On the Flight to Hyderabad
Samaira's POV:
The plane had levelled off, the seatbelt sign had just turned off, and Savitri had already dozed off beside them. Rishaan's parents were across the aisle, both absorbed in their laptops, and for the first time since boarding, Samaira and Rishaan had a moment of relative privacy.
"I've been thinking," Samaira said quietly, her hand finding his under the armrest.
"About?"
"Tuesday. I want to fly to Vijayawada in the morning, spend the day with my parents, then go with them to Anvitha's village on Wednesday evening for the wedding events."
Rishaan turned to look at her, his expression thoughtful. "Are you informing me, asking if it's a good idea, or asking permission?"
The question caught her off guard, the way he phrased it so deliberately, like each option meant something different.
"Informing you and asking if it's a good idea," she said carefully. "Not asking permission."
"Good." His expression softened, and he squeezed her hand. "You should never ask me permission for anything, Ira. Your choices are yours. I'm just glad you're telling me your plans so I can support them."
"So you think it's a good idea?"
"I think it's a wonderful idea. You haven't had proper one-on-one time with your parents since you got back from racing. They deserve that. And going to the wedding with them makes sense, you can help your mother get ready, travel together as a family."
"I'll need to pack all my wedding clothes and take them with me on Tuesday."
"We'll pack together tonight. Make sure you have everything you need." He paused. "What time is your flight?"
"7 AM. I'll need to leave by 5:30 to be safe."
"Then I'll pick you up at 5:15. Drive you to the airport."
"Shaan, you don't have to—"
"I want to. Every extra minute with you counts." He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly. "Besides, your parents don't know you're coming, right? It's a surprise?"
"Complete surprise. I'll call them from the airport after I land."
"They're going to be so happy. Your mother, especially, was sad when you couldn't visit after Kerala."
"I know. That's why I want to do this. Give them a full day, just the three of us, before the wedding chaos starts."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and then Rishaan said, "Your parents are going to love having you home. Even if it's just for a day."
"I hope so. I feel like I've been gone so much this year. Racing, Italy, always somewhere else. They never complain, but I know they miss me."
"They do. But they're also proud of you. That's obvious every time they talk about you."
Samaira leaned her head on his shoulder. "Thank you for understanding. For supporting this."
"Always, Bangaram. Your relationship with your parents is important. I would never want to come between that."
Monday Evening - Samaira's Apartment
After dinner with their friends and saying goodnight to everyone, Rishaan came up to Samaira's apartment to help her pack for the Vijayawada trip.
"Okay," Samaira said, pulling out her large suitcase. "I need outfits for mehendi, sangeet, haldi, pellikuthuru function, the actual wedding, and the reception. Plus the Satyanarayana vratam on Sunday."
"That's a lot of outfits."
"Welcome to Indian weddings. Everything requires a different level of formal wear."
They worked through her closet systematically. The emerald green lehenga for the mehendi. A beautiful pink and silver lehenga for the sangeet. A simple yellow salwar for the haldi. An elegant purple silk saree for the pellikuthuru function. Her most stunning outfit—a deep blue pattu saree was for the wedding itself. And a lighter, more comfortable saree for the reception and vratam.
"You're going to look beautiful in all of these," Rishaan said, carefully folding the delicate fabrics.
"You're biased."
"I'm honest. There's a difference."
She also packed jewellery—matching sets for each outfit, carefully wrapped in soft cloth. Shoes, makeup, hair accessories, all the small things that went into creating a complete look.
"This is like packing for a military operation," Rishaan observed.
"Indian weddings are military operations. Just with more colour and dancing."
By the time they finished, it was nearly 11 PM. The suitcase was packed, her carry-on had essentials, and everything was ready by the door.
"Set your alarm for 4:45," Rishaan said, checking his phone. "I'll be here at 5:15."
"You're really going to wake up that early just to drive me?"
"Ira, I'd wake up at 3 AM if it meant more time with you. 5:15 is nothing."
She kissed him, soft and grateful. "I don't deserve you."
"You deserve everything. Now go to bed. You need sleep."
Tuesday Morning - 5:15 AM
Rishaan's POV:
Rishaan pulled up to Samaira's apartment building at exactly 5:15 AM, the Hyderabad streets still quiet in the early morning darkness. He texted her that he was downstairs, and within minutes, she emerged with her large suitcase and carry-on, looking adorably sleepy despite being fully dressed.
"Good morning," he said, getting out to help with her bags.
"Too early for morning to be good," she mumbled, but she was smiling.
He loaded her suitcase into the trunk, and she settled into the passenger seat with her coffee—a large travel mug she'd prepared before leaving.
"Ready?" he asked as he started driving.
"As ready as I'll ever be. Though I still feel bad about surprising my parents like this. What if they had plans?"
"Then they'll cancel them. Trust me, nothing is more important to them than unexpected time with you."
The drive to the airport was peaceful—minimal traffic, the sky slowly lightening, comfortable silence between them punctuated by occasional conversation.
"I'm going to miss you," Samaira said as they got closer to the airport.
"I'll see you on Wednesday at Anvitha's village. That's less than two days."
"I know. But still."
He parked in the departure drop-off zone and got out to help with her bags. On the sidewalk, he pulled her into a tight hug.
"Have a good day with your parents. Enjoy every moment. And text me when you land."
"I will." She looked up at him. "Thank you for this. For understanding, for supporting, for driving me at an ungodly hour."
"Always." He kissed her forehead. "Now go, before you miss your flight."
He watched her disappear into the terminal, her suitcase rolling behind her, and felt that familiar ache of missing her even though she'd only been gone for seconds.
Two days, he reminded himself. Just two days until he'd see her again at the wedding.
He could handle two days.
Tuesday Morning - 8:30 AM - Vijayawada
Samaira's POV:
The flight to Vijayawada was short—barely 45 minutes—and Samaira spent most of it staring out the window, mentally rehearsing how to surprise her parents.
After collecting her bag and making her way through the small but efficient Vijayawada airport, she called her mother.
"Amma?"
"Chinni! Good morning, beta! How are you? Did you have a good time in Kerala?"
"Kerala was wonderful, Amma. Listen, are you and Nanna home right now?"
"Yes, we just finished breakfast. Your father is about to leave for the office. Why? Is everything alright?"
"Everything's perfect. Amma, don't let Nanna leave for the office yet. I'm coming over."
"Coming over? Beta, you're in Hyderabad—"
"Not anymore. I just landed in Vijayawada. I'll be at your house in twenty minutes."
There was a stunned silence, then her mother's voice rose with excitement: "You're here? In Vijayawada? Right now?"
"Right now. Surprise! I'll explain everything when I get there. Can you ask Nanna to stay home?"
"Of course! Of course! Oh, Chinni, this is wonderful! Come quickly, come safely!"
Samaira got into an auto-rickshaw, giving the driver her parents' address, and settled in for the drive through familiar streets. Vijayawada had grown since her childhood—more modern buildings, better roads, new shopping complexes—but it was still recognisably the city where she'd spent her teenage years before moving to Hyderabad for university.
Her parents lived in Green Valley Residences, a gated community of individual villas on the outskirts of the city. It was beautiful, peaceful, with well-maintained gardens and 24-hour security—exactly the kind of place Samaira had wanted for them when she'd insisted on buying them a proper home three years ago.
They'd protested, of course. "Beta, this is too much." "We don't need something so fancy." "A simple apartment is enough for us." But Samaira had been firm. After everything they'd sacrificed for her education—her mother leaving a good corporate job to focus on Samaira's studies, her father taking extra shifts to pay for the best schools, both of them going without so she could have every advantage—they deserved a beautiful home.
The auto pulled up to the security gate, and the guard recognised her immediately.
"Samaira madam! Welcome back! Your parents will be so happy!"
"Thank you, Kumar anna. How's your family?"
"Very good, madam. My daughter started engineering this year—first in our family to go to university. Your mother helped us with the admission process."
"That's wonderful! Congratulations!"
He waved her through, and the auto drove down the tree-lined street to her parents' villa—a beautiful three-bedroom home with white exterior walls, a well-maintained garden that her mother tended obsessively, and a covered parking area where her father's Audi Q5 sat gleaming in the morning sun.
They'd bought that car last year after Samaira had threatened to buy one for them if they didn't choose something themselves. "Something safe and comfortable," she'd insisted. "And with good safety ratings." They'd chosen the Q5—practical, reliable, not too flashy but nice enough to be comfortable for long drives.
Before she could even pay the auto driver, the front door flew open and her mother appeared, still in her morning cotton saree, her face radiating pure joy.
"Chinni!"
"Amma!"
Samaira barely had time to grab her bags before she was enveloped in a tight hug, breathing in her mother's familiar jasmine scent, feeling tears prick her eyes at the sheer comfort of being home.
"Let me look at you," Lakshmi said, pulling back, her hands on Samaira's shoulders. "Are you eating enough? You look thin. Have you been sleeping? You have dark circles—"
"Amma, I'm fine. I'm eating, I'm sleeping. I just missed you both so much."
Her father appeared in the doorway, already dressed for work in formal pants and a shirt, his expression soft with emotion.
"Bangaram," he said simply. "This is the best surprise."
"Hi, Nanna." She hugged him tightly, feeling his arms come around her securely. "I'm sorry to mess up your work day."
"Work can wait. My daughter is home." He pulled back to look at her. "Come inside. Your mother will make you proper breakfast, and you can tell us everything."
Inside, the house was exactly as she remembered—comfortable, lived-in, decorated with family photos and her racing trophies that her mother insisted on displaying despite Samaira's protests that they were "too much."
"Look at this," her mother said, gesturing to a new trophy in the display case. "The one from Monaco two years ago when you won the championship. I had it specially mounted. Isn't it beautiful?"
"Amma, you don't need to display all of these—"
"Of course I do! You worked so hard for them. Why shouldn't we be proud and show them off?"
Samaira smiled, letting it go. Her mother would never stop being her biggest champion, and honestly, she wouldn't have it any other way.
"Sit, sit," her mother ordered, already heading to the kitchen. "I'm making you dosas and sambar. When did you last eat a proper homemade meal?"
"Yesterday morning, actually. Rishaan's grandmother made us breakfast before we left Kerala."
"That sweet woman. I liked her very much." Lakshmi paused. "And Rishaan? How is he?"
"He's good. Really good. He dropped me at the airport this morning at 5:30 AM just to spend extra time with me before I left."
Her father, who had settled onto the couch, looked up with approval. "He woke up that early just to drive you?"
"He insisted. Even though he looked exhausted."
"That's a good sign," Vamshi said. "A man who makes sacrifices without being asked is a man worth keeping."
While her mother cooked, Samaira caught them up on everything—the Kerala wedding, Pranav and Anjali's happiness, the beautiful resort, and most importantly, the lunch where Rishaan's parents had apologised and promised to make changes.
"That's significant progress," her father said. "Real change is difficult, especially for parents set in their ways. The fact that they're willing to acknowledge their mistakes and make corrections shows integrity."
"They're trying," Samaira said. "And honestly, that's all I can ask for. They weren't cruel or malicious, just misguided. And now they're correcting course."
Her mother emerged from the kitchen with a plate piled high with dosas, sambar, and multiple chutneys.
"Eat," she commanded. "And tell us about your races. How was Canada? And the other two?"
Samaira ate while filling them in on the technical details of the three races she'd completed—the challenges, the victories, the ongoing competition with other teams. Her parents listened with interest, asking intelligent questions, genuinely engaged, even though they didn't fully understand all the engineering terminology.
"Only three more races this season," her mother said when Samaira finished. "And then you're home for three months?"
"That's the plan. December and January here in India with you both, February in Maranello for pre-season prep. Then next season starts in March."
"Three months," her father repeated, looking pleased. "That's the longest you've been home in years."
