."
"I like hearing it when I can see yours too."
Friday Afternoon - 4:15 PM (Continued)
Samaira's POV:
After their coffee and conversation, neither of them had moved. They'd naturally settled back into their previous position—Samaira leaning against Rishaan's side, his arm around her waist, her reading the thriller while he worked one-handed on his laptop.
The domesticity of it was intoxicating. The way they fit together, the comfortable silence, the ease of just existing in the same space.
Rishaan asked samaira "Ira should we go somewhere tomorrow after puja in the morning and as we have wedding at night and lot of free time in between. Just two of us.
Samaira thinks of it "It would be good just two us. Let's get out of this chaos for a while. Do you have any place in mind?"
"Well let's see I researched a few."
"ok then i'm leaving it to you." Samaira focused back on her book.
Samaira was deep into a particularly tense chapter—the protagonist was making yet another questionable decision—when Rishaan's phone started buzzing with a video call.
"It's the group," he said, reaching for it. "Want to answer?"
"Sure."
He accepted the call, and immediately all four faces appeared on screen—Anvitha, Meher, Veer, and Ahaan, clearly all together somewhere.
"Hey!" Anvitha called out. "We wanted to check—"
She stopped mid-sentence, taking in the scene visible on camera. Samaira curled against Rishaan's side, his arm around her, both of them clearly comfortable and relaxed in their resort room.
"Oh my god," Meher said, grinning. "Look at them. LOOK AT THEM."
"We can see you," Rishaan said dryly. "What's up?"
"We just wanted to check how the wedding's going," Ahaan said. "But clearly you're both very comfortable."
"We're resting before the sangeet tonight," Samaira explained, not moving from her position. "We had dance practice this morning and we're exhausted."
"You look exhausted," Veer said sarcastically. "Very exhausted. So exhausted you're cuddling on a couch while Rishaan works shirtless."
"He gets hot when he works," Samaira defended. "It's warm here."
"Uh-huh. Sure. That's the reason."
"How's the wedding?" Anvitha asked, smiling. "How's the family?"
"Mixed," Rishaan said. "Some relatives are great. Some are... less great. But we're managing."
"His grandmother is wonderful," Samaira added. "And most of his cousins are really welcoming."
"But his parents?" Meher pressed.
"Still working on that," Rishaan admitted. "But I had a conversation with them last night. Set some boundaries. Made it clear where I stand."
"Good for you," Ahaan said approvingly. "That's growth."
They talked for about twenty minutes—catching up on wedding events, the mehendi, the upcoming sangeet, general friend gossip. The whole time, neither Samaira nor Rishaan moved from their cuddled position, both clearly comfortable enough with each other and their friends to not feel self-conscious.
"You two are disgustingly cute," Meher said eventually. "I need to document this."
"Meher, don't—" Rishaan started.
But it was too late. The screenshot sound was unmistakable.
"MEHER!"
"What? This is adorable! I'm sending it to the group chat immediately!"
"Please don't—"
"Too late! Sent!"
Both their phones buzzed with the notification. Samaira grabbed hers and looked at the photo Meher had captured—her and Rishaan on the couch, clearly relaxed and comfortable, his arm around her, both of them looking at the camera with slightly exasperated but affectionate expressions.
"We look good," Samaira observed.
"We look very comfortable," Rishaan corrected. "Which everyone is now going to tease us about."
"They tease us about everything anyway."
"Fair point."
After promising to send updates about the sangeet and agreeing to a full debrief video call tomorrow, they said goodbye to their friends.
The moment the call disconnected, Rishaan groaned. "We need to get ready. It's already 4:30."
"I know." But Samaira didn't move.
"Ira."
"I know, I know. Getting up." She finally shifted, reluctantly leaving the warmth of his embrace. "Okay. Getting ready time. For real this time."
"For real this time," he agreed.
They got ready with the same comfortable rhythm as the previous evening—Samaira showering first while Rishaan organized their outfits, then switching so he could shower while she started on her hair.
The emerald green lehenga was stunning—the fabric rich and vibrant, the silver embroidery catching the light beautifully. Samaira paired it with silver jewelry and started on her makeup, going slightly more dramatic than the previous night since sangeets were more festive.
Rishaan emerged from the bathroom in his teal blue kurta set—the one chosen specifically to coordinate with her green lehenga. He looked handsome, the color bringing out the warmth in his skin tone.
"You look beautiful," he said, coming to stand behind her at the vanity.
"You look pretty good yourself."
He helped her with her dupatta again, pinning it securely over her shoulder, his fingers gentle and sure. She helped him with his kurta's collar, straightening the fabric and making sure everything sat perfectly.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready. Let's go dance."
7:00 PM - The Sangeet
The sangeet was being held in the resort's largest banquet hall, transformed for the evening with colorful draping, elaborate lighting, a professional DJ setup, and a large dance floor already filling with guests.
The energy was completely different from the mehendi—louder, more vibrant, music already pumping through speakers as people mingled and found their seats.
They found Savitri first, resplendent in a beautiful teal and gold saree that coordinated with the evening's color scheme.
"There you are!" she called out. "Both of you look wonderful! So coordinated!"
"Thank you, Ammamma," Samaira said, going to her for a hug.
"The sangeet is going to be so much fun! I can't wait to see the dance performances!"
The cousin group descended shortly after, all of them in various states of nervous excitement about their upcoming performance.
"Okay, last-minute huddle!" Priya announced. "Everyone remember the choreography?"
"No," several people said honestly.
"Great! We'll wing it and hope for the best!"
The sangeet officially began with traditional performances by family members, followed by the highly anticipated cousin group performance.
They took the floor—all twenty of them in coordinated outfits—and the music started. Samaira and Rishaan positioned themselves toward the back, and as the choreography began, muscle memory from the morning's practice kicked in.
Samaira moved through the steps with natural grace, while Rishaan was enthusiastic if not entirely accurate. But the energy was infectious, everyone laughing when someone missed a step, the audience cheering them on.
By the end of the performance, they were all breathless and laughing, the crowd applauding enthusiastically.
"We didn't completely embarrass ourselves!" Neha declared.
"That's the best outcome we could hope for," Aditya agreed.
After the performances ended, the DJ took over, playing a mix of Bollywood hits and popular dance numbers. The floor filled immediately, everyone eager to dance.
The cousins pulled Samaira into their circle, and she found herself swept up in the energy—dancing with Priya, then Neha, then various other relatives who wanted to include the "Ferrari engineer" in their celebrations.
Rishaan danced for a while, then gradually made his way to the sidelines, settling into a seat next to his grandmother.
"Not dancing anymore?" Savitri asked.
"Taking a break. Watching Ira have fun is entertaining enough."
And it was. Samaira was in the center of the cousin circle, laughing and dancing, her green lehenga swirling around her, completely comfortable despite being surrounded by people she'd only just met.
"She's wonderful," Nannamma observed. "So natural, so genuine. The cousins love her."
"I love her," Rishaan said simply.
"I know, beta. Everyone can see it."
About thirty minutes into the open dancing, the DJ made an announcement: "Alright everyone, it's time for couple dance! All couples to the floor!"
The married couples and dating couples started making their way to the dance floor. Samaira immediately broke away from the cousin circle and came straight to Rishaan.
"Come on," she said, grabbing his hand.
"I should warn you, I'm terrible at slow dancing—"
"Not you. Well, yes you, but first—" she pulled him and Ammamma both up, "—Ammamma first."
"Child, I can't dance—"
"Yes you can. Come on, let's show everyone how it's done."
Rishaan watched, delighted, as Samaira gently led his grandmother onto the dance floor. The music was a slow, romantic Bollywood number, and Rishaan and Savitri swayed together, laughing and talking.
Other family members noticed and smiled—some of the aunties commenting on how sweet it was, how respectful Samaira was to elders.
She returned with a young cousin—maybe sixteen or seventeen—who looked both excited and nervous.
"Rishaan, this is Arjun. He doesn't have a partner for the couple dance and all his friends are teasing him. Can we both dance near you and Ammamma so he doesn't feel awkward?"
"Of course," Rishaan said, standing.
So the four of them ended up on the dance floor in a small cluster—Samaira dancing with young Arjun, Rishaan dancing with Ammamma, all of them close enough to chat and laugh together.
"You're very kind," Ammamma said to Samaira. "Making sure everyone feels included."
"No one should feel left out at a wedding," Samaira replied, making Arjun twirl her dramatically, causing him to laugh.
The song changed to something more upbeat, and the dance floor transformed into organized chaos as people started partner-swapping, couples twirling into each other's arms and switching.