"I know. I'm already looking forward to it. Just spending time with you both, sleeping in my own bed, eating Amma's cooking every day."
"And Rishaan?" her mother asked with studied casualness. "Will you be spending time with him as well during those three months?"
"Amma," Samaira said, her cheeks warming. "Yes, obviously. We're together. Of course I'll spend time with him."
"Good. Because your father and I want to get to know him better. Have him over for dinners, include him in family things. If he's going to be family eventually—and I think we can all agree he is—then we should start treating him like family now."
"Lakshmi's right," her father said. "This week at the wedding, I'm going to make sure I spend some proper time with him. Get to know him man-to-man, not just in group settings."
"Nanna, please don't interrogate him—"
"I won't interrogate. I'll just have conversations that happen to include questions about his intentions, his plans, his long-term goals."
"That's literally the definition of interrogation."
"I prefer to call it 'fatherly interest and appropriate due diligence.'"
Lakshmi laughed. "Leave the poor boy alone, Vamshi. He's already proven himself by how he treats our daughter. What more do you need to know?"
"I need to know everything. That's my job as her father."
Samaira shook her head, smiling. This was normal, this was family, this was what she'd been missing.
After breakfast, her father glanced at his watch and sighed. "I really should go to the office. I have an important meeting at 2 PM that I can't miss—final presentation for a major client."
"Can you do it virtually?" Samaira asked.
"Not this one. It needs to be in person—a demonstration of the new software, hands-on walkthrough with the client team. But—" he looked at both of them, "—I'll come home right after. Should be done by 4:30 or 5. Then we can spend the evening together."
"Actually," Lakshmi said, studying Samaira critically, "when was the last time you got a proper haircut, beta?"
"Amma, I've been racing. There's no time for haircuts between race weekends."
"Well, you're not racing today. And you have a wedding to attend starting tomorrow. We should go to the salon this afternoon—get your hair trimmed properly, maybe a treatment, and nails done. You can't show up to Anvitha's wedding looking like you just stepped off a race track."
"I don't look that bad—"
"You look beautiful, beta. But even the beautiful can be improved with proper grooming. Besides, it'll be fun. A girls' afternoon, getting pampered together."
"That actually sounds nice," Samaira admitted. She couldn't remember the last time she'd done something purely for self-care.
"Perfect," Lakshmi said, already planning. "Samaira, you'll drive your father to the office—you need to practice Vijayawada traffic anyway. Then you and I will go to the salon. We'll be done by 4, and we can pick up your father from his office after his meeting. Then dinner somewhere nice, just the three of us."
"Sounds like an excellent plan," Vamshi agreed, finishing his coffee.
Tuesday Morning - 10:30 AM - The Office Drop
Samaira found herself behind the wheel of her father's Audi, adjusting the seat and mirrors while her father settled into the passenger seat.
"This feels strange," she said. "I haven't driven in Vijayawada traffic in years."
"You'll be fine. Just remember—Vijayawada drivers are more... creative than what you're used to in Europe."
"Creative is one word for it."
The drive to his office took about twenty minutes through late morning traffic. The building was modern and well-maintained—a mid-sized software company where he'd worked as a senior project manager for fifteen years.
"I'll text you when my meeting is wrapping up," he said as she pulled up to the entrance. "Probably around 4:15. Then you and your mother can come pick me up."
"Sounds good, Nanna. Good luck with your presentation."
"Thanks, Bangaram. Have fun at the salon with your mother."
She watched him head into the building, then carefully navigated her way back through traffic toward the salon her mother had chosen.
Tuesday Afternoon - 11:00 AM - The Salon
The salon—"Elegance Studio"—was upscale but not pretentious, tucked into a nice part of the city. Her mother was already there, having taken an auto from home, waiting in the comfortable reception area.
"There you are! Come, I've already checked us in."
The owner greeted Lakshmi warmly, clearly a regular customer.
"Lakshmi garu! And this must be your daughter! The famous Ferrari engineer!"
"Yes, this is Samaira. She needs some pampering before her friend's wedding."
"Of course, of course! Come, we'll take excellent care of you both."
Samaira was settled into a comfortable chair, and a stylist—a young woman with kind eyes and expert hands named Priyal—examined her hair with professional assessment.
"Your hair is beautiful, madam. Thick, healthy, good natural shine. But yes, the ends need trimming—quite a bit of splitting from all that travel and probably not enough deep conditioning treatments. And I can see some uneven sun damage—we should do a toner to even out the colour. Also, a deep conditioning treatment would really help restore the moisture."
"Do whatever you think is best," Samaira said, surrendering to the experience. "I trust your expertise."
"Perfect. This will take about two hours—trim, tone, deep condition, and style. And I see you're also booked for a manicure and pedicure?"
"Yes, my mother insisted."
"Your mother is wise. When was the last time you had a proper manicure?"
"Honestly? I can't remember."
"Then you definitely need this."
For the next two and a half hours, Samaira experienced what could only be described as systematic pampering. First, the hair washing—Priya's fingers massaging her scalp with some kind of pre-treatment that smelled like coconut and mint. Then the trim, carefully cutting away several inches of damaged ends.
"You had about three inches of dead hair," Priya explained. "Your hair will look so much healthier now."
Next came the toner—a process Samaira didn't fully understand but which apparently would "even out the colour and add shine." She sat with the purple-tinted mixture in her hair for twenty minutes, reading a magazine, while her mother underwent similar treatments at the station beside her.
"This is nice," Samaira said to her mother. "Just relaxing together like this."
"When was the last time we did something like this? Just the two of us?"
"Years," Samaira admitted. "Probably before I left for Italy."
"Then we should do it more often. When you're home for those three months, we'll make this a regular thing. Mother-daughter salon days."
"I'd like that."
After the toner came the deep conditioning treatment—a thick, luxurious mask that smelled like jasmine and was supposed to "restore moisture and shine." While that was set for fifteen minutes, they were moved to the manicure stations.
"What colour would you like?" the manicurist asked, showing Samaira a display of what must have been a hundred different polishes.
"Something classic and subtle, nude maybe? That will work with all my wedding outfits."
"Excellent choice. We have several —this one is more burgundy mixed, this one is pink mix, this one has a slight orange undertone..."
Samaira chose a deep, classic nude while her mother selected a soft rose pink. As they sat with their feet in warm, bubbling water—some kind of spa treatment that felt amazing—the manicurist worked on their hands with practised efficiency.
"Your cuticles are very damaged," the manicurist observed. "From all the travel? Aeroplane air is very dry."
"Probably. I'm travelling constantly for work."
"We'll fix that. I'll use extra cuticle oil and a strengthening treatment for your nails."
Meanwhile, Priya had finished rinsing out the conditioning treatment and was now blow-drying Samaira's hair. The transformation was remarkable—what had been slightly frizzy and uneven now fell in smooth, shining layers that framed her face perfectly.
"You have such beautiful hair," Priya said, using a round brush to add gentle waves. "With proper care, it could be absolutely stunning. I'm going to give you a list of products—nothing expensive, just good quality shampoo, conditioner, and a weekly mask. Promise me you'll use them?"
"I promise," Samaira said, watching in the mirror as her hair was transformed.
By the time they finished—hair trimmed, conditioned, and styled; nails buffed, shaped, and polished a glossy red; feet smooth and pretty with matching polish—both Samaira and her mother looked polished and refreshed.
"You look beautiful, beta," Lakshmi said as they examined themselves in the full-length mirror.
"So do you, Amma."
"Both my girls," the salon owner said, taking a photo of them together. "So beautiful! This goes on our Instagram!"
They emerged from the salon at 4:00 PM, and Samaira checked her phone to find a text from her father.
Nanna: Meeting went perfectly! The client loved the presentation. I'm wrapping up now—should be ready to leave by 4:30. Come get me?
Samaira: On our way. Be there in 20 minutes.
"Come on, Amma," Samaira said. "Let's go rescue Nanna from work."
Tuesday Afternoon - 4:30 PM - The Office Pickup
Samaira drove them back to her father's office, navigating the afternoon traffic with increasing confidence. She pulled into the visitor parking and checked her phone again.
Nanna: Just need 10-15 more minutes. Come up to the office? Everyone would love to see you both.
"Nanna wants us to come up," Samaira told her mother. "Says everyone wants to see us."
"Of course they do. You're the famous daughter, and I'm the retired HR manager they all miss terribly."
They made their way to the fourth floor. The moment the elevator doors opened, they were in familiar territory—the office Lakshmi had worked at for nearly fifteen years before retiring to focus on Samaira's education.
The reception desk was manned by a young woman who looked up with a professional smile that shifted to recognition.
"Lakshmi madam! What a wonderful surprise!"
"Hello, sriya. Is my husband finishing up his meeting?"
"Yes, madam. He said you'd be coming. Please, sit in the lobby. I'll let him know you're here."
The lobby was comfortable—modern furniture, large windows with views of the city, and a coffee station with good quality refreshments. They settled into the plush chairs, and within seconds, people started emerging from offices and cubicles.
"Lakshmi madam! Is that really you?"
"And Samaira! Look how grown up you are!"
The security guard—an older man named Venkat who'd been working there since before Samaira was born—came over with a huge smile.
"Lakshmi madam! Little Samaira—not so little anymore! Look at you, all successful and famous!"
"Hello, Venkat Anna," Lakshmi greeted him warmly. "How's your family?"
"Very well, madam. We still miss you here. The office hasn't been the same since you retired. Nobody remembers everyone's birthdays anymore, and the Christmas party last year was a disaster without your organisation."
"I'm sure you're all managing fine without me."
"We're managing, but it's not the same."
More people stopped by as they waited—senior managers who remembered when Samaira was a teenager visiting after school, younger employees who knew her by reputation as "Vamshi sir's brilliant daughter who works for Ferrari."
A young woman, maybe twenty-five, approached hesitantly. "Ma'am, are you Samaira Reddy? The principal engineer?"
"Yes, that's me."
"Oh my god," the woman said, her eyes wide. "You're such an inspiration! I'm a software engineer here—just joined eight months ago—but I've read every interview you've ever given. What you've accomplished in motorsport engineering is incredible."
"Thank you so much," Samaira said, genuinely touched. "What's your name?"
"Divya. Divya Patel."
"It's lovely to meet you, Divya. How are you finding the work here?"
"It's good! Challenging, but good. Though sometimes I wonder if I'm in the right field, you know? Like, should I have specialised in something else, or..."
"That's normal," Samaira assured her. "I felt like that my entire first year at Ferrari. Constantly questioning if I was good enough, if I'd made the right choices. But you push through, you learn, and eventually you find your rhythm."
They chatted for a few minutes about engineering careers, work-life balance, and the challenges women face in technical fields. More people gathered around—everyone curious to meet the famous daughter, to catch up with Lakshmi, to hear stories about Formula 1 racing.
Finally, Vamshi emerged from the conference room, now in more casual clothes—he'd clearly changed after his presentation. He was accompanied by two other senior managers who immediately greeted Lakshmi like an old friend.
"Lakshmi! So good to see you! Vamshi told us Samaira was visiting!"
"How long are you in town, Samaira?"
"Just today," Samaira explained. "Tomorrow we're heading to my friend's wedding in her village."
"Anvitha's getting married?" one of the managers said—clearly someone who'd known Samaira growing up. "I remember when you two were little troublemakers coming to the office after school!"
Everyone laughed, and Samaira felt a wave of warmth. This was community, this was history, this was the foundation her parents had built before she'd ever achieved anything.
"Alright, alright," Vamshi said good-naturedly. "Let me collect my family before you all keep them here all evening. We have dinner plans."
After more hugs and promises to visit again soon, they finally made it back to the car.
"Everyone adores you both," Samaira observed as she started the car. "The way they lit up when they saw you, Amma—that was special."
"I worked there for fifteen years," Lakshmi said simply. "I remembered everyone's birthdays, organised all the parties, and helped with personal problems. That's what building community looks like—showing up, caring about people, being present."
"You taught me that," Samaira said. "How to be present for people, how to care about them beyond just surface level."
"And you do that beautifully, beta. The way you talked to that young engineer, giving her time and advice even though you'd just met her—that's the kind of person you are."
Tuesday Evening - 5:30 PM - Dinner at Nawab's Dastarkhwan
"So," Vamshi said as Samaira navigated through evening traffic, "where are we going for dinner?"
"That new place your mother and I found last month," Lakshmi said. "Nawab's Dastarkhwan. Remember we talked about taking Samaira there?"
"The biryani place! Yes! Beta, you're going to love this. Best biryani in Vijayawada—I'll stand by that statement."
The restaurant was beautiful—traditional Mughal-inspired decor with comfortable seating, soft lighting, and the most incredible smell of spices and cooking meat wafting from the kitchen.
"We discovered this place about six weeks ago," her mother explained as they were seated at a corner table with good privacy. "Your father and I were looking for somewhere new to try for our anniversary, and one of his colleagues recommended it."
"Best recommendation I've ever gotten," Vamshi added. "The biryani here is exceptional. Authentic Hyderabadi style, proper dum cooking, the meat so tender it falls off the bone."
They ordered mutton biryani for her father, chicken biryani for her mother, and Samaira chose the prawn biryani out of curiosity. Along with it came raita, mirchi ka salan, a fresh salad, and appetisers of seekh kebabs and tandoori chicken.
When the biryani arrived—served in traditional copper vessels sealed with dough, the server breaking the seal at the table so the aroma rose with the steam—Samaira understood immediately why her parents loved this place.
"Oh my god," she said after her first bite, savouring the perfectly cooked prawns, the fragrant rice, the subtle blend of spices. "This is incredible. Nanna, you weren't exaggerating—this might actually be the best biryani I've ever had."
"Told you," he said, looking immensely pleased with himself. "Even better than some places in Hyderabad, and you know how serious Hyderabadis are about their biryani."
They ate slowly, savouring every bite, talking about everything and nothing. Her father shared stories about his successful presentation—how the client had been sceptical at first but was won over by the demo. Her mother talked about her charity work, the literacy program she'd been volunteering with, and the women's cooperative she was helping organise.
Samaira shared more details about her races, about the technical innovations Ferrari was implementing, and about her excitement for the three-month break after this season.
"So after next season, you'll transition to consulting?" her father confirmed, spearing a piece of tandoori chicken.
"That's the plan. Still working with Ferrari, but remotely mostly. Travelling for specific races I choose rather than being required to attend all of them. More control over my schedule, more ability to actually have a life outside racing."
"And where will you live during that transition?" her mother asked, her tone casual but her eyes sharp with interest.
"That's still being decided. Rishaan and I have talked about it—probably splitting time between Hyderabad and Maranello at first, then settling more permanently in Hyderabad once we're married."
"Which will be when?" her father asked, and Samaira recognised the deliberately casual tone that meant he was intensely interested in the answer.
"Nanna—"
"I'm just asking. As your father, I'm allowed to ask about these things."
"Within two years," Samaira admitted, deciding honesty was better than evasion. "That's our timeline. Maybe sooner if everything falls into place earlier, but definitely within two years."
Her parents exchanged one of those married-couple wordless communications that spoke volumes.
"Good," her mother said simply. "We like him. We approve. And we're happy you're building a future together."
"Just remember," her father added, his tone serious but his eyes warm, "you'll still be your own person. You'll still have your career, your goals, your identity. But you'll have a partner who supports all of that. That's what we want for you, Bangaram—someone who enhances your life without trying to control or limit it."
"That's exactly what Rishaan is," Samaira said softly. "He supports my career even though it means distance and complicated logistics. He celebrates my achievements without feeling threatened by them. He's building his own life while making space for me in it."
"Then you've chosen well," her mother said. "And we're proud of both of you—for being mature enough to build something real and lasting."
After dinner, as they headed to the car, her father surprised her by handing her the keys again.
"You drive. Your mother and I want to sit in the back and pretend we're being chauffeured by our successful daughter."
"Nanna, that's ridiculous—"
"Humour us. How often do we get to feel fancy?"
Samaira laughed and took the keys. Her parents settled into the back seat together, and she caught them in the rearview mirror—her father's arm around her mother's shoulders, both of them looking content and comfortable with each other after thirty-three years of marriage.
This is what I want, she thought, pulling out of the parking lot. What Rishaan and I are building toward. This comfort, this partnership, this ease after decades together.
"One more stop," her father announced as she drove. "Before we go home."
"Where?"
"You'll see. Turn left at the next signal."
Following his directions, she found herself pulling up to a small, cheerful ice cream parlour called "Scoops and Smiles"—a place that looked familiar in a deeply nostalgic way.
"Is this—?"
"The same place we used to come when you were little," her mother confirmed. "Every Saturday afternoon, every special occasion, every random day when we just wanted ice cream."
"It's still here? After all these years?"
"Some good things don't change," her father said. "Come on, let's go see if Sharma uncle still remembers us."
Inside, the parlour was exactly as Samaira remembered—bright colours, mismatched vintage chairs, the big board with handwritten flavour names, and behind the counter, an elderly man with a kind face who looked up when they entered.
His face split into a huge smile. "Vamshi! Lakshmi! And little Samaira—not so little anymore!"
"Hello, Sharma uncle," Samaira greeted him warmly, feeling like she'd stepped back in time. "You're still making the best ice cream in Vijayawada?"
"Of course! Same recipes my father taught me, same quality, same love in every scoop." He beamed at her. "I heard you're working for Ferrari now! Engineering! Your parents were so proud when they told me."
"We tell everyone," Lakshmi admitted, not even slightly embarrassed. "She's our only child. We're allowed to brag."
"Absolutely allowed! Now, what can I get for my favourite family?"
They ordered their childhood favourites—chocolate chip for Samaira, butterscotch for her mother, and mango for her father. Sharma uncle scooped generous portions, added extra toppings without being asked, and refused to let them pay.
"No, no, this is on me. For old times' sake. For all the years you've been away, Samaira. Welcome home."
They settled at their old corner table, the one by the window where they'd sat countless times before.
"Remember when you were eight?" her father said, savouring his mango ice cream. "You came here after winning that science fair with your solar system project. You were so excited you could barely sit still."
"I remember. I'd practised my presentation for weeks. Amma helped me build the model, and you helped me write all the explanation cards."
"You were so nervous that morning," her mother added. "Convinced the judges wouldn't understand your explanations because you were 'just a kid.' But you were brilliant. You've always been brilliant."
"I had help. I had both of you supporting me, believing in me, making sure I had every opportunity to succeed."
"That's what parents do," her father said simply. "We give our children the foundation, the support, the encouragement. But the achievement is theirs. Everything you've accomplished, beta—that's you. Your intelligence, your dedication, your refusal to give up even when things were hard. We're proud to be your parents, but we're not responsible for your success. That's all you."
Samaira felt tears prick her eyes. "I love you both so much."
"We love you too, Bangaram. More than you'll ever know."
They sat there for almost an hour, eating ice cream and talking, sharing stories from the past and dreams for the future. When they finally headed back to the car, it was almost 7:30 PM, the sky darkening, Vijayawada's evening lights creating a different kind of beauty.
Tuesday Night - 9:00 PM - Home
Back at the villa, they settled in the living room for a while, her mother insisting on making them all chai even though they'd just had ice cream.
"Chai is separate from ice cream," she declared. "Everyone knows this."
They watched some television together—a Telugu serial her mother followed religiously, while her father pretended to judge the plot holes but was clearly invested in the story.
"The sister-in-law is definitely the villain," he declared during a commercial break. "It's so obvious."
"You said that last week, and you were wrong," Lakshmi countered. "It was the cousin."
"This week is different. Look at how she's looking at the jewellery. That's villain behaviour."
"That's normal behaviour! Everyone looks at jewellery like that!"
Samaira listened to them bicker affectionately, feeling content and peaceful. This was home. This was family. This was what she'd been missing.
Finally, around 9:30, she retreated to her childhood bedroom—still preserved exactly as she'd left it, with her old books, certificates, and photos of her with Anvitha and Meher from high school.
She changed into comfortable pyjamas, settled on her bed, and video-called Rishaan.
He answered on the second ring, his face appearing on screen, looking tired but happy.
"Hi," he said. "I was hoping you'd call. How was your day?"
"Perfect. Absolutely perfect." She proceeded to tell him everything—the surprise arrival, breakfast with her parents, dropping her father off at work, the salon experience, picking him up from the office where everyone wanted to meet her, the incredible dinner, and the nostalgic ice cream parlour visit. "It was exactly what I needed. Just simple family time with no agenda except being together."
"I'm so glad, Bangaram. Your parents deserved that time with you, and you deserved the break from racing stress."
"Look—" she angled the camera to show her hair, now shining and perfectly styled even after a full day, "—professional haircut and deep conditioning treatment. And—" she held up her hands, displaying her glossy red nails, "—proper manicure. I'm all polished for the wedding."
"You look beautiful. Though you looked beautiful before, too."
"You're biased."
"I'm honest. There's a difference." He shifted, and she could see he was in bed, propped up against pillows, wearing a simple t-shirt. "Your hair does look really good, though. You should get it done professionally more often."
"I will, once I'm home for three months. Amma and I are going to make it a regular mother-daughter thing."
"That's nice. Those traditions matter." He smiled. "So what's the plan for tomorrow?"
"We're leaving after lunch—probably 2 or 3 PM. It's about three hours to Anvitha's village from here, so we should arrive around 5 or 6 PM. Same time as you, probably."
"Speaking of which, I should tell you—it's just me coming tomorrow. My parents and Nannamma will come Saturday morning for the wedding ceremony and reception, then Sunday for the vratam."
"So the mehendi and sangeet are just for you? Without family supervision?"
"Exactly," he said, and there was something mischievous in his expression. "Just me, you, and our friends. No parents watching our every move, no relatives making comments. Should be fun."
"Should be," she agreed, feeling warmth spread through her chest at the thought of two days with him before family arrived.
They talked for another hour—about nothing important, just enjoying the connection, the visual intimacy of seeing each other's faces even across the distance.
"I should let you sleep," Rishaan finally said, though he looked reluctant. "You have a long drive tomorrow, and I'm sure you're exhausted from your full day."
"I am tired," she admitted. "But I don't want to hang up."
"Me neither. But we need rest. And we'll see each other tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," she agreed, smiling at him through the screen. "I can't wait."
"Me neither, bangaram. Sleep well. Dream of me."
"Always do. Goodnight, Shaan. I love you."
"I love you too, Ira. So much. Goodnight."
After the call ended, Samaira lay in her childhood bed, looking at the ceiling, feeling overwhelmingly content. She had her parents' unconditional love and support. She had Rishaan, planning a future with her. She had her career success and friends who were like family.
Everything she'd ever wanted, she was building. Slowly, steadily, with intention and care.
And tomorrow, she'd get to celebrate her best friend's wedding, surrounded by all the people she loved most.
Life was good.
Life was really, really good.
Wednesday Morning - 6:30 AM
Samaira's POV:
Samaira woke to the sound of birds chirping outside her window and the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, she was disoriented—this wasn't her apartment in Hyderabad, it wasn't a hotel room near a racing circuit, wasn't anywhere she usually woke up.
Then she remembered. Home. Her parents' house in Vijayawada. Her childhood bedroom.
She stretched lazily, feeling more rested than she had in weeks, and checked her phone. 6:30 AM. Early, but not unreasonably so.