Arjun twirled Samaira, and she spun into Rishaan's arms perfectly.
"Hey," he said, grinning.
"Hey yourself. Miss me?"
"Desperately. It's been thirty whole minutes."
"So dramatic."
They swayed together, and Samaira told him about something funny that happened while dancing with the cousins—Neha had accidentally stepped on Aditya's foot so hard he'd yelped, then tried to play it off cool and failed spectacularly.
Rishaan threw his head back laughing, the sound loud and genuine and beautiful.
Samaira watched him, a soft smile playing on her lips. This—this version of Rishaan who laughed freely, who danced despite being terrible at it, who let himself be happy without guarding against disappointment—this was who he was meant to be.
The music changed again, and they were twirled apart.
Samaira found herself in Pranav's arms, while Priya ended up with Rishaan.
"Having fun?" Pranav asked, leading her through the dance with easy competence.
"So much fun. This wedding is beautiful."
"I'm glad. And I'm glad you came. Rishaan seems really happy."
"Does he?"
"The happiest I've seen him at a family event, maybe ever. Usually he's tense, trying to meet expectations, keeping up appearances. But tonight? He's relaxed. Genuine. Himself." Pranav smiled. "That's because of you."
"I think that's him finally letting himself be authentic."
"Maybe. But you gave him the safety to do that. So thank you. For making my cousin happy."
Across the dance floor, Priya was getting emotional with Rishaan.
"I'm really glad you brought her," she said quietly. "Samaira. She's wonderful."
"She is."
"But more than that—you seem like yourself again. Like the Rishaan from college, before you got so serious and closed off. I missed that version of you."
"I missed being that version of me."
"Then don't lose it again. Whatever you and Samaira have—it's bringing out the best in you. Don't let family expectations or business stress take that away."
"I won't. I promise."
The music changed again. Partners swapped.
Samaira found herself facing Rishaan's father, Rakesh. Both of them froze for a moment, clearly awkward.
"Uncle," Samaira said respectfully.
"Samaira." He cleared his throat. "Shall we?"
They began to dance, the silence between them heavy with unspoken things.
Finally, Rakesh spoke. "You dance well."
"Thank you. My mother insisted I learn bharatanatyam as a child. It helps with rhythm."
More silence. Then:
"I wanted to apologize for last night. My wife and I—we were cold. Judgmental. You didn't deserve that."
"It's okay—"
"It's not okay. You're a guest at our family function, and more importantly, you're important to Rishaan. We should have welcomed you properly."
Samaira was surprised by the genuine apology. "Thank you for saying that."
"I am proud of Rishaan. He's accomplished a lot on his own merit. And seeing him tonight, seeing how he is with you—" Rakesh paused, "—I'm at peace knowing he has someone to rely on. Someone who sees him for who he is, not what we expect him to be."
"He's easy to see, Uncle. He's a good man."
"He is. And you're good for him. I can see that now."
Meanwhile, Rishaan had been partnered with Meera—a cousin about his age who'd always been subtly hostile, competitive in ways that felt mean-spirited rather than friendly.
"So," Meera said, her smile sharp. "The famous girlfriend. She's very... confident, isn't she?"
"She has reason to be confident. She's brilliant."
"Working for Ferrari. Very impressive. Very glamorous." The words dripped with something unpleasant. "Must be exhausting though, all that travel. All that time apart. Makes you wonder how long that kind of relationship can really last."
"It'll last as long as we want it to," Rishaan said evenly.
"If you say so. Though I heard your mother isn't pleased. Small-town background, middle-class family—not exactly what she had in mind for you."
"My mother's expectations aren't my concern anymore."
"How modern of you. Though family opinions do matter eventually. Especially when it comes to marriage, children, building a life together. You can't just ignore where someone comes from."
"Actually, I can. And I do. Samaira's background makes her who she is—hardworking, grounded, genuine. All things I value infinitely more than inherited wealth or social status."
"Still," Meera pressed, "such different worlds. Different lifestyles. She's always traveling, you're here managing businesses. How does that even work?"
"It works because we choose to make it work. Because we prioritize each other and communicate and put in the effort."
"Sounds exhausting."
"Sounds like love, actually. But I wouldn't expect you to understand that."
Meera's expression hardened. "There's no need to be rude—"
"There's also no need for you to spend our entire dance making subtle digs at my relationship. So here's what's going to happen: you're going to stop talking, I'm going to walk away, and we're both going to pretend this conversation never happened."
"Rishaan—"
"Have a nice evening, Meera."
He walked away mid-dance, leaving her standing there looking shocked and offended.
But he didn't care. He was done tolerating people who thought their judgments mattered more than his happiness.
He headed for a quieter area of the resort—the opposite side from the banquet hall, where the gardens were lit softly and the sound of the party was distant and muffled.
8:45 PM - Garden Interlude
Rishaan's POV:
Rishaan found a secluded bench overlooking the ocean, the moon reflecting off the water in silvery ripples. He sat down, letting the tension of the Meera interaction slowly dissipate.
He wasn't angry, exactly. Just tired. Tired of defending his choices. Tired of people thinking their opinions about his relationship mattered. Tired of family dynamics that valued status over substance.
He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear anyone approaching until he felt arms wrap around him from behind—a gentle back-hug that was immediately, wonderfully familiar.
Samaira.
He didn't turn around, just moved his hands to cover hers where they rested against his chest, threading their fingers together.
Neither of them spoke. They just stood like that—her behind him, arms around him, his hands holding hers, both of them breathing in sync with the sound of ocean waves in the background.
After several minutes, Samaira finally spoke, her voice soft near his ear. "What happened?"
"Meera. Being Meera. Making comments about our relationship, about your background, about how it'll never last."
"What did you say?"
"That she was wrong. That we choose to make it work. That I value you infinitely more than whatever shallow judgments she's making."
"Did you tell her off?"
"I may have walked away mid-dance and told her I didn't expect her to understand what love looks like."
Samaira kissed his shoulder through his kurta. "That's my boyfriend. Defending us."
"Always, bangaram. I'm just tired of having to."
"I know. But you don't have to defend us to people who don't matter. Meera doesn't matter. Her opinion doesn't matter. The only people whose opinions matter are already on our side—your grandmother, my parents, our friends, your good cousins."
"You're right."
"I know. I'm an engineer. Being right is my job."
That made him laugh, some of the tension finally breaking. "You always know what to say."
"That's the girlfriend job. I'm multi-talented."
He turned on the bench, pulling her around so she could sit beside him. Then he kissed her—slow and deep and grateful, trying to pour all his feelings into the connection.
When they pulled apart, foreheads resting together, he said quietly: "I love you."
"I love you too. Now come back to the party. The cousins are probably wondering where we disappeared to."
"Let them wonder."
"Shaan."
"Fine, fine. Back to the party."
They walked back hand in hand, and when they entered the banquet hall, a few people glanced their way but most were too absorbed in dancing to notice.
Almost immediately, the cousin group descended on Samaira again, pulling her back onto the dance floor with enthusiastic insistence.
Rishaan was pulled in a different direction by some of the uncles, who wanted to introduce him to family friends and discuss business matters even in the middle of a sangeet.
He kept one eye on Samaira though, watching her laugh and dance with his cousins, completely integrated into the group like she'd known them for years instead of days.
After about forty-five minutes of dancing, the cousin group finally wore themselves out and migrated toward the seating area, collapsing onto couches with dramatic exhaustion.
Samaira immediately started looking around, her eyes searching the room.
For him, Rishaan realized. She was looking for him.
He excused himself from the uncles and headed toward the seating area, stopping by the refreshment table on the way to grab a bottle of water and a plate of food—knowing Samaira had been so busy dancing she probably hadn't eaten anything since their light lunch.
When he reached the couch area where Samaira had claimed a spot, the cousins all looked up and grinned.
"Aww!" Priya said. "Look at him! Bringing her water and food!"
"Boyfriend of the year!" Neha added.
"Are you going to get us food too?" Aditya asked hopefully.
"No," Rishaan said bluntly, settling into a chair directly opposite Samaira. "This is exclusively for my girlfriend. You all have functioning legs. Get your own food."
"So mean!" Veer's girlfriend said, but she was laughing.
The cousins groaned but eventually wandered off toward the buffet, leaving Rishaan and Samaira in relative peace.
He handed her the water bottle. "Drink. You've been dancing for almost an hour straight."
"Thank you." She drank gratefully, and he could see how exhausted she was—her eyes slightly glazed, her movements a bit slower than usual.