There was a text from Rishaan sent an hour ago.
Shaan: Good morning, Bangaram. Hope you slept well. I'm already up and packing for the village. Can't wait to see you tonight. ❤️
She smiled and typed back quickly.
Ira: Just woke up. Slept like a baby in my childhood bed. See you tonight. Love you. ❤️
She got out of bed and padded to the bathroom, splashing water on her face and brushing her teeth. Through the window, she could see the backyard—and her parents, sitting together on the small patio, each holding a cup of what looked like green tea, talking quietly.
The sight made her smile. This was their morning routine, one they'd developed after her father's doctor had recommended green tea for heart health three years ago. Her mother had joined him in solidarity, and now it was their quiet time together before the day truly began.
Samaira quickly combed her hair, pulling it into a loose ponytail, and made her way downstairs and out to the backyard.
"Good morning," she said softly, not wanting to startle them.
Both her parents looked up, their faces lighting up.
"Chinni! You're awake!" her mother said. "Come, sit with us."
"Good morning, Bangaram," her father added, gesturing to the empty chair between them. "Did you sleep well?"
"Like I was a teenager again," Samaira said, settling into the chair. "That bed is still the most comfortable thing I've ever slept in."
"That's because it's full of good memories," her mother said wisely. "Beds that hold happy memories always feel more comfortable."
They sat in peaceful silence for a moment, the morning air cool and fresh, the garden her mother tended so carefully full of flowering plants and the small vegetable patch her father had insisted on planting.
"We're going for our morning walk in a few minutes," Lakshmi said, sipping her green tea. "Want to join us?"
"I'd love to. Though I should probably have something to drink first—can't walk on a completely empty stomach."
"What would you like? Green tea? Regular tea? Juice?"
"Just plain water is fine, Amma. I'll grab a glass and be ready."
"Perfect. We'll wait for you."
Samaira went back inside, filled a large glass with water from the kitchen, and drank it down. Then she quickly went to her room to grab her phone and earphones—just in case—and checked her appearance in the mirror. Comfortable cotton shorts, a simple t-shirt, hair in a ponytail, no makeup. Perfect for a morning walk.
When she returned to the backyard, her parents were already standing, ready to go. Her father had changed into proper walking shoes, and her mother had a small cloth bag slung over her shoulder—probably for collecting the newspaper and milk they usually picked up from the community supermarket after their walk.
"Ready?" Vamshi asked.
"Ready."
7:00 AM - The Walking Track
Green Valley Residences had a dedicated walking track—a beautiful, tree-lined path that circled the entire community, approximately two kilometres in length. In the mornings, it was popular with residents, especially the older generation, who valued their daily exercise.
As they stepped onto the track, Samaira immediately noticed the familiar rhythm her parents fell into—a comfortable, steady pace that was brisk enough for exercise but not so fast that conversation was impossible.
"We do two rounds every morning," her father explained. "Sometimes three if we're feeling particularly energetic."
"Which is rare," her mother added with a laugh. "Two rounds are plenty."
They'd barely completed a hundred meters when they encountered the first group of morning walkers—an elderly couple who immediately recognised Vamshi and Lakshmi.
"Vamshi! Lakshmi! Good morning!"
"Good morning, Sharma ji, Meena ji!"
The couple's attention immediately shifted to Samaira, their eyes widening with recognition.
"Is this your daughter? Samaira?"
"Yes," Lakshmi said proudly. "She's visiting for a day before heading to her friend's wedding."
"We heard she works for Ferrari! Formula 1 racing!" Meena aunty said, clearly impressed. "That's so wonderful! You must be so proud!"
"We are," Vamshi confirmed. "Very proud."
They chatted for a few minutes—the typical questions about her work, her travels, how long she'd be in India—before moving on.
This pattern repeated every few minutes. Another uncle and aunt. A group of younger residents out for a jog who recognised her from her parents' descriptions. A family walking together who stopped to greet them.
"Everyone knows me here," Samaira observed after the fifth such encounter. "Or at least knows about me."
"Your father talks about you to anyone who'll listen," her mother said with amused affection. "And I'm not much better. We're shameless when it comes to bragging about our daughter."
"I don't mind," Samaira said, and she meant it. After years of being in a male-dominated field where she'd had to prove herself constantly, being in a place where people were proud of her simply because she was her parents' daughter felt nice.
They completed the first round and started on the second. By now, Samaira had fallen into the rhythm of it—the steady pace, the cool morning air, the pleasant burn in her muscles from actual movement that wasn't rushing through airports or sitting in meetings.
"This is nice," she said. "I should do this more often when I'm home."
"You should," her father agreed. "When you're here for those three months after the season, you should join us every morning. Good for your health, good for family time."
"I will. I promise."
As they completed the second round and headed toward the community supermarket, Samaira felt energised rather than tired. There was something about starting the day with gentle exercise and family time that set a positive tone for everything else.
7:45 AM - The Community Supermarket
The supermarket was small but well-stocked—one of those community amenities that residents paid for through their association fees. It carried daily essentials, fresh produce, newspapers, milk, and various other items that people might need without wanting to drive into the city.
"Your father and I come here every morning," Lakshmi explained as they entered. "Get the newspaper, fresh milk, sometimes vegetables if they have good ones."
The store was quiet at this hour—just a few other residents making their morning purchases. Her mother immediately headed toward the newspaper section on the left side of the store, while her father veered right toward the refrigerated section where the milk was kept.
Samaira found herself torn between following one parent or the other, but then her eyes caught on something else entirely—the small confectionery section straight ahead.
And there, on the second shelf, in a familiar red wrapper, were the mini dark chocolate bars she used to eat obsessively as a teenager. She'd thought they'd stopped making them years ago, but apparently, they were still around.
Without really thinking about it—acting on pure nostalgic impulse—Samaira grabbed a small pack and quietly slipped it into her pocket. She was twenty-eight years old, successful and independent, but apparently some teenage habits died hard.
"Chinni!" her mother's voice called from the newspaper section. "Come here!"
Samaira made her way over, trying to look innocent despite the chocolate contraband in her pocket.
Her mother was standing in front of the magazine rack, holding up a glossy publication with a familiar face on the cover.
Rishaan.
It was Forbes India—the "Top Entrepreneurs Under 35" issue. Rishaan was on the cover, photographed in a sharp suit, looking every inch the successful businessman.
"Is this your Rishaan?" her mother asked, though clearly she already knew the answer.
"That's him," Samaira confirmed, moving closer to look. "But this is a reprint of last year's issue—see the date? This was published in August 2025, before we got together. He was featured for his tech consultancy success."
"He's very handsome in this photo," Lakshmi observed. "Very professional."
"He cleans up well," Samaira agreed, unable to suppress a smile.
"What's this?" her mother said, pulling out another magazine from the rack—this one a motorsport publication. "Oh! Samaira! You're on the cover!"
Samaira looked and felt her cheeks warm. It was the latest issue of Motorsport Engineering International, and yes, that was definitely her on the cover—photographed at the Monaco Grand Prix earlier this year, wearing her Ferrari team shirt, looking focused and professional with the race car visible in the background.
The headline read: "Breaking Barriers: How Samaira Reddy Is Revolutionising F1 Engineering"
"When did this come out?" her mother asked, already flipping through to find the article.
"Last month. They did a big feature on the technical innovations we implemented this season. I forgot it was being distributed in India, too."
Her father appeared then, holding two bottles of fresh milk. "What are you two looking at?"
"Our daughter is on the cover of a magazine," Lakshmi said proudly, showing him. "And look—Rishaan is on this one."
Vamshi examined both magazines with interest. "We should get both of these. Frame them, maybe."
"Nanna, you don't need to frame magazine covers—"
"Yes, we do. These are achievements worth celebrating." He was already adding both magazines to his basket. "Your mother will find the perfect frames."
They made their way to the billing counter, where a young woman—maybe early twenties—was managing the register. She greeted Samaira's parents warmly, clearly recognising them as regular customers.
"Good morning, Vamshi sir, Lakshmi madam. The usual?"
"Yes, and these magazines today," Vamshi said, placing everything on the counter.
The cashier began scanning items, glancing at the motorsport magazine as she did. Her eyes widened slightly as she looked at the cover, then at Samaira standing beside Vamshi, then back at the cover.
"Wait—this is you?" she said, pointing at the magazine. "You're Samaira Reddy? The Ferrari engineer?"
"That's me," Samaira confirmed, smiling.
"Oh my god! I can't believe you're here! In our community! I mean, I knew Vamshi sir and Lakshmi madam's daughter was successful, but I didn't realise you were this successful!" The cashier was practically bouncing with excitement. "Can I—would it be okay if I took a photo? For my Instagram?"
"Of course," Samaira said graciously.
The cashier quickly came around the counter, and Samaira posed for a selfie with her, both of them smiling.
"Thank you so much! This is so cool! Wait till I tell my friends I met you!"
As the cashier returned to the register to finish billing, Samaira remembered the contraband in her pocket. She pulled out the pack of mini dark chocolates and sheepishly placed them on the counter.
"Can you add these too, please?"
Both her parents turned to look at her, eyebrows raised in perfect synchronisation.
Samaira grinned sheepishly, showing all her teeth in an exaggerated innocent expression. "I used to eat these all the time as a teenager. I got nostalgic."
Her parents looked at each other, then back at her, then both started smiling—those parental smiles that were equal parts amusement and affection.
"Some things never change," her mother said, shaking her head fondly.
The cashier finished scanning everything and announced the total. Samaira immediately reached for her wallet, pulling out her card, but her father was faster.
He gently but firmly pushed her hand away and handed his own card to the cashier.
"Nanna, I can pay—"
"Shh," he said, reaching over to playfully twist her ear—gently, the same way he'd done when she was little and being silly. "Your father can still pay for his newspaper, his milk, and his daughter's chocolate contraband. What kind of parent would I be if I made my child pay for chocolates in my presence?"
"But Nanna—"
"No arguments. I'm still your father, and you're still my daughter, and I'm still capable of buying chocolates for my daughter when she's home."
The cashier was watching this interaction with barely suppressed amusement, clearly charmed by the family dynamic.
Samaira made an exaggerated sorry face, her lips forming a pout, which made her father laugh outright.
"That face doesn't work on me anymore. You're twenty-eight, not eight."
"It worked a little bit," Lakshmi observed. "You laughed."
"Because it's ridiculous. She's a principal engineer who makes more money than I ever did, and she's making puppy eyes over chocolate purchases."
"Some habits die hard," Samaira said, grinning.
They collected their items, said goodbye to the still-starstruck cashier, and headed out of the supermarket. As they walked back to the villa, all three of them were smiling.
"You know," her father said conversationally, "when you were thirteen, you used to sneak those same chocolates out of the pantry thinking we didn't notice."
"You noticed?"
"Of course, we noticed. Your mother bought them specifically for you, but put them in the regular pantry so you'd feel like you were getting away with something. Teenage rebellion needs to be managed carefully."
Samaira looked at her mother, who was smiling serenely.
"You let me think I was sneaking chocolates for five years?"
"You were so proud of yourself for being clever," Lakshmi said. "We didn't want to ruin it for you. Besides, you were a good kid. If sneaking chocolates was your worst teenage rebellion, we were getting off easy."
"I can't believe you played me like that."
"Parenthood is ninety per cent psychology and ten per cent luck," her father said sagely. "We just got the psychology right."
Back at the villa, they settled into their morning routine—her father disappeared to shower and get ready for the day, her mother went to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast, and Samaira found herself sitting at the dining table, eating one of her contraband chocolates and reading the motorsport magazine article about herself.
It was a good article—technically accurate, respectfully written, highlighting her achievements without making her gender the central focus. Just treating her as an engineer who happened to be doing excellent work.
"You look happy," her mother observed, bringing over a cup of fresh coffee.
"I am happy. This has been such a perfect visit. Just simple family time, no stress, no complications."
"That's what home should be," Lakshmi said, sitting down beside her. "A place where you can be completely yourself, where you're loved unconditionally, where even chocolate theft is treated with affection rather than judgment."
"I wasn't stealing—"
"You put them in your pocket instead of the basket. That's stealing, beta. Adorable stealing, but stealing nonetheless."
Samaira laughed. "Fine. I committed chocolate theft. Lock me up."
"I'll let you off with a warning this time," her mother said with mock seriousness. "But if I catch you doing it again, there will be consequences."
"What consequences?"
"I'll tell Rishaan about your teenage chocolate heists. See how he reacts to dating a confectionery criminal."
"You wouldn't!"
"Try me."
They were both laughing when Vamshi emerged, freshly showered and dressed casually.
"What's so funny?"
"Your wife is threatening to reveal my dark chocolate past to Rishaan."
"That's blackmail, not a threat," he corrected. "And completely justified. Now, what's for breakfast? I'm starving after that walk."
8:45 AM - Breakfast
Lakshmi had prepared a proper South Indian breakfast—idlis, vadas, sambar, three different types of chutney, and strong filter coffee. They sat together at the dining table, eating slowly, savouring the meal and each other's company.
"What time are you planning to leave for the wedding?" Vamshi asked.
"Around 2 PM?" Samaira said. "That gives us a comfortable drive, arriving at the village by 5 or 5:30. The mehendi doesn't start until Thursday morning anyway—tonight is just arrival and settling in."
"Perfect. That gives us time for a proper lunch before you go." Lakshmi paused. "I'm making biryani. Your favourite."
"Amma, you don't have to go to all that trouble—"
"It's not trouble. It's what mothers do—feed their daughters properly before sending them off into the world."
"I'm going to a wedding, not a war zone."
"Same level of chaos, different costumes," her father said wisely. "Indian weddings are intense. You need proper fuel."
After breakfast, Samaira helped her mother clean up the kitchen while her father retreated to his home office to handle some work calls. The domesticity of it was soothing—just washing dishes together, talking about nothing important, being present with each other.
"Beta," her mother said as they worked, "I want you to know something."
"What, Amma?"
"Your father and I—we're so proud of you. Not just for your career achievements, though those are wonderful. But for the person you've become. Kind, grounded, still willing to spend time with your boring parents even when you could be doing a thousand more exciting things."
"You're not boring," Samaira protested. "And there's nowhere I'd rather be than here with you both."
"That's what makes us proud. That, despite all your success, all your achievements, you still value family. Still come home. Still, let us be part of your life."
Samaira felt tears prick her eyes. "You gave me everything, Amma. Every opportunity, every advantage, every bit of support I needed to succeed. The least I can do is come home and have breakfast with you."
"It's not about debt or obligation, beta. It's about love. And we can see that you have love for us, for your friends, for Rishaan. That's what matters most in life. Not the trophies or the magazine covers or the fancy job. The love you build, the relationships you nurture, the family you create."
"I know, Amma. And I'm trying to build all of that—the career and the relationships. It's not easy, but it's worth it."
"Of course it's worth it. Anything worth having is worth working for."
They finished cleaning up, and Samaira retreated to her room to pack up her things, organise her suitcase, and make sure she had everything she'd need for the next five days of wedding celebrations.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Rishaan.
Shaan: I'm packing now. Trying to figure out which kurta to wear for the mehendi tomorrow. Also, I miss you. Is it weird that I miss you and I'm going to see you in like 8 hours?
Ira: Not weird at all. I miss you too. Wear the cream-colored kurta with the subtle gold embroidery—it'll look good with my emerald green lehenga. And yes, 8 hours feels impossibly long right now.
Shaan: Cream with gold it is. I'll coordinate perfectly with you. See you tonight, Bangaram. I love you.
Ira: Love you too, Shaan. Drive safely.
Samaira looked around her childhood bedroom one more time—at the books, the certificates, the photos, all the memories contained in this small space. Then she picked up her suitcase and headed downstairs.
It was time to get ready for the next phase of this trip—the wedding, the celebrations, and several days with Rishaan surrounded by their closest friends.
But this morning—this perfect, simple morning with her parents—this she would carry with her always.
Some moments were worth more than any trophy or achievement.
And this had been one of them.
Wednesday Afternoon - 1:45 PM - After Lunch
Samaira's POV:
Lunch had been exactly what her mother promised—homemade biryani, rich and flavorful, with all of Samaira's favourite accompaniments. They'd eaten slowly, savouring both the food and the conversation, nobody wanting to rush this last meal together before the wedding chaos began.
Now, standing in the driveway with their luggage loaded into the Audi Q5, Samaira felt a mixture of excitement about seeing Rishaan and her friends, and reluctance to leave this peaceful bubble with her parents.
Her mother was already settled in the back seat, comfortable with her small travel pillow and a book for the journey. But Samaira and her father stood facing each other beside the driver's door, both wearing sunglasses, both with their hands on their hips in identical poses of stubborn determination.
"I'm driving," Samaira said firmly.
"I'm driving," Vamshi countered with equal firmness. "It's my car."
"Exactly. Your car, which I bought for you. Therefore, I have driving privileges."
"That logic makes no sense. Following that reasoning, since I paid for your education, I should be allowed to take your engineering exams."
"That's completely different—"
"It's exactly the same principle!"
From the back seat, Lakshmi rolled down her window and looked at them with the patient exasperation of someone who'd witnessed this exact argument many times before.
"Both of you, stop fighting over the driving seat and decide quickly. We need to leave if we want to reach the village by evening."
"She started it," Vamshi said, pointing at Samaira.
"I started it? You're the one who assumed you'd automatically drive!"
"I always drive on long journeys!"
"Not when your daughter, who drives on international circuits, is available!"
"Driving on a race track is completely different from driving on Indian highways!"
"I drove yesterday from here to your office, from your office to the salon—I'm perfectly capable of handling Vijayawada to village traffic!"
"That was city driving! This is highway driving! Different skill set!"
"Nanna, I literally drive for a living—"
"You engineer for a living! The drivers drive for a living!"
"I test drive all the cars before the drivers take them on track!"
"That's controlled environment testing!"
Lakshmi checked her watch with exaggerated patience. "You've been arguing for five minutes. At this rate, we'll reach the village by midnight."
"Fine!" Vamshi threw his hands up in surrender. "Fine. You drive. But if we get lost, it's on you."
"We have GPS, Nanna. We can't get lost."
"GPS can be wrong!"
"Then we'll ask for directions!" Samaira was grinning now, victorious.
"Asking for directions is admitting defeat!"
"Oh my god, you're so dramatic." Samaira grabbed the keys from her father's hand before he could change his mind. "Get in the passenger seat, Nanna. Let me show you my superior driving skills."
"Superior," Vamshi muttered, but he was smiling as he walked around to the passenger side. "Overconfident is what you are."
Samaira slid into the driver's seat, adjusted the mirrors and seat position to her preferences, and turned to grin at her father. Then, in a burst of affection and gratitude, she leaned over and kissed his cheek.
"Thank you for letting me drive, Nanna. And for everything else. This visit has been perfect."
Vamshi's expression softened completely. "You're welcome, bangaram. And you're right—you are a perfectly capable driver. I just like arguing with you."
"I know. It's our thing."
"It is our thing," he agreed.
From the back seat, Lakshmi made a sound that was half-laugh, half-exasperation. "Are you two done with your moment? Can we actually leave now?"
"Yes, Amma," Samaira said dutifully, starting the car. "We're leaving. Right now. Immediately."
She pulled out of the driveway carefully, waved at Kumar at the security gate, and then they were on their way—Vijayawada fading behind them as they headed toward the highway that would take them to Anvitha's village.
2:15 PM - On the Highway
The drive was peaceful—good roads, relatively light traffic for a Wednesday afternoon, and the comfortable rhythm of family conversation filling the car.
Samaira had connected her phone to the car's system and put on a playlist of Telugu songs from the 90s and 2000s—the music of her childhood, songs she associated with family road trips and happy memories.
"Remember when we used to do these drives?" her mother said from the back seat, looking out at the passing landscape. "When you were little? Every summer, we'd drive somewhere—Tirupati, Srisailam, Hampi. You'd sit in the back seat with your colouring books and snacks."
"And I'd always get carsick halfway through," Samaira added, laughing. "You'd have to stop the car every hour so I could get some fresh air."
"You grew out of that, thankfully," Vamshi said. "Though you never grew out of needing snacks every thirty minutes."
"I was a growing child! Growing children need regular sustenance!"
"You're not a growing child anymore, and you still need snacks every thirty minutes."
"Some things never change," Samaira said philosophically. "Besides, proper nutrition is important for optimal performance."
"Is that what you tell yourself when you're eating chocolate at 10 PM?"
"Exactly what I tell myself. It's science, Nanna. You wouldn't understand."
Her mother laughed from the back seat. "You two are ridiculous."
As they drove, Samaira filled them in on the gossip from the racing world—the drama between different teams, the complicated relationships between drivers, the girlfriend dynamics in the paddock.
"So wait," her father said, trying to keep track, "Driver A is dating the ex-girlfriend of Driver B, who is now dating the sister of Driver C?"
"Yes, but it gets more complicated because Driver C's sister used to work for the team that Driver A now drives for, so there's this awkward dynamic whenever they're all in the same space."
"This sounds like a Telugu serial," Lakshmi observed.
"It basically is. Just with more money and faster cars."
"And what about you and Rishaan?" her mother asked. "Any paddock gossip about you two?"
"Not really. We're pretty boring compared to everyone else. We just—" Samaira paused, thinking about how to describe their relationship, "—we just work well together. No drama, no complications. Just two people who like each other and are trying to make it work despite the distance."
"That's the best kind of relationship," Vamshi said. "The boring kind. All the exciting, dramatic relationships I've seen have ended badly. The boring, steady ones are the ones that last."
"Your father and I have been boring for thirty-three years," Lakshmi added. "And look how well that's worked out."
"You're not boring," Samaira protested. "You're stable and comfortable and—okay, fine, maybe a little boring. But in the best way possible."
They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the music filling the space, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Samaira kept her eyes on the road, occasionally glancing at the GPS to confirm they were on the right route.
"How much longer?" her mother asked around 4:30 PM.
"GPS says about forty-five minutes. But I think there's a rest stop coming up in about ten kilometres. Should we stop for coffee?"
"I could use coffee," Vamshi admitted. "And a chance to stretch my legs."
"Perfect. There's a—" Samaira checked the highway signs, "—there's a Starbucks at the next exit. Want to try that?"
"Starbucks?" her mother said. "That's the fancy American coffee place, right?"
"Yes, but they're all over India now, too. And I want you both to try it—it's an experience. Even if their coffee isn't as good as proper South Indian filter coffee."
"Nothing is as good as proper filter coffee," Vamshi said loyally. "But I'm willing to try this American version."
Ten minutes later, Samaira took the exit that led to a small commercial area with several restaurants and shops. And there, prominent and familiar, was the green and white Starbucks sign.
But it was what was parked in front of Starbucks that made Samaira's heart skip.
A Ferrari. Not a race car, but a road car—sleek, red, unmistakably expensive and unmistakably Rishaan's.
"That's Rishaan's car," Samaira said, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice as she pulled into a parking spot a few spaces away.
Both her parents immediately perked up, craning their necks to look at the distinctive red sports car.
"Are you sure?" her mother asked.
"I'm positive. That's his Ferrari. He's here—he must have stopped for coffee on his way to the village too."
Samaira parked quickly, her mind already racing with mischievous possibilities. Rishaan had no idea she was here. She could surprise him—really surprise him.