"Can you eat or should I feed you?" he asked, holding up the plate.
"I can eat. I'm tired, not helpless."
"Just checking." He handed her the plate, and she balanced it on her lap.
As she took her first bite, Rishaan did something that had been bothering him for the past thirty minutes—he reached out and gently lifted her feet into his lap.
"Shaan, what are you—"
"I saw you limping slightly after the last dance. Let me check."
"I'm fine—"
"Humor me."
She continued eating while he untied her shoes that were beautiful but clearly not designed for extended dancing. As he carefully removed the first shoe, he noticed her wince slightly.
"When did you eat?" Samaira asked, trying to distract him.
"I haven't yet. I'll eat after you."
She immediately speared a piece of chicken from her plate with a fork and held it out to him. "Then we eat together."
He was about to argue, but she was already holding the fork to his lips, and he was too focused on examining her feet to fight about it.
He ate the bite she offered while carefully removing her second shoe, then examining her feet properly.
"There," he said, finding the problem—a small blister forming on her heel from the new shoes rubbing.
"Oh," Samaira said, looking down while feeding him another bite of food. "That would explain the limping. Must be because the shoes are new."
He looked up and realized what she was doing—feeding them both, alternating bites, completely unselfconscious about it.
"You're feeding me," he observed.
"You said you hadn't eaten. Someone has to take care of you."
"I was going to eat after—"
"Now we both eat. More efficient." She gave him another bite of rice. "Besides, you're busy with my feet. Multitasking."
They continued like that—Samaira eating and feeding him between bites, Rishaan examining the blister and mentally planning to get first aid supplies from the room later. When the plate was empty, he asked her to wash her hands in the same plate—a practical solution.
He signaled a passing waiter. "Can you take this, please?"
"Of course, sir."
The cousins were starting to drift back, and Rishaan saw them approaching. He quickly moved from the chair to sit beside Samaira on the couch, still holding her shoes, placing his arm along the back of the couch behind her.
The proximity felt natural, comfortable, and gave him the perfect angle to keep an eye on her while they talked with the group.
The cousins settled in around them—some on other couches, some pulling up chairs, all of them in that pleasant post-dance, post-food exhaustion where everything felt comfortable and easy.
They talked about everything and nothing—the dance performance, funny moments from the evening, plans for tomorrow's puja, general wedding gossip. Easy, friendly conversation that required no pretense or formality.
Samaira was actively participating at first, but after about twenty minutes, Rishaan felt her lean more heavily against his shoulder.
He adjusted his position slightly, making himself more comfortable as a pillow, his hand moving from the back of the couch to gently hold her head secure against him.
The conversation continued around them—cousins laughing and talking—but Samaira had gone quiet.
Rishaan glanced down and realized she'd fallen asleep—sitting upright on a couch in the middle of a sangeet, surrounded by noise and people, but apparently exhausted enough that it didn't matter.
He smiled softly and continued chatting with his cousins, one hand holding Samaira's head steady against his shoulder, protecting her sleep even in the middle of chaos.
After about fifteen more minutes, Savitri appeared.
"Alright, children," she announced with the authority only grandmothers possess. "It's getting late and we have puja early tomorrow morning. Time to disperse."
"Ammamma, it's only 10:30—" Neha started.
"And the puja is at 7 AM. You all need sleep. Especially you girls who'll need time to get ready. Go on, off with you."
The cousins groaned but began reluctantly gathering their things and saying goodnight.
Savitri noticed Rishaan sitting carefully still, Samaira asleep on his shoulder, her shoes in his other hand.
She came closer, making a gesture with her hands around them—warding off evil eye, protecting them from jealousy or bad intentions.
"Take her to your room carefully, beta," she said softly. "She's exhausted."
"I will, Nannamma."
"She's special, this one. Take care of her."
"Always."
After everyone had cleared out, Rishaan carefully shifted Samaira's weight, then stood, lifting her into his arms bridal-style.
She stirred slightly, eyes opening to confused slits. "Wha—?"
"It's okay, bangaram. It's me. You fell asleep. I'm taking you to our room."
"Mmm. Okay." She relaxed completely, her head falling against his chest, trusting him entirely.
He carried her through the resort—the night air warm and tropical, the path to their wing quiet and peaceful. A few staff members they passed smiled at the sight but said nothing.
In their suite, he laid her gently on the bed, setting her shoes aside.
"Ira," he said softly. "You need to change. Can't sleep in the lehenga."
"Don' wanna," she mumbled.
"I know. But the embroidery will hurt if you sleep in it. Come on, just change into something comfortable."
"Fine." She sat up with visible effort, swaying slightly. "Where's my stuff?"
"Your bag. Pajamas are in the front pocket."
She grabbed the bag and disappeared into the bathroom, moving like someone operating on autopilot.
Rishaan changed quickly while she was in the bathroom—shedding the kurta for comfortable sleep clothes. He'd just pulled on sleep pants when the bathroom door opened.
Samaira emerged in comfortable pajama shorts and a tank top, her hair still pinned up with all the elaborate styling from earlier, her makeup still fully intact, her jewelry still on.
She walked directly to the bed and started to lie down.
"Wait," Rishaan said, catching her arm. "You still have all your makeup on."
"Too tired. Remove tomorrow."
"Ira, you'll wake up with raccoon eyes and clogged pores."
"Don't care."
"I care. Come on, sit on the couch for two minutes. I'll remove it for you."
"You don't know how—"
"I'll figure it out. Sit."
She sat on the couch with the resigned exhaustion of someone too tired to argue. Rishaan went to the bathroom and found her makeup bag—a organized pouch full of various products he didn't recognize.
He brought it to the coffee table, laying everything out and examining each item. Bottles, tubes, pads, wipes, mysterious liquids—all labeled with words like "micellar water" and "makeup remover" and "toner."
"Okay," he said to himself. "I can do this."
He pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of all the products laid out on the table, then opened his AI assistant.
How do I remove someone's makeup using these products? he typed, attaching the photo.
The AI responded with a step-by-step guide:
Use cleansing oil or makeup remover oil first
Apply with cotton pads, gently wiping away makeup
Use cleansing wipes or micellar water for second cleanse
Apply moisturizer
Apply lip balm
"Okay," he said again. "I can do this."
He found the cleansing oil, poured some on a cotton pad, and gently began wiping Samaira's face. She'd closed her eyes, apparently content to let him handle this.
"This is sweet," she mumbled. "You're sweet."
"I'm preventing you from waking up with panda eyes. This is practical, not sweet."
"Can be both."
He worked carefully, using several cotton pads to remove all traces of eye makeup—liner, shadow, mascara. Then he moved to her face, removing foundation and blush and whatever else she'd applied.
Once the first cleanse was done, he used the cleansing wipes for a second pass, making sure he'd gotten everything. Then moisturizer—applied gently to her clean skin. Finally, lip balm, because the AI had said so and he was following instructions precisely.
"Done," he announced, surveying his work. Her face was clean, moisturized, and makeup-free. "How do you feel?"
"Clean. Fresh. Sleepy."
"Then let's get you to bed."
He helped her up—she was steady on her feet but clearly running on fumes—and guided her to the bed. She crawled under the covers immediately, and he joined her on his side.
But within seconds, she'd shifted, moving across the space between them to curl into his side, her head on his chest, arm across his waist.
He wrapped his arms around her automatically, holding her close.
Through the balcony doors, left slightly open for the breeze, he could see the moon reflecting off the ocean, hear the distant sound of waves.
He looked down at Samaira—already asleep again, completely relaxed in his arms, trusting him entirely.
His heart felt impossibly full.
He'd been so lost a month ago. Working too much, living for family expectations, forgetting how to be genuine or happy or himself.
And then she'd walked into that engagement party—tired and guarded and brilliant—and everything had changed.
He kissed her forehead gently.
"Thank you," he whispered to the universe, to God, to whatever force had brought her back into his life at exactly the right time. "Thank you for sending her back to me."
Samaira shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent, burrowing closer.
He held her tighter, still looking at the moon and ocean, feeling grateful and blessed and more in love than he'd known was possible.
Tomorrow would bring more family events, more scrutiny, more challenges.
But tonight—tonight they had this. Each other. This quiet moment of peace.
And that was more than enough.
He closed his eyes, still smiling, and let sleep claim him.
Saturday Morning - 6:30 AM
Samaira's POV:
Samaira woke slowly, awareness returning in layers. First, warmth—solid, comforting warmth surrounding her. Then the sound of steady breathing that wasn't her own. Finally, the realization that she was completely wrapped around Rishaan like he was her personal pillow.
Her head was on his chest, one arm draped across his waist, her leg hooked over his. His arms were around her, one hand resting on her back, the other in her hair. They were tangled together so completely that she couldn't tell where she ended and he began.
She should move. Give him space. But she was so comfortable, and he was so warm, and the morning light filtering through the balcony doors was soft and golden and perfect.
"You're awake," Rishaan's voice rumbled through his chest, still rough with sleep.
"How did you know?"
"Your breathing changed." His hand moved in her hair, fingers threading through the strands gently. "And you tensed slightly. Like you were thinking about moving away."
"I was," she admitted. "But then I decided I'm too comfortable."
"Good decision."
They lay there in silence for a few minutes, just breathing together, enjoying the peaceful morning before the chaos of the day ahead.
"We have puja at 7," Rishaan said eventually, but he didn't move to get up.
"I know."
"We should probably start getting ready."
"Probably."
Neither of them moved.
Samaira tilted her head up to look at him, and found him already looking at her, his expression soft and affectionate in the morning light.
"Good morning," she said.
"Good morning, bangaram." He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Did you sleep well?"
"Better than I have in weeks. You?"
"Best sleep I've had since you left for those three races."
She smiled, then shifted slightly, propping herself up on his chest so she could see him better. "Thank you for last night. For taking care of me when I was too exhausted to function properly."
"Always. Though I have to admit, removing someone's makeup using AI assistance was a new experience."
"You used AI?" She laughed, delighted. "Shaan!"
"I didn't know what half those products were! I had to google 'how to remove makeup' and the AI gave me step-by-step instructions." He looked slightly defensive but amused. "It worked, didn't it? Your face was clean."
"It was perfect. You were perfect." She leaned down and kissed him—soft and sweet and full of affection.
When she pulled back, his expression had shifted to something more serious, more intense.
"I love you," he said quietly. "In case I haven't said it enough. In case you have any doubt. I love you, Samaira."
Her chest felt tight, full of emotion. "I love you too, Rishaan. So much it scares me sometimes."
"Good scared or bad scared?"
"Good scared. The kind of scared that means it matters. That you matter."
He pulled her down for another kiss, this one deeper, more consuming. His hands moved to her waist, and she felt heat building between them, the comfortable morning intimacy shifting into something more urgent.
Then his phone alarm went off—loud and insistent.
They broke apart, both breathing hard, and Rishaan groaned. "Worst timing ever."
"We need to get ready anyway," Samaira said, reluctantly pulling away. "Puja in thirty minutes."
"I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it."
He climbed out of bed, already missing her warmth. "Come on. The faster we get through today's morning events, the faster we can escape."
"Escape?"
"I have plans for us. After the puja. But it's a surprise."
"I love your surprises," she said, finally sitting up. "Okay. Getting ready. For real this time."
7:00 AM - Morning Puja
The puja was held in a beautifully decorated area of the resort—traditional elements mixed with the tropical Kerala setting, creating something uniquely lovely. Pranav and Anjali sat at the center, the priest chanting Sanskrit verses, family members gathered around in a semi-circle.
Samaira sat with Rishaan, both of them dressed in traditional clothes—him in a simple white kurta, her in a lavender three piece suit appropriate for puja.
"You look beautiful," Rishaan had whispered when she'd emerged from the bathroom.
"You already said that."
"Bears repeating."
The puja itself was long but meaningful—prayers for prosperity, happiness, blessings for the couple's future. Samaira found herself paying attention not just to the ceremony, but to Rishaan beside her, the way he participated respectfully but without the tension he'd had at the mehendi and sangeet.
He was more relaxed today. More himself. Like he'd finally accepted that he didn't need to perform for anyone.
When the puja concluded with the final aarti, everyone stood for blessings. Pranav and Anjali touched the priest's feet, then their parents' feet, then began making their way through the family.
When they reached Rishaan and Samaira, Pranav pulled Rishaan into a tight hug.
"Thank you for being here," he said quietly. "And thank you for bringing her. She's good for you, cousin."
"She's the best thing that's ever happened to me," Rishaan said simply.
Anjali hugged Samaira. "I'm so glad we got to spend time together this week. Come visit us in Bangalore sometime?"
"Absolutely. And congratulations. The wedding is beautiful."
After the puja, breakfast was served—traditional South Indian fare that was delicious and filling. The family gathered around large tables, and the mood was light and happy, the stress of the previous days finally easing.
Savitri appeared at their table, looking elegant in a beautiful silk saree.
"Nannamma," Rishaan greeted her. "Join us?"
"Just for a moment, beta. I wanted to talk to you both." She settled into a chair, and her expression was knowing. "You two are planning something."
"What makes you say that?" Samaira asked innocently.
"Because I know my grandson, and he has that look. The 'I'm plotting an escape' look." She smiled. "Where are you going?"
Rishaan glanced at Samaira, who nodded.
"There's a waterfall about an hour from here," Rishaan said quietly. "I found it while researching Kerala. Private, beautiful, perfect for swimming. We were thinking of sneaking away after breakfast, spending the day there, coming back before the evening wedding."
"Just the two of you?"
"Just the two of us," Rishaan confirmed. "We need time away from family events. Time to just... be together without scrutiny or expectations."
Savitri was quiet for a moment, studying them both. Then she smiled—warm and conspiratorial.
"Go," she said simply. "I'll cover for you. If anyone asks, I'll say you're resting in your room, recovering from yesterday's dancing. Go, enjoy your day, be young and in love without the weight of family obligations."
"Nannamma—" Rishaan started, clearly moved.
"No arguments. You've been good about attending everything, being present, dealing with family politics. You've earned a day of escape." She reached across the table and patted both their hands. "Just be back by 4 PM. Your parents want to have lunch with us before the evening wedding, and I think it would be good for you both to be there."
"We will," Samaira promised. "Thank you, Ammamma. Really."
"Thank me by being happy. Now go, quickly, before people start asking questions."
8:30 AM - The Escape
They changed quickly—Rishaan into comfortable shorts and a t-shirt, Samaira into a simple sundress with a swimsuit underneath. They packed a small bag with towels, sunscreen, water, and snacks, then slipped out of the resort through a side exit, avoiding the main areas where family was still gathered.
Rishaan had rented a car for the day—a small, practical vehicle that was perfect for navigating Kerala's winding roads. He drove, one hand on the wheel, the other holding Samaira's across the center console.
The drive was beautiful—lush green landscape, glimpses of backwaters, small villages with colorful houses and temples. The Kerala countryside was different from Andhra Pradesh—more tropical, more wild, the vegetation denser and greener.
"Tell me about this waterfall," Samaira said as they drove. "How did you find it?"
"Research. I spent two hours googling 'secret waterfalls near Kerala' and 'private swimming spots' when I was between meetings. Found a travel blog written by a local who mentioned this place—it's not on the main tourist maps, requires a short hike to reach, but apparently it's stunning."
"You planned this while you were meeting?"
"I planned a lot of things while I was in meetings," he admitted.
They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the GPS guiding them off the main highway onto progressively smaller roads, until they were driving through dense forest on a narrow path that barely qualified as a road.
"Are you sure this is right?" Rishaan asked, navigating carefully around a particularly large pothole.
"The blog said the path would be rough. But we're almost there—GPS says another kilometer."
Finally, they reached a small clearing with space to park. Beyond it, Samaira could see a trail leading deeper into the forest.
"This is it," she said, excitement building. "Come on."
They grabbed their bag and started hiking. The trail was well-maintained but clearly not heavily trafficked—overgrown in places, the sounds of the forest loud around them. Birds called overhead, and she could hear water in the distance, getting louder as they walked.
After about fifteen minutes, the trail opened up into a clearing, and Samaira stopped, her breath catching.
The waterfall was perfect.
Not huge or dramatic like the famous tourist waterfalls, but beautiful in its intimacy—maybe twenty feet high, water cascading down moss-covered rocks into a clear pool below. The pool was surrounded by smooth rocks and lush vegetation, and the whole area felt hidden, secret, like they'd stumbled into a private paradise.
"Wow," Rishaan breathed beside her. "Ira, this is incredible."
"Right? The blog didn't do it justice."
They made their way down to the pool's edge. The water was clear enough that Samaira could see the rocky bottom, and it looked deep enough to swim properly. Perfect.
"Last one in has to plan our next date," Rishaan said, already pulling off his shirt.
"That's not fair, you're already—"
But he was already running toward the water, diving in with a splash that sent ripples across the pool.