"Amma," she said, turning to look at her mother in the back seat, "take a video. I have an idea."
Lakshmi's eyes lit up with understanding. "You're going to scare him?"
"I'm absolutely going to scare him. He deserves it for all the times he's startled me."
"This I need to see," Vamshi said, grinning.
They got out of the car quietly, and Lakshmi pulled out her phone, already opening the camera app. Samaira gestured for her parents to stay a few steps behind as they entered the Starbucks.
The café was moderately busy—a few tables occupied, the baristas working efficiently behind the counter. And there, standing at the pickup counter waiting for his order, was Rishaan.
He was dressed casually—jeans and a simple navy blue t-shirt that fit him perfectly, his sunglasses perched on top of his head, his attention focused on his phone as he waited.
Samaira turned back to her parents, putting her finger to her lips in a "shh" gesture. Her mother was already recording, barely suppressing giggles. Her father was watching with amused anticipation.
Moving as quietly as possible, Samaira crept up behind Rishaan. He was completely oblivious, scrolling through something on his phone, occasionally glancing up at the barista station to see if his order was ready.
When she was right behind him—close enough to see the screen of his phone (he was checking traffic to the village), close enough to hear his breathing—she leaned in close to his ear and said very loudly:
"BOOO!"
4:45 PM - The Starbucks Surprise
Rishaan's POV:
Rishaan jumped—actually jumped—his phone nearly flying out of his hand, his other hand instinctively clutching his chest as his heart rate spiked dramatically.
He spun around, ready to—he didn't know what, defend himself? Run?—and found himself face to face with Samaira, who was doubled over laughing, her eyes sparkling with mischief and delight.
"SAMAIRA!" he said, his heart still racing. "What—how—you scared me half to death!"
She was laughing too hard to respond coherently, just pointing at him while trying to catch her breath. "Your—your face! Oh my god, Shaan, your face!"
He was about to pull her into his arms—or possibly retaliate with his own scare tactic—when he noticed movement behind her and looked up to see Vamshi and Lakshmi, both of them grinning, Lakshmi holding up her phone in clear video recording mode.
All impulse to tackle Samaira or take revenge immediately evaporated.
"Uncle, Aunty," he said, immediately straightening up and trying to look composed despite having just been scared out of his wits. "I didn't see you there. Namaste."
To his surprise, both of them stepped forward and hugged him—warm, genuine hugs that felt like family, not formality.
"Sorry about our daughter," Vamshi said, shaking his head but smiling. "She has a mischievous streak she's apparently never grown out of."
"She gets it from her father," Lakshmi added, still holding her phone. "I got the whole thing on video. I'm sending this to savitri garu—she'll love it."
"Amma, please don't—" Samaira started.
"Too late. Already sent." Lakshmi showed her phone where she was indeed texting the video to a contact labelled "Savitri Ammamma."
Rishaan couldn't help but laugh despite his embarrassment. "Nannamma is going to have a field day with this."
"She absolutely is," Lakshmi confirmed, looking pleased with herself. "She mentioned at Anvitha and Ahaan's engagement that you need someone to keep you humble. I'm helping."
"I appreciate that, Aunty," Rishaan said dryly.
He finally turned his full attention back to Samaira, who was standing a few feet away now, hands on her hips, smiling at him with unrepentant mischief, looking absolutely delighted with herself.
"You," he said, pointing at her, "are in so much trouble."
"Am I?" she challenged, still grinning.
"So much trouble."
"What are you going to do about it?"
He took a step toward her, and she took a step back, her eyes sparkling with playful challenge. He took another step, and she backed up again, both of them aware of her parents watching with amused interest.
"Rishaan," she said, her tone warning but her smile giving her away, "we're in public. With my parents. You can't—"
"Can't what?" he said, taking another step.
"Whatever you're thinking of doing—"
"I'm just going to hug you hello," he said innocently. "Unless you're afraid of a simple hug?"
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"Then come here."
She studied him for a moment, trying to determine if this was a trap, then apparently decided it was worth the risk. She closed the distance between them, and he immediately wrapped his arms around her, lifting her slightly off the ground in an enthusiastic hug that made her squeak with surprise.
"Shaan!" she protested, laughing into his shoulder.
"You scared me," he said into her hair. "I'm collecting my revenge tax."
"This is not revenge!"
"It's the down payment on revenge. The full payment comes later."
He set her back down but didn't let go completely, his hands resting on her waist as he looked down at her. She was smiling up at him, her eyes bright and happy, and he felt that now-familiar rush of affection mixed with desire.
"Hi," he said softly.
"Hi," she replied. "Surprise?"
"Definitely a surprise. I thought I wouldn't see you until we got to the village."
"We decided to stop for coffee. And then I saw your car and couldn't resist."
"I'm never parking my Ferrari anywhere public again. Too recognisable."
"Good. Then I'll always know where to find you."
From behind them, Vamshi cleared his throat delicately. "Should we order our coffee? Or should we give you two more privacy?"
Rishaan immediately stepped back, feeling his ears heat up. "Sorry, Uncle. Yes, let's order."
They made their way to the counter together—Samaira deliberately positioning herself between Rishaan and her mother, probably to prevent any further embarrassing video documentation. Rishaan collected his order—a simple americano—while the others ordered.
Vamshi chose a latte after much deliberation, Lakshmi decided on a cappuccino, and Samaira ordered her usual—an iced caramel macchiato with an extra shot.
"You're going to be bouncing off the walls with that much caffeine," Rishaan observed.
"I'm going to need the energy for the mehendi tomorrow. Have you ever sat still for three hours while someone draws on your hands? It's exhausting."
They found a table near the window—a four-seater with comfortable chairs. Samaira slid in beside her father, while Rishaan sat across from her next to Lakshmi, the arrangement feeling natural and familial.
"So," Lakshmi said, sipping her cappuccino and studying Rishaan with that mother's assessment that made him slightly nervous, "you're driving alone to the wedding?"
"Yes, Aunty. My parents and grandmother are coming Saturday morning for the actual wedding ceremony and reception, then Sunday for the vratam. But the mehendi and sangeet—those are just me."
"That's a lot of driving alone," Vamshi observed. "From Hyderabad to here, then to the village, then back to Hyderabad after the vratam. You should have flown."
"I like driving," Rishaan said honestly. "Gives me time to think, to decompress. And the Ferrari is more fun on open highways than sitting in traffic."
"It's a beautiful car," Vamshi said, glancing out the window at the red sports car. "Though probably not very practical."
"Not at all practical," Rishaan agreed, grinning. "That's why I also have a regular car for everyday use. The Ferrari is for weekends and long drives when I want to enjoy the journey."
"And for showing off?" Samaira teased.
"Maybe a little for showing off," he admitted. "But mostly because it's fun to drive."
"Speaking of showing off," Lakshmi said, pulling out her phone and scrolling to something. "We saw you on a magazine cover this morning."
"You did?" Rishaan looked surprised.
"Forbes India—the entrepreneurs issue. You looked very professional and successful."
"That's from last year," Rishaan explained. "Before Samaira and I got together, actually. They reprinted the issue recently."
"Well, you looked wonderful in it. We bought a copy—planning to frame it alongside Samaira's motorsport magazine cover."
"Amma bought both," Samaira interjected. "Because apparently she's collecting magazine covers of us like trading cards."
"I'm proud of both of you," Lakshmi said unapologetically. "Why shouldn't I display that pride?"
They fell into easy conversation—Vamshi asking about Rishaan's businesses, Lakshmi inquiring about his family and his grandmother, both of them clearly assessing him but in a friendly, interested way rather than interrogating.
Rishaan found himself relaxing, answering their questions honestly, sharing stories about Savitri and his work and his plans for the future. They were easy to talk to—genuinely interested, asking follow-up questions, laughing at the appropriate moments.
At one point, Lakshmi's phone buzzed with a response notification, and she smiled.
"Ammamma just replied," she said, showing Rishaan the message. "She says, and I quote: 'That's my boy! Always alert and ready! Tell Samaira she's a troublemaker and I love her for it.'"
Rishaan laughed despite his embarrassment. "Of course she'd take Samaira's side."
"She's a wise woman," Samaira said smugly.
They finished their coffees, talking and laughing, the time passing quickly. Finally, Vamshi checked his watch.
"We should get going. It's already 5:15, and we still have about thirty kilometres to the village."
As they stood to leave, Rishaan took a breath and addressed Samaira's parents.
"Uncle, Aunty, would it be alright if Samaira drove with me the rest of the way? I know you're expecting her in your car, but—"
"Of course," Lakshmi said immediately, exchanging a knowing smile with Vamshi. "We were wondering when you'd ask."
"You were?" Rishaan said, surprised.
"Beta, you've been staring at our daughter like you haven't seen her in months," Vamshi said, amused. "It's been two days, but clearly that's too long. Take her. We'll see you both at the village."
"Thank you, Uncle."
They collected their empty cups and headed out to the parking lot. As they approached their respective vehicles, Samaira immediately went to the Audi to collect her things— her wallet and her lip balm.
She handed everything to Rishaan, who stood patiently beside her, holding the items while she reached up to redo her hair. It had gotten slightly messy from the drive and the wind, and she pulled out the clip, gathering her hair back smoothly.
Rishaan watched her, completely focused on her movements, waiting without any sign of impatience.
From the driver's seat of the Audi, Vamshi was watching this interaction with Lakshmi. They observed how Rishaan carefully held Samaira's belongings—not carelessly tossing them in his car, but holding them securely. How he waited without rushing her while she took her time fixing her hair. How, when she finally finished clipping her hair back, he walked to his car, opened the passenger door for her, and only after making sure she was settled did he walk around.
"He takes care of her," Lakshmi observed quietly, satisfied.
"He does," Vamshi agreed. "The small things. That's what matters."
He started the Audi and pulled out of the parking spot, passing by the Ferrari as they left. Through the window, they could see Rishaan now settling into the driver's seat, fastening his seatbelt, Samaira beside him already chatting animatedly about something.
"They're good together," Lakshmi said.
"They are," Vamshi confirmed. "Now let's give them some privacy and get to the village. They'll catch up eventually."
5:20 PM - The Ferrari
Samaira's POV:
Samaira watched her parents' car pull out of the parking lot and disappear onto the highway, then immediately turned to Rishaan with a question that had been on her mind.
"The windows—they're tinted, right? Privacy glass?"
Rishaan, who was in the process of fastening his seatbelt, paused and looked at her with dawning understanding and amusement.
"They are. Fully tinted. Legal limit for privacy. Why do you—"
He didn't get to finish the question because Samaira had already grabbed his collar and pulled him toward her, her lips meeting his with an urgency that came from two days of separation that had felt like much longer.
Rishaan made a surprised sound that quickly turned into a groan of pleasure, his hands coming up to cup her face, his seatbelt forgotten as he kissed her back with equal intensity.
"Missed you," Samaira mumbled against his lips between kisses. "Two days is too long."
"Way too long," he agreed, his fingers threading through her carefully clipped hair, probably messing it up again, but she didn't care.
She shifted in her seat, trying to get closer despite the centre console between them, and he seemed to have the same idea because suddenly he was pulling her toward him, one hand on her waist, the other still tangled in her hair.
The kiss deepened, two days of texts and video calls and missing each other translating into this moment of reconnection. His lips moved to her jaw, then down to her neck, and she tilted her head back to give him better access, her fingers gripping his shirt.
"Shaan," she breathed, and he pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with desire, his breathing uneven.
"We should probably start driving," he said, though he made no move to let her go. "Your parents are expecting us. The others are expecting us."
"I know," she said, but she was already leaning in to kiss him again. "Just one more minute."
"One more minute," he agreed, meeting her halfway.