Samaira laughed, quickly shedding her sundress to reveal the simple black bikini underneath, and ran in after him.
The water was cool but not cold, refreshing in the Kerala heat. She surfaced near Rishaan, who was treading water and grinning at her.
"I win," he announced.
"You cheated."
"I was efficient. There's a difference."
She splashed him, and he splashed back, and suddenly they were in an all-out water war, laughing and diving and trying to dunk each other like children.
When they finally tired themselves out, they floated on their backs, looking up at the sky through the canopy of trees, the sound of the waterfall a constant, soothing backdrop.
"This is perfect," Samaira said softly. "Exactly what we needed."
"Agreed. No family, no expectations, no one watching us or judging us. Just us."
She swam closer to him, and he pulled her into his arms, both of them treading water together.
"Thank you for agreeing to this place and escaping with me," he said, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes.
"Thank you for being someone worth escaping with."
He kissed her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist to help with the treading water, her arms around his neck. The kiss deepened, heat building despite the cool water, and she felt his hands tighten on her waist.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, she rested her forehead against his.
"We should probably talk," she said.
"About?"
"Us. The future. All the things we've been dancing around because we're scared or unsure or worried about jinxing it."
"Okay," he said, still holding her close. "Let's talk. What's on your mind?"
9:45 AM - Deep Water, Deeper Conversations
They swam to a large, flat rock at the edge of the pool—warm from the sun, big enough for both of them to sit comfortably. Samaira sat with her legs in the water, and Rishaan settled beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched.
"So," Samaira started, trying to organize her thoughts. "We need to talk about logistics. Real, specific logistics, not just 'we'll figure it out' platitudes."
"Okay. What specific logistics?"
"My schedule for the next few months." She took a breath. "I have three more races left—Britain in two weeks, then Belgium, then Abu Dhabi to close out the season. That's about six weeks of racing, spread over two and a half months because of the gaps between races."
"And after Abu Dhabi?"
"The season ends in late November. And then I have three months completely off—December, January, and February before pre-season testing starts in March."
Rishaan's expression brightened. "Three months? You'll be in India for three months?"
"That's the plan. I want to spend December and January here—with my parents, with our friends, with you. Maybe travel a bit within India, visit places we've talked about. Just be home for a while."
"That sounds perfect. And February?"
"I'll probably need to go back to Maranello for February—preparation for the new season, meetings, strategic planning. But December and January? Those are ours."
He took her hand, threading their fingers together. "So in six weeks, when the season ends, you're coming home for two full months. That's—that's more time together than we've had since this whole thing started."
"I know. I'm already counting down the days." She paused. "But before that, I need to get through these three races. And I was thinking—"
"You want me to come to one of them," he finished.
"If you can. I know it's a lot to ask, with your businesses and everything, but—"
"Belgium," he interrupted. "I'll come to Belgium. It's in late September, right? That gives me time to arrange coverage for the businesses, and Belgium is beautiful that time of year."
"You'd really come?"
"Ira, yes. Absolutely yes. I want to see you in your element, watch you work your magic, understand that part of your life better. And honestly, I just want to see you. Six weeks is too long to wait."
She kissed him, quick and grateful. "Belgium then. You can meet my team, see the factory if we have time, watch the race from the garage."
"I'd love that. And what about after the season? During those three months you're in India?"
This was the harder conversation. The one that required real honesty about what she wanted from life.
"I've been thinking about my future with Ferrari," Samaira said slowly. "About how long I want to keep doing this—the constant travel, the pressure, the being away from home almost year-round."
"How long, then?"
"This season and one more. So through the end of next year. Two more years total, including this one." She looked at him. "I want to win one more championship as principal engineer—prove that Monaco wasn't a fluke, that I can deliver consistent excellence. But after that? I want to transition."
"To what?"
"I've been talking with Ferrari about creating a consulting role. I'd still work with them—advising on technical development, strategy for specific races, mentoring junior engineers. But it would be remote work mostly, with travel only for races I specifically choose to attend. Maybe six to eight races a year instead of all twenty-three."
"So you'd be based in India?"
"Mostly, yes. Or we could split time between India and Italy if that makes sense. But the point is—more stability, more control over my schedule, more ability to actually have a life outside of racing."
Rishaan was quiet for a moment, clearly processing. Then: "Can I tell you what I see? What I want?"
"Please."
"I see us getting married. Not immediately—we need more time together, more experience navigating everything. But within two years, I want to marry you. I want it official, legal, permanent."
Her heart was racing. "Two years?"
"Give or take. Whenever it feels right for both of us. But Ira, I know you're it for me. I knew it when you came back from those three races and it felt like coming up for air after drowning. You're the person I want to build a life with."
"I want that too," she said, her voice shaky with emotion. "Marriage, partnership, building something together. And your timeline makes sense—by the end of next racing season, I'll be transitioning to consulting. We'd have more stability, more time together."
"Exactly. And then we can decide together where to live, how to balance our careers, what our life looks like. But we make those decisions as a married couple, as a team."
"What about kids?" The question escaped before she could stop it. "Do you want them? When?"
"Yes," he said immediately. "I want kids. But not right away—I want time with just us first. Maybe two years after we get married? So we'd be looking at four years from now, roughly?"
"That's..." Samaira did the math. "That would make me thirty-two. That feels right. Good, even. Time to establish our marriage, get stable in our careers, figure out our life together before adding children."
"And by then, you'd be in the consulting role—more flexibility, better work-life balance. I'd have my businesses established enough that I could step back when needed. We could actually be present parents."
She looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the future he was describing. Saw it so clearly it made her chest ache.
"You've thought about this a lot," she observed.
"I've thought about nothing else since you left for those races. Every lonely night, every time I wished I could hold you, every time my parents asked about my 'plans'—I thought about what I want my future to look like. And it looks like you, Ira. Always you."
She kissed him, trying to pour all her feelings into the connection. When they pulled apart, she said, "I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me."
"Good terrified or bad terrified?"
"Good terrified. The kind that means I'm all in. The kind that means I'm ready to fight for this, for us, no matter how hard it gets."
"Then we're on the same page."
They sat in silence for a while, the weight of the conversation settling over them—not heavy, but grounding. Real.
"What are you most scared of?" Rishaan asked eventually. "About us, about the future?"
"Honestly? That something will happen during these next two years to derail everything. That the distance will wear us down, that we'll have a major fight we can't recover from, that one of us will get offered something too good to pass up that requires choosing between career and relationship."
"That won't happen."
"You can't know that—"
"I can," he interrupted firmly. "Because we're going to communicate. We're going to be honest about what we need and what we're struggling with. We're going to prioritize us even when it's hard. And we're going to choose each other, every single time."
"What are you scared of?" she asked.
"That I won't be enough. That you'll realize there are men out there who can actually be with you—travel with you, understand your world better, not require complicated logistics just to spend time together. Men who can give you the partnership you deserve without making you work so hard for it."
"That won't happen," she said, echoing his certainty. "Because you are enough, Shaan. You're more than enough. You make me laugh, you understand me, you support my dreams while having your own. You're exactly what I need."
He pulled her into his lap, holding her close, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.
"We're going to make this work," he said into her hair. "I know it's scary and uncertain and there's no guarantee. But we're going to make it work because we both want it badly enough."
"Promise?"
"I promise. Do you promise?"
"I promise."
They stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other, listening to the waterfall, feeling the warmth of the sun and each other's presence.
Finally, Samaira pulled back. "Want to go swimming again? I didn't come all this way to just sit and talk."
"I thought the talking was important?"
"It was. But now I want to play."
She wriggled out of his lap and dove back into the pool, surfacing with a laugh when the cool water hit her sun-warmed skin.
Rishaan dove in after her, and they spent the next hour just playing—swimming under the waterfall, diving off rocks, floating together, occasionally pulling each other under in playful attacks.
At one point, Samaira swam to the base of the waterfall, letting the cascading water pound on her shoulders like a natural massage. Rishaan joined her, and they stood together in the falling water, laughing at the force of it.
"This is incredible!" Samaira shouted over the sound of rushing water.
"You're incredible!" Rishaan shouted back.
She grabbed his face and kissed him, water streaming over both of them, and he pulled her closer, his hands on her waist, her legs wrapping around him again for stability.
The kiss deepened, heat building despite the cool water pounding down on them, and she felt his hands slide up her back, felt the desire building between them, urgent and undeniable.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, she rested her forehead against his.
"We should probably get out of the waterfall," she said, her voice breathless. "Before we get completely carried away."
"Probably wise."