But one minute turned into five, turned into heated kisses and whispered words and hands exploring within the bounds of propriety, the tinted windows providing privacy from the outside world while the late afternoon sun painted everything in golden light.
Finally—reluctantly—they pulled apart, both breathing hard, both slightly dishevelled.
"Okay," Samaira said, trying to catch her breath. "Now we should really drive."
"Now we should really drive," Rishaan agreed, though his hand found hers and squeezed gently. "But for the record, two days is definitely too long."
"Noted. Next time we're not going two days without seeing each other."
"Deal."
He finally finished fastening his seatbelt—properly this time—and started the engine. The Ferrari purred to life, the sound distinctly different from the Audi's smooth, quiet engine.
As they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, Samaira settled into the comfortable leather seat, her hand still in Rishaan's, where he'd moved it to rest on the centre console.
"Your parents are really nice," Rishaan said as he drove, keeping one hand on the wheel and the other holding hers. "I was nervous about spending time alone with them, but they made it easy."
"They like you. I can tell. My father wouldn't have made jokes about you showing off with the Ferrari if he didn't feel comfortable with you."
"And your mother sent that video to Nannamma?"
"That's her way of officially including you in the family. She only shares embarrassing content about people she considers family."
"I'm honoured. I think."
They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the Ferrari handling the highway beautifully, the landscape passing by in a blur of green and gold in the late afternoon light.
"Thirty kilometres to the village," Rishaan said, checking the GPS. "About twenty-five minutes at this speed."
"Then we have twenty-five minutes of peace before the wedding chaos starts."
"What's the plan for tonight?"
"Just arrival and settling in. Anvitha said dinner will be casual, and then everyone's going to bed early because mehendi starts at 9 AM tomorrow."
"And you're prepared for three hours of sitting still while someone draws on your hands?"
"I'm mentally prepared. Physically, I'll be fidgeting the entire time and driving everyone crazy."
"I'll sit with you. Distract you with conversation so you don't fidget as much."
"You're going to sit through three hours of mehendi application?"
"For you? Absolutely."
She squeezed his hand, feeling overwhelming affection wash through her. "I love you."
"I love you too, Bangaram. Even though you scared me half to death and enabled your mother to send embarrassing videos to my grandmother."
"Especially because of that," she corrected.
"Especially because of that," he agreed, laughing.
They drove on toward the village, toward their friends and the wedding celebrations, toward four days of joy and chaos and being together.
And for now, in this moment, in this car with tinted windows and late afternoon light, they had everything they needed.
Each other.
And that was more than enough.
They'd been driving for about five minutes, the comfortable silence filled with the purr of the Ferrari's engine and the occasional comment about the scenery, when Samaira's phone rang.
She glanced at the screen. "It's Ahaan."
"Answer it," Rishaan said. "Put it on speaker so I can hear too."
She accepted the call and immediately put it on speaker, setting the phone in the cup holder between them.
"Hey, Ahaan. What's up?"
"Samaira! Finally! Where are you?" Ahaan's voice came through clearly, sounding slightly stressed.
"About thirty minutes from the village. Why? Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine. Well, mostly fine. I need a favor."
Samaira exchanged a glance with Rishaan, who raised an eyebrow with interest. "What kind of favor?"
"So, as you know, the wedding festivities start tomorrow morning with the mehendi. Which means from tomorrow onwards, I won't be able to see Anvitha privately—tradition, family watching, all that. And I really, really need to see her tonight. Before all this chaos begins."
"Okaaay," Samaira said slowly, already seeing where this was going. "And what exactly do you need from me?"
"I need you to get Anvitha out of the house tonight. In about an hour or so. I'll text you the location—there's a nice restaurant near the highway, quiet, private. Just get her there, and I'll handle the rest."
Samaira felt a mischievous smile spreading across her face. Beside her, Rishaan was grinning, clearly enjoying this.
"Hmm," she said, drawing out the word. "That's a pretty big favour, Ahaan. What's in it for me?"
"Samaira, come on—"
"No, no, I'm serious. You're asking me to essentially kidnap the bride the night before her wedding festivities start. That requires compensation."
There was a pause, then Ahaan's lawyer voice came through—the one he used when negotiating. "What do you want?"
"I don't know yet. But I'm going to think about it, and when I figure out what I want, you're going to give it to me. No questions asked."
"That's a terrible deal for me. You could ask for anything."
"Exactly. Take it or leave it."
Another pause. Then, with a resigned sigh: "Fine. Whatever you want. Within reason."
"No, no," Samaira said cheerfully. "Not within reason. Whatever I want, period. That was the deal."
"You're going to be impossible about this, aren't you?"
"Absolutely. Now text me the location, and I'll get your bride there. But you owe me, Ahaan. Big time."
"Fine. I owe you. Thank you, Samaira. Seriously, thank you."
"You're welcome. See you soon."
She ended the call and immediately burst out laughing. Rishaan was shaking his head, amused.
"You're evil," he said. "Poor Ahaan has no idea what he just agreed to."
"I know! That's what makes it so fun! He just gave me unlimited favour rights. As a lawyer! He should know better!"
"What are you going to ask for?"
"I have no idea yet. But it's going to be good. Maybe I'll make him babysit our future children for a weekend. Or handle all our legal paperwork for life. Or—"
"Our future children?" Rishaan interrupted, his tone carefully casual but with an undertone of something warm.
Samaira felt her cheeks heat up. "I mean—hypothetically. In the future. If we—you know."
"I know," he said softly, squeezing her hand. "And I like the sound of it. Our future children."
"Shaan—"
"What? We've talked about timelines, about getting married, about building a life together. Children are part of that conversation."
"I know. It just feels different saying it out loud. Making it real."
"Good different or bad different?"
"Good different," she admitted. "Really good different."
They drove in comfortable silence for a moment, both processing the weight of that small phrase—our future children—and what it meant for their relationship.
Then Samaira's phone buzzed with a text from Ahaan.
Ahaan: Highway Garden Restaurant. 7 PM. Private dining section reserved under my name. Thank you again. I owe you forever.
Samaira: Yes, you do. And I'm collecting. 😈
5:50 PM - Arrival at the Village
The village was exactly as Samaira remembered from Anvitha's descriptions and previous visits—small, traditional, beautiful in its simplicity. Anvitha's family home was the largest in the area, a sprawling traditional house with a huge courtyard already decorated for the upcoming wedding events.
Cars were parked everywhere—relatives and guests arriving, the organised chaos of pre-wedding preparations in full swing. Children ran around excitedly, aunties directed younger family members in decoration setup, and uncles stood in groups discussing everything from politics to the wedding arrangements.
Rishaan parked his Ferrari in a spot that was both visible and out of the way—close enough to be seen (because yes, he was showing off a little) but far enough that it wouldn't be in anyone's way.
Samaira's parents had already arrived and were being greeted warmly by Anvitha's parents. The moment Samaira and Rishaan got out of the car, they were swarmed.
"Samaira! You're here!"
"Rishaan! Welcome, welcome!"
"Come inside, come inside! We have rooms ready for everyone!"
Anvitha appeared from inside the house, looking radiant despite the stress of wedding preparations. She was wearing a simple yellow salwar kameez, her hair in a braid, mehendi already partially applied to her hands from what looked like a practice session.
"Samaira!" she squealed, running over to hug her best friend. "Finally! I've been waiting for you!"
"Sorry, we stopped for coffee on the way," Samaira said, hugging her tightly. "You look beautiful. And nervous. Are you nervous?"
"Terrified," Anvitha admitted. "But also excited. Mostly terrified, though."
"That's normal. It's a big week."
"The biggest week. Come on, let me show you your room. You're staying in the main house, in my old bedroom, actually. And Rishaan—" she turned to him, "—you're in the guesthouse with Veer and Ahaan."
"Perfect," Rishaan said. "Thank you for having us."
"Of course! You're family!"
They were swept up in the chaos of arrival—meeting relatives, being shown to their rooms, getting settled. Samaira's parents were staying in a different section of the main house, while Meher was rooming with Samaira in Anvitha's childhood bedroom.
The room was lovely—traditional but comfortable, with two beds, a large window overlooking the courtyard, and photos of young Anvitha and Samaira from their teenage years decorating the walls.
"Oh my god," Meher said, spotting a particular photo. "Is this we three at sixteen? Look at that hair! Look at those clothes!"
"We were very cool, thank you," Samaira said defensively. "That was peak 2014 fashion."
"That was peak disaster fashion. We are wearing layered tank tops and low-rise jeans."
"Like I said, very cool."
After settling in and freshening up, Samaira found Anvitha helping her mother in the kitchen, directing the caterers on tomorrow's menu.
"Aunty," Samaira said to Anvitha's mother, Revathi, "can I ask you something?"
"Of course, beta. What is it?"
"I was thinking—since this is Anvitha's last night before the wedding festivities start, maybe the girls could go out? Just us three—me, Meher, and Anvitha. Like a small bachelorette party. There's a nice restaurant near the highway, nothing wild, just dinner and girl talk."
Revathi paused, considering. Anvitha was watching with carefully controlled hope, not saying anything but clearly wanting permission.
"I don't know, beta. There's so much to prepare for tomorrow—"
"Everything is already prepared," Samaira pointed out gently. "The mehendi artists are booked, the decorations are done, the food is ordered. Anvitha doesn't need to do anything except relax before tomorrow. And honestly, Aunty, she needs a break. She looks exhausted."
Revathi studied her daughter's face, seeing the stress and fatigue, and her expression softened.
"Just you three girls? And you'll be back by 9 PM?"
"Back by 9:30 at the latest," Samaira promised. "We'll take my father's car, drive carefully, have dinner, and come straight back."
"And no alcohol? Nothing inappropriate?"
"No alcohol, nothing inappropriate. Just three friends having dinner and talking."
Revathi thought for another moment, then nodded. "Okay. But 9:30 PM, Samaira. Not a minute later."
"Thank you, Aunty!"
Anvitha threw her arms around her mother, then grabbed Samaira's hand. "I need to change into something nicer. And fix my hair. And—"
"Relax," Samaira said, laughing. "It's just dinner. We're leaving in thirty minutes."
Exactly thirty minutes later—after Anvitha had changed into a beautiful blue salwar kameez, fixed her hair, and applied light makeup while Samaira and Meher teased her about being nervous—the three of them piled into Vamshi's Audi.
Samaira took the driver's seat, having obtained her father's keys with a promise to drive carefully. Meher called shotgun, leaving Anvitha in the back, still looking nervous and excited.
"Where are we going exactly?" Anvitha asked as they pulled out of the driveway.
"You'll see," Samaira said mysteriously. "It's a surprise."
"I don't like surprises the night before my wedding—"
"You'll like this one," Meher assured her, clearly in on the secret. "Trust us."
The drive to the highway restaurant took about fifteen minutes. As they approached, Samaira could see the restaurant's soft lighting, the tasteful outdoor seating area, and—more importantly—three very familiar figures in the parking lot.
Rishaan was leaning casually against his Ferrari's bonnet, arms crossed, looking amused as he watched Ahaan pace back and forth in front of him. Ahaan was clearly nervous, running his hands through his hair repeatedly, muttering to himself.
Veer was standing a few feet away, phone pressed to his ear, apparently handling some kind of logistics situation based on his animated hand gestures.
"Is that—" Anvitha leaned forward from the back seat, squinting. "Is that Ahaan?"
"Surprise!" Samaira said cheerfully, pulling into a parking spot near the Ferrari. "Your fiancé wanted to see you before the wedding chaos starts. I was instructed to deliver you to him."
"You—Samaira!" Anvitha was already unbuckling her seatbelt, her face split in a huge smile. "You did this? You orchestrated this?"
"Ahaan orchestrated it. I just executed the plan. And got myself unlimited favour rights in the process."
"You're the best friend ever!"