They swam back to their rock, and Rishaan climbed out first, then helped pull Samaira up. She stood there, dripping, her bikini clinging to her body, and watched as his eyes darkened, traveling over her with undisguised want.
"You're staring," she said, but she didn't move to cover herself.
"You're beautiful. I'm allowed to stare."
"We should probably dry off."
"We should."
Neither of them moved.
Then Rishaan reached for his bag, pulling out a towel. But instead of handing it to her, he stepped closer, using the towel to gently dry her shoulders, her arms, her back.
His touch was careful, reverent, and she felt heat building everywhere he touched, every brush of the towel against her skin feeling like a promise.
When he finished with her upper body, he knelt in front of her, drying her legs with the same careful attention. His hands lingered on her calves, her thighs, and she sucked in a breath.
"Shaan..."
He looked up at her, still kneeling, his expression intense. "Tell me to stop and I will."
"I don't want you to stop."
He stood slowly, and she could see the tension in his body, the careful control he was exercising, the desire he was barely keeping in check.
"I'm cold," she said, which was partly true—the breeze on her wet skin was making her shiver slightly.
"Here." He pulled a towel—already mostly dry from sitting in the sun—and held it out to her.
She took it, expecting him to turn around while she put it on. But he didn't. He just stood there, watching as she pulled the towel over her , the fabric hanging loose on her medium frame, falling to mid-thigh.
"Better?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Much better."
He pulled her close, his hands sliding under the towel to rest on her bare waist, and she felt the heat of his skin against hers, felt the rapid beat of his heart.
"We should talk about boundaries," he said quietly. "About how far we're comfortable going."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I want you. I want to touch you, taste you, make you feel good. But I also want to respect your boundaries, your comfort level. So tell me what you're okay with."
She thought about it—about what she wanted, what she was ready for.
"I'm okay with touching," she said carefully. "Kissing, exploring, but maybe not... all the way? Not yet?"
"That's perfect. That's more than okay." He kissed her forehead. "We have time. No rush."
"But I want you to touch me," she said, surprised by her own boldness. "I want to touch you. I want to explore this, us, without the pressure of going all the way."
"Then that's what we'll do."
He kissed her, and this time there was no holding back. His hands slid up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through the bikini top, and she gasped into his mouth.
She pulled him closer, her hands exploring the muscles of his back, his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the barely controlled desire.
They made their way back to their rock, somehow, still kissing, and she ended up straddling his lap, his shirt riding up, his hands on her bare thighs.
"God, you're beautiful," he breathed, his hands sliding higher, fingers tracing patterns on her skin that made her shiver with want.
"So are you," she said, her hands exploring his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under her palms.
They took their time—kissing, touching, exploring each other with a mixture of reverence and desire. His hands mapped her body over her bikini, learning every curve, every sensitive spot, every touch that made her breath catch. Her hands did the same to him, discovering what made him groan, what made his hands tighten on her waist, what made his breath come faster.
When his lips left hers to trail down her neck, she arched into him, her fingers threading through his hair. He kissed along her collarbone, down to the edge of her bikini top, and she felt heat pooling low in her belly.
"Shaan," she breathed, and his name on her lips seemed to undo something in him.
His hands slid to her back, fingers playing with the tie of her bikini top, but he didn't untie it—just traced the knot, the question implicit.
"Not yet," she whispered, and he immediately moved his hands away, back to safer territory.
"Okay," he said, kissing her jaw. "Just tell me what you want."
"This," she said, bringing his lips back to hers. "Just this."
They continued like that for a long time—intense make-out sessions, hands exploring within the boundaries they'd set, building heat but not acting on it completely. When it got too intense, they'd pull back, cool down, talk about random things until the tension eased, then inevitably gravitate back together.
At one point, Rishaan's hand slid higher on her thigh, dangerously close to the edge of her bikini bottom, and she gently stopped him.
"Not yet," she said again, and he immediately pulled his hand back.
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't be sorry. I like it. I like this. I just... I want to save some things. For when we're ready."
"We have time," he said, kissing her softly. "All the time in the world."
Eventually, the heat became too much and they retreated back into the water to cool off, swimming lazily, floating together, occasionally stealing kisses but giving themselves space to calm down.
"I could stay here forever," Samaira said, floating on her back, Rishaan's hand supporting her.
"Me too. But Nannamma will kill us if we miss lunch with my parents."
"What time is it?"
He glanced at his waterproof watch. "Almost 2 PM. We should probably think about heading back soon if we want to clean up before the 4 PM lunch."
"Five more minutes?"
"Five more minutes."
But five minutes turned into twenty, and it was nearly 2:30 when they finally forced themselves to get out of the water for good, dry off properly, and get dressed.
Samaira pulled her sundress back on over her damp bikini, and Rishaan put on his now-dry t-shirt and shorts. They packed up their things, took one last look at the waterfall—this perfect, private paradise they'd claimed as theirs—and started the hike back to the car.
"Thank you for today," Rishaan said as they walked, his hand finding hers. "For the conversations, for everything."
"Thank you for being exactly what I needed. For understanding me, for wanting the same things I want, for being patient with my fears and boundaries."
"Always, bangaram. Always."
3:45 PM - Return to Reality
They made it back to the resort with just enough time to shower and change before the 4 PM lunch. Samaira washed the waterfall water from her hair, dried it quickly, and dressed in a simple but elegant salwar kameez—appropriate for a semi-formal family lunch.
Rishaan emerged from his shower in dark jeans and a button-down shirt, looking effortlessly handsome.
"Ready?" he asked.
"As ready as I'll ever be. Your parents aren't going to interrogate me about career plans and marriage timelines, are they?"
"If they do, I'll shut it down. This is supposed to be a friendly lunch, not an inquisition."
They met Savitri in the lobby, and she took one look at them and smiled knowingly.
"Good day?" she asked innocently.
"Very good day," Samaira confirmed. "Thank you for covering for us, Ammamma."
"Anytime, child. Young love deserves secret adventures."
Rishaan's parents had made reservations at an upscale restaurant about twenty minutes from the resort—the kind of place with white tablecloths and a wine list and waiters who moved with practiced efficiency.
Rakesh and Padma were already there when they arrived, seated at a large round table. They stood when the trio approached, and Samaira was surprised to see genuine warmth in their expressions.
"Samaira, Rishaan, Amma," Rakesh greeted them. "Thank you for coming. Please, sit."
They settled around the table—Rishaan between Samaira and Savitri, creating a subtle buffer.
The first few minutes were awkward small talk—how was the puja, wasn't the wedding beautiful, Kerala is so lovely this time of year. But gradually, as appetizers were ordered and drinks arrived, the conversation found its rhythm.
"Samaira," Padma said, her tone genuinely interested, "Rishaan mentioned you have three more races left in the season?"
"Yes, Aunty. Britain in two weeks, then Belgium, and Abu Dhabi to close out the season in late November."
"That must be exhausting. All that travel between races."
"It is," Samaira admitted. "But it's also what I love. Every race is a new challenge, a new opportunity to prove ourselves."
"And after the season ends? What do you do during the off-season?"
"This year, I'm planning to spend December and January in India. Three months at home before pre-season testing starts in March."
"Three months!" Padma's expression brightened. "That's wonderful. You'll get proper time with your family, with Rishaan."
"That's the plan. I've been away too much this year—I want to reconnect with everyone, spend quality time with the people who matter."
Rakesh listened with genuine interest, asking intelligent questions about the technology, the competition, the business side of Formula One. Samaira found herself relaxing, explaining her work with the same passion she'd bring to a technical presentation.
"It's impressive," he said when she finished explaining the complexities of race strategy. "Building a career in such a competitive field, earning respect in an industry dominated by men. That takes extraordinary talent and determination."
"Thank you, Uncle. It hasn't been easy, but it's been worth it."
"I can see that. And I can see why my son is so proud of you."
Rishaan squeezed her hand under the table, and she squeezed back.
As dinner continued—multiple courses, each more delicious than the last—the conversation shifted to Rishaan's businesses.
"The tech consultancy is doing very well," Rishaan reported. "We just signed two major clients, and I'm considering expanding to Bangalore next year."
"That's excellent," Rakesh said, genuine pride in his voice. "You've built something impressive, beta. Independent of the family name, based entirely on your own merit."
"Thank you, Nanna."
It was the first time Samaira had heard Rishaan call his father 'Nanna' instead of the more formal 'sir' or 'father.' The shift was small but significant.
Padma turned to Savitri. "attamma, how are you finding Kerala?"
"Beautiful. Though I miss my village already—too many people here, too much noise. But the wedding has been lovely, and spending time with all of you has been wonderful."
"We should visit you more," Padma said, and there was genuine regret in her voice. "We've been so focused on work that we've neglected family. Neglected you and Rishaan both."
"Better late than never," Savitri said simply.
As dessert was served, Rakesh cleared his throat, his expression serious but warm.
"Samaira, there's something Padma and I wanted to say. We owe you an apology."
"Uncle—"
"Please, let me finish." He looked uncomfortable but determined. "When you first arrived, we were cold. Judgmental. We made assumptions about you based on things that don't matter—your family's background, the fact that you're independent and successful in your own right, that you don't fit the mold of what we thought Rishaan needed. That was wrong of us."
"We were operating from outdated thinking," Padma added. "Believing that Rishaan needed someone from a certain background, with certain credentials that had nothing to do with actual character or compatibility."
"But watching you this week," Rakesh continued, "seeing how you are together, how you support each other, how happy Rishaan is—we realize we were completely wrong."
"You're good for our son," Lakshmi said simply. "You make him laugh. You challenge him. You see him for who he actually is, not who we've been trying to make him be. That's invaluable."
Samaira felt tears prick her eyes. "Thank you for saying that. It means a lot."
"We mean it," Ramesh said. "And we want you to know—you're welcome in our family. Not just as Rishaan's girlfriend, but as someone we genuinely want to know better, to include in our lives."
Rishaan's hand tightened on hers under the table, and when she glanced at him, she saw emotion in his eyes too.
"There's more," Padma said, looking at Rishaan now. "Beta, your father and I have been talking. About the business, about expectations, about the pressure we've put on you for years."
"We're going to make some changes," Rakesh said. "Hire a CEO for the textile company—someone experienced who can handle day-to-day operations. You'll stay on the board, of course, provide oversight, but you won't be responsible for managing everything anymore."
"What?" Rishaan looked stunned. "But you've always said the family business is my responsibility—"
"We've always said a lot of things that were unfair," Padma interrupted gently. "We made you feel like the family business was your burden alone. That your worth was tied to continuing our legacy exactly as we envisioned it. That was wrong."
"You have your own business," Rakesh said. "Your own passion, your own success. You should be free to focus on that. Build your own legacy, not just carry ours."
"I don't know what to say," Rishaan said, his voice rough with emotion.
"Say you'll forgive us," Padma said. "For the pressure, the expectations, the years of making you feel like you weren't enough just as you are."
"Of course I forgive you," Rishaan said. "You're my parents. I love you."
"We love you too, beta," Rakesh said. "So much. We're just sorry it took us this long to show it properly."
Savitri was crying—happy tears, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. Samaira's eyes were damp too , overwhelmed by the significance of this moment, this healing that was happening.
The lunch wound down shortly after—everyone emotionally exhausted but in the best way. As they prepared to leave, Padma pulled Samaira aside.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For being patient with us. For not giving up on Rishaan despite our initial coldness. You're a remarkable young woman, Samaira. We're lucky to have you in our son's life."
"Thank you, Aunty. That means more than you know."
Back at the resort, they said temporary goodbyes to Rakesh and Padma—they'd see them again at the evening wedding—and walked Savitri to her room.
"That was good, what happened at lunch," Savitri said at her door. "Real progress. Real growth."
"Thank you for always supporting us, Nannamma," Rishaan said, hugging her tightly.
"Always, beta. Now go, both of you. Rest before the wedding. It will be a long evening."
5:30 PM - Their Suite
Back in their room, Rishaan immediately pulled Samaira into his arms, holding her close.
"What a day," he said into her hair.
"What a week," she corrected. "Your parents apologized. Actually apologized and meant it. Talked about making real changes."
"I know. I didn't think—" His voice broke slightly. "I didn't think they'd ever see me as separate from their expectations. But they do now. Because of you."
"Not because of me. Because of them finally choosing to see what was right in front of them."
"Both things can be true."
They stood like that for a long time, just holding each other, processing everything that had happened—the waterfall, the conversations about their future, the lunch with his parents.
Finally, Samaira pulled back. "We should start getting ready. The wedding ceremony starts at 7, and you know how long it takes me to get ready for formal events."
"I know. But first—" He cupped her face gently. "Thank you for today. For the waterfall, for the conversations, for being exactly what I needed."
"Thank you for making promises you intend to keep. For planning a future with me. For being all in, even when it's scary."
"Always, bangaram. In every possible way, always."
He kissed her—soft and sweet and full of promise—and she felt the truth of his words in the tenderness of his touch.
7:00 PM - The Wedding Ceremony
The wedding ceremony was held in a beautifully decorated outdoor pavilion, traditional elements blending seamlessly with the Kerala resort's tropical aesthetic. Pranav sat on one side of the sacred fire, Anjali on the other, both dressed in stunning traditional wedding attire—him in a cream and gold sherwani, her in a red and gold bridal saree that shimmered in the evening light.
Samaira sat with Rishaan in the family section, wearing an elegant burgundy saree . Rishaan was in a traditional black kurta-pajama with subtle gold embroidery, and they looked coordinated without being obvious about it.
The ceremony itself was long but beautiful—the priest chanting Sanskrit verses, explaining each ritual's significance, the families participating at appropriate moments. The sacred fire crackled in the center, smoke rising toward the darkening sky.
When it came time for the saptapadi—the seven sacred steps around the fire where the couple made their vows—Rishaan felt Samaira's hand find his, squeezing gently.
"What are you thinking?" he whispered.
"That this will be us someday," she whispered back. "Taking those seven steps together, making those promises in front of our families."
His heart clenched. "You want a traditional wedding?"
"I want whatever wedding means we're married. Traditional, modern, simple, elaborate—doesn't matter as long as it ends with you being my husband."
He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly. "Two years, Ira. Maybe less. I promise."
"I'm holding you to that."
The ceremony concluded with the mangalsutra—Pranav tying the sacred wedding necklace around Anjali's neck, marking her as his wife. The families erupted in cheers and flower petals rained down on the newly married couple.
Samaira watched with tears in her eyes, and Rishaan pulled her closer, both of them imagining their own wedding day, their own promises, their own beginning.
8:30 PM - The Reception
The reception was a grand affair—hundreds of guests, elaborate decorations, a multi-course dinner, and enough flowers to stock a botanical garden. Pranav and Anjali sat at the head table, greeting guests, posing for endless photographs, looking exhausted but blissfully happy.
Samaira and Rishaan made their way through the reception, greeting family members, making polite conversation, navigating the social dynamics with practiced ease.
The evening flowed in a blur of activity—dinner, speeches, dancing, more photographs. At one point, the DJ played a slow romantic song, and Rishaan pulled Samaira onto the dance floor.
"We've danced a lot this week," she observed as they swayed together.
"We have. Getting good at it too."
"You're still terrible at dancing."
"But I'm enthusiastic. That counts for something."
She laughed.
As they danced, Samaira rested her head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his arms around her.
"I'm going to miss this," she said quietly. "When I leave next week. Being with you like this, having you right here."
"I'm going to miss you too. But it's only six weeks until Belgium. And then after Abu Dhabi, you're home for three months. We can do six weeks."
"We can do six weeks," she repeated, trying to convince herself.
The reception continued late into the night, but eventually, guests started leaving, energy winding down. Pranav and Anjali made their rounds, thanking everyone, saying personal goodbyes.
When they reached Rishaan and Samaira, Anjali hugged Samaira tightly.
"Thank you for being here. For making this week special."
"Thank you for welcoming me so warmly," Samaira said. "Your wedding was beautiful."
"Visit us in Bangalore," Pranav said. "Both of you. Once we're back from our honeymoon."
"We will," Rishaan promised.
11:30 PM - Their Suite
Back in their room, both of them collapsed onto the couch, exhausted.
"I can't feel my feet," Samaira groaned. "These heels are gorgeous but deadly."
"Come here." Rishaan pulled her feet into his lap and started massaging them gently, the same way he had at the sangeet. "Better?"
"Much better. You're too good to me."
"Impossible. There's no such thing as being too good to you."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Rishaan massaging her feet, Samaira with her head back against the couch, eyes closed.
"We should pack," she said eventually. "We're leaving early tomorrow."
"I know. But can we just sit here for a few more minutes? I'm not ready for tomorrow yet."
"Me neither."
But eventually, reality asserted itself, and they forced themselves up to pack. They worked together efficiently—folding clothes, organizing toiletries, making sure nothing was left behind.
"What time is our flight?" Samaira asked, checking her phone.
"10 AM. We need to leave the resort by 7:30 at the latest to make it to Kochi airport in time."
"So wake up at 6?"
"Sounds about right."
They finished packing and got ready for bed—both too tired for much conversation, just going through the motions of shower, pajamas, brushing teeth.
When they finally climbed into bed, Samaira immediately curled into Rishaan's side, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.
"Last night in Kerala," she said softly.
"For now. We'll come back. For holidays, for anniversaries, for no reason at all."
"Promise?"
"I promise. This place is special now—where we made promises at a waterfall, where we planned our future, where your parents finally saw us clearly. We'll come back to remember, to celebrate."
She kissed his chest, right over his heart. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, bangaram. Now sleep. We have an early morning."
She fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the long day. But Rishaan stayed awake for a while longer, just holding her, listening to her breathe, memorizing this moment.
Tomorrow they'd fly back to Hyderabad. She'd have six more days with him before leaving for Britain. Then Belgium where he'd see her again. Then the final race in Abu Dhabi, and she'd be home for three months.
They had a plan. They had promises. They had a future.
And that was everything.
He kissed her forehead gently and let himself drift off to sleep, holding his entire world in his arms.
Sunday Morning - 6:00 AM
Samaira's POV:
Samaira woke to Rishaan's alarm and the immediate, heavy knowledge that today meant leaving Kerala, this perfect bubble they'd created, and returning to reality.
"Morning," Rishaan's sleepy voice came from beside her.
"Morning. Ready to face the world?"
"Not even a little bit. But we don't have much choice."
They got ready quickly and efficiently—shower, pack up the last few items, do a final sweep of the room to make sure nothing was forgotten. By 6:45, they were dressed and ready, bags by the door.
There was a soft knock, and Rishaan opened it to find Savitri, already dressed and ready despite the early hour.
"Good morning, children. Ready to go?"
"As ready as we'll ever be," Samaira said, going to hug her. "Thank you for everything this week, Ammamma. For your support, your wisdom, your love."
"Thank you for making my grandson happy. For being the partner he deserves." Savitri cupped Samaira's face gently. "You take care of yourself, beta. All that traveling, all that work—don't forget to rest, to eat properly, to take care of your health."
"I will. I promise."
"And you—" Savitri turned to Rishaan, "—you take care of her when she forgets to take care of herself. Check on her, make sure she's eating and sleeping, be her anchor when the work gets overwhelming."
"Always, Nannamma."
They made their way downstairs to find Rakesh and Padma waiting in the lobby, also ready to leave. They'd all decided to fly back to Hyderabad together—one car to the airport, keeping the family group intact for a bit longer.
The drive to Kochi airport took about ninety minutes through early morning Kerala traffic. Samaira sat between Rishaan and Savitri in the back seat, Rishaan's hand holding hers, Savitri occasionally patting her knee affectionately.
In the front seat, Rakesh and Padma talked quietly about work, about plans for the week ahead, about normal life resuming after the wedding celebration.
At the airport, they checked in together, moved through security as a group, and found their gate with time to spare.
"Beta," Padma said to Samaira as they waited to board, "we meant what we said yesterday. About visiting Hyderabad next month, spending more time together. Your father and I would really like to get to know you better."
"I'd like that too, Aunty. And I know my parents would love to meet you properly—maybe we could all have dinner together when I'm back in December?"
"That would be lovely. We'll coordinate schedules."
The boarding call came, and they made their way onto their private jet. Rishaan had their seats together—him at the window, Samaira in the middle, Savitri on the aisle. His parents were across the way, close enough to chat but giving them space.
As the plane took off, Samaira watched Kerala disappear below them—the lush greenery, the backwaters, the resort that had been their home for three days, the waterfall hidden in the forest where they'd made promises and planned their future.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Rishaan asked.
"Just thinking about how much has happened in three days. How different everything feels now compared to when we arrived."
"Good different or bad different?"
"The best different. Your parents apologized and actually meant it. We made concrete plans for our future. We had real, honest conversations about timelines and goals and what we both want. We're not just hoping anymore, Shaan. We're building something real."
"We are," he agreed, squeezing her hand. "And in six days, you'll be on another plane, heading to Britain for the race."
"Don't remind me."
"Hey." He tilted her face toward him gently. "We've got six days in Hyderabad. Anvitha's wedding events, time with friends, time just us. We'll make every day count."
"Every moment," she corrected.
"Every moment," he agreed.
The flight to Hyderabad was smooth and uneventful. Savitri dozed, Rakesh and Padma worked on their laptops, and Rishaan and Samaira sat close, sometimes talking, sometimes just holding hands in comfortable silence.
When they landed in Hyderabad, the familiar heat and chaos of the city greeted them. They collected bags, navigated through the crowded airport, and emerged into the arrivals area.
"We have a car waiting," Rakesh said. "We'll drop Amma at her village first, then Samaira at her apartment?"
"Actually," Rishaan said, "I'll take Samaira. You can drop Nannamma, and I'll get a cab to collect my car from where I parked it."
"Nonsense," Rakesh said. "We'll drop you both at your apartment, Rishaan. You can collect your car, then take Samaira from there. More efficient."
They piled into the large SUV—plenty of room for everyone and all the bags. The drive into the city was quiet, everyone lost in their own thoughts, the weekend catching up with them.
They dropped Savitri at her village first. She hugged both Rishaan and Samaira tightly before getting out.
"I'll see you both soon, yes? Don't make me wait too long."
"We won't, Nannamma," Rishaan promised.
Then to Rishaan's apartment building, where they dropped him and Samaira off with their bags.
"Thank you for the ride," Samaira said to Rakesh and Padma. "And thank you for this weekend. It meant everything."
"Thank you for being part of our family," Lakshmi said warmly. "We'll see you soon. Take care, beta."
As the SUV drove away, Rishaan and Samaira stood in the parking lot, bags at their feet, the Hyderabad heat settling over them.
"Welcome home," Rishaan said.
"It's good to be back. Even though I'm leaving again in six days."
"Don't think about that yet. Come on, let's drop these bags, I'll get my car, and then we're spending the day doing absolutely nothing productive."
"That sounds perfect."
12:30 PM - Samaira's Apartment
After dropping bags at Rishaan's place and collecting his car, they made it to Samaira's apartment. The place felt exactly as she'd left it—clean, organized, waiting patiently.
But now, with Rishaan here, with the promises they'd made at the waterfall still fresh, it felt different. More like the beginning of something rather than just a temporary stop between racing seasons.
"What do you want to do?" Rishaan asked. "We have about six hours before the friends want to meet for dinner to celebrate being back."
"Six hours of peace before the chaos," Samaira said. "I want to shower, change into the most comfortable clothes I own, and lie on my couch doing absolutely nothing. Possibly with you doing nothing beside me."
"Best plan I've heard all day."
They both showered—separately, because starting something they'd have to stop seemed like torture—and changed into comfortable clothes. Then they collapsed onto Samaira's couch, Rishaan pulling her against his side, both of them too content to do anything except exist together.
"This is nice," Samaira said, her head on his chest. "Just quiet. No events, no family, no expectations."
"Agreed. Though I did love this weekend."
"Me too. But I love this more—just us, just peace."
They dozed on and off, the exhaustion of travel and the busy weekend catching up with them. And when Samaira's phone alarm went off at 5 PM—a reminder about dinner with their friends—they both groaned.
"Do we have to?" Rishaan asked.
"Yes. They'd never forgive us if we bailed. Especially since I'm leaving in less than a week."
"Fair point. Okay, getting ready. For real this time."
By 6:30, they were both presentable and heading out to meet their friends at their favorite restaurant. The group was already there—Anvitha and Ahaan at one end, Meher and Veer at the other, leaving space for Rishaan and Samaira.
"There they are!" Meher announced. "How was Kerala? Tell us everything!"
And over dinner, surrounded by their closest friends, Samaira and Rishaan shared stories from the wedding—edited for appropriate content, of course. The ceremonies, the family dynamics, the surprisingly wonderful lunch with Rishaan's parents.
But they kept the waterfall to themselves. That was theirs alone—the promises made, the future planned, the intimacy shared.
Some things were too precious to share, even with best friends.
As they walked back to Samaira's apartment later that night, Rishaan's hand in hers, she felt something settle in her chest. A certainty. A peace.
This was real. They were real. And in two years, they'd be married.
The distance would be hard. The next six weeks would test them. But they'd make it work.
Because some things—some people—were worth fighting for.
And Rishaan was worth everything.
To be Continued.....
Word Count: 20,363
Write a comment ...