Anvitha practically flew out of the car the moment it stopped, running toward Ahaan, who immediately stopped pacing when he saw her.
The reunion was immediate and enthusiastic—Anvitha launching herself at Ahaan, him catching her easily, both of them laughing and talking over each other.
Samaira, Meher, and Samaira got out of the car more sedately, walking over to where Rishaan was still leaning against his Ferrari, watching the engaged couple with a soft smile.
"Mission accomplished," Samaira announced, coming to stand beside him. "One bride, delivered as promised."
"You're very efficient," Rishaan observed, his arm coming around her waist naturally. "Poor Ahaan was pacing for the last ten minutes, convinced something would go wrong."
"Nothing went wrong. I'm an excellent kidnapper."
"That's a concerning skill to have."
"It's a useful skill. Especially when extracting brides from family obligations."
Veer finished his phone call and joined them, looking satisfied. "Okay, logistics are handled. The private dining area is ready, the staff knows we're here, and I've ordered appetisers for everyone."
"Everyone?" Meher asked.
"Well, yeah, we're all having dinner together. Did you think we were just going to stand in the parking lot all night?"
"I assumed this was a romantic dinner for Anvitha and Ahaan—"
"It is. But it's also a friends' dinner. Last chance for all of us to hang out before the wedding madness starts tomorrow." Veer looked at them expectantly. "Unless you want to go back to the village and help aunties fold decorative napkins?"
"Dinner sounds perfect," Samaira said immediately.
"Thought so."
Ahaan and Anvitha finally separated enough to acknowledge the others, though they kept holding hands.
"Thank you," Ahaan said to Samaira, his voice sincere. "Seriously, thank you. I needed this."
"I know. You're welcome. And you owe me."
"I know that too. Whatever you want."
"Oh, I'm going to collect. Don't worry."
"I'm terrified already," Ahaan said, but he was smiling.
"Come on," Anvitha said, tugging on Ahaan's hand. "Let's go eat. I'm starving, and Amma only let me eat salad for lunch because she's worried about the wedding photos."
They headed toward the restaurant as a group—Anvitha and Ahaan leading, still holding hands and talking quietly. Veer and Meher followed, bickering about something food-related.
Samaira and Rishaan brought up the rear, his arm still around her waist, her head leaning against his shoulder.
"This is nice," she said softly. "All of us together. Before everything gets crazy."
"It is," he agreed. "Though everything's already pretty crazy. In the best way."
"The very best way."
They entered the restaurant together, ready for dinner, conversation and a few hours of peace before the wedding festivities truly began.
Life was good.
Life with these people—her chosen family, her love, her closest friends—was really, really good.
As they entered the restaurant, a hostess immediately recognised their reservation and led them to the private dining section—a beautiful enclosed area with warm lighting, comfortable seating, and enough privacy for conversation without the noise of the main restaurant.
Before anyone could settle into seats, Ahaan cleared his throat, looking slightly nervous as he held Anvitha's hand.
"So, um, would it be okay if Anvitha and I had maybe fifteen, twenty minutes alone? Before we join you all? I just—we need to talk about some things. Without an audience."
The group exchanged knowing smiles.
"Of course," Samaira said immediately. "Take your time. We'll order appetisers and drinks."
"That corner table is perfect for you two," Meher added, gesturing to an intimate two-seater table in the far corner of the private section, partially obscured by decorative plants. "Very romantic. Very private."
"Thank you," Anvitha said, looking relieved and grateful. "We won't be long."
"Take as long as you need," Rishaan said. "This is your night."
Ahaan and Anvitha made their way to the corner table, immediately sitting close together, their heads bent in intimate conversation, the rest of the world fading away.
The remaining four settled at the larger table—Samaira and Rishaan on one side, Veer and Meher on the other. A waiter appeared immediately with menus and water, taking their drink orders (mocktails for everyone since they were driving) before disappearing.
"So," Veer said, leaning back in his chair with satisfaction, "everyone made it. The whole crew, together again. Feels like it's been forever."
"It's been three weeks," Meher pointed out. "Since you saw Samaira, at least. The rest of us see each other regularly."
"Three weeks is forever in friendship time."
"That's not a real measurement—"
"It absolutely is. I'm making it official."
Samaira laughed, feeling the familiar comfort of being with her people—the easy banter, the warmth, the sense of belonging.
"Actually," Meher said, turning to Samaira with barely contained excitement, "I have news. Big news."
"What kind of news?" Samaira asked, immediately intrigued.
"So you know how my PR company has been doing really well? Getting bigger clients, expanding the team, all of that?"
"Yes, and we're all very proud of you," Samaira confirmed.
"Well—" Meher paused dramatically, "—FIA contacted me last week. The FIA, Samaira. Formula 1's governing body."
Samaira's eyes widened. "What? FIA contacted you? Why?"
"They want me to handle PR for them. Well, they want to see if my team and I are a good fit first. They've asked us to handle the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix—the final race of the season—as a trial run. If it goes well, they're offering a full contract for next season."
"Oh my god!" Samaira reached across the table to grab Meher's hands. "Meher, that's incredible! That's—you'd be in the paddock! We'd be working together!"
"I know! Can you imagine? Me handling FIA's PR, you engineering for Ferrari—we'd actually get to see each other during race weekends instead of you just getting me paddock passes as a favour!"
"How did this even happen?" Rishaan asked, looking impressed.
Veer grinned. "That's partially my fault, actually. F1 always books rooms at my hotel chain for the Abu Dhabi race—drivers, team principals, FIA officials, everyone. Someone from FIA asked about the hotel's PR team, and I mentioned that my girlfriend runs one of the best PR companies in India. Gave them Meher's contact information."
"And they called, did their research, liked what they saw, and here we are," Meher finished. "I'm flying to Abu Dhabi two days before the race to prep and handle everything."
"This is amazing," Samaira said, genuinely thrilled. "Meher, you're going to be brilliant at this. And having you in the paddock—that's going to make race weekends so much better."
"Right? No more desperately texting you for paddock passes at the last minute. I'll have my own credentials. Official FIA credentials!"
"Speaking of credentials—" Samaira felt her phone buzz and pulled it out to see a message from her assistant with an attachment. She opened it and smiled. "Perfect timing."
She turned her phone to show Rishaan—a photo of an official F1 paddock credential card with his photo, name, and the designation "Ferrari - Team Partner."
"What's this?" Rishaan asked, studying the image.
"Your permanent paddock pass. My assistant just finalised it. This is for Belgium and any other races you attend."
"Permanent? Why permanent instead of temporary visitor passes?"
"Because partners of team members—spouses, serious significant others, family—get permanent credentials instead of having to apply for temporary ones each time. It's easier, more professional, and signals that you're not just a random visitor but someone officially connected to the team."
"I'm officially connected to Ferrari?" Rishaan looked both pleased and slightly overwhelmed.
"You're officially connected to me, and I'm officially connected to Ferrari, so by extension, yes. Welcome to the family." She paused. "This is for Belgium, obviously. But are you planning to come to the Abu Dhabi race too? The final one?"
"Am I invited?"
"Of course you're invited. Actually—" she glanced at Veer and Meher, then back at Rishaan, "—we have a tradition. Every year for the final race, my parents and our friend group all come together. It's like a season-ending celebration. Everyone comes to the race, we have dinner afterwards, it's a whole thing."
"We've been doing it for three years now," Veer confirmed. "Ever since Samaira became principal engineer. It's become our tradition—support her at the final race, celebrate the season, hang out in whatever city the final race is in."
"This year it's Abu Dhabi," Meher added. "Which is perfect because Veer's family has hotels there, so accommodation is sorted. And now I'll actually be working the race, so I'll be there anyway."
"So you're coming, right?" Samaira asked Rishaan, trying to sound casual but really hoping he'd say yes. "You, my parents, our entire friend group—all of us together for the final race?"
"Of course I'm coming," Rishaan said immediately. "I wouldn't miss it. That sounds perfect."
"Good. Because my mother has already started planning the group dinner, and she'd be devastated if you weren't there."
"Your mother is planning the dinner two months in advance?"
"My mother plans everything months in advance. It's her superpower."
Their drinks arrived, along with the first round of appetisers—an assortment of kebabs, paneer dishes, and crispy snacks. They ordered a full meal for when Anvitha and Ahaan joined them, then settled into comfortable conversation.
"So explain this paddock experience to me," Rishaan said, trying a chicken kebab. "I know the basics, but what's it actually like? All of you go every year—what makes it special?"
Veer and Meher exchanged glances, then both started talking at once.
"It's the energy—" Meher began.
"The adrenaline rush—" Veer said simultaneously.
They paused, laughed, then Veer gestured for Meher to continue.
"Okay, so first of all," Meher said, "the paddock is where all the real action happens. It's behind the scenes—the team garages, the motorhomes, the media centre. You see the drivers in their environment, teams working on the cars, strategists having intense discussions. It's like being inside the machine that makes the race happen."
"And the access is incredible," Veer added. "With Samaira's credentials—well, now with our permanent passes—we can go almost anywhere. Watch practice sessions from the garage, see the mechanics working, observe the strategy meetings."
"The sound alone is worth it," Meher continued, getting more animated. "When those cars start their engines—it's not like watching on TV. You feel it in your chest, in your bones. It's visceral."
"And the atmosphere on race day," Veer said, shaking his head with a smile. "Everyone is so focused, so intense. You can feel the tension building as race time approaches. Especially in the Ferrari garage—those Italian engineers get very passionate."
"They scream in Italian when things go wrong," Samaira interjected, grinning. "Very dramatic. Very entertaining."
"And when Ferrari wins?" Meher said. "Forget about it. It's chaos. Beautiful, joyful chaos. Everyone hugging, celebrating, the Italian national anthem playing—"
"Samaira crying happy tears," Veer teased.
"I do not cry!"
"You absolutely cried in Monaco when Ferrari won."
"That was different! Monaco is special!"
"You also cried in Monza."
"That's the Italian Grand Prix! Of course I cried! Everyone cries at Monza!"
Rishaan was laughing, watching this exchange with delight. "I'm looking forward to seeing this passionate Italian engineering firsthand."
"You're going to love it," Meher assured him. "Especially because you'll be there as Samaira's partner, not just as a visitor. The team treats partners really well—includes them in celebrations, makes them feel part of the family."
"How many races have you all attended?" Rishaan asked.
"I've been to five," Veer said. "Monaco, Monza, Singapore, Japan, and Abu Dhabi. All incredible experiences, but Abu Dhabi is special because it's the season finale. There's always extra emotion, extra intensity."
"I've been to seven," Meher said. "Same ones as Veer, plus Bahrain and Silverstone. Each track has its own personality, its own energy. Silverstone is very British and traditional, Monaco is glamorous and intense, Monza is pure passion—"
"Okay, but the real question," Veer interrupted, turning to Meher with a mischievous expression, "is when are we going to make one of these race weekends about us instead of just supporting Samaira?"
"What do you mean?" Meher asked, though her expression suggested she knew exactly what he meant.
"I mean—" Veer reached across the table to take her hand, "—when are we getting married? We've been together for three years. We're at our friends' wedding this week. Seems like a good time to discuss timelines."
Meher's eyes widened slightly, and Samaira could see the pleased surprise mixed with nervousness on her face.
"Are you—is this—are you asking me right now? At someone else's pre-wedding dinner?"
"I'm not proposing," Veer clarified quickly. "That's going to be much more romantic and planned. I'm just asking about your thoughts on timing. Because I know what I want, and I want to make sure we're on the same page."
"What do you want?" Meher asked softly.
"I want to marry you. Preferably soon. Like, within the next year. I'm ready, Meher. I've been ready."
Meher's face broke into a huge smile. "Within the next year works for me. I'm ready too."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Across the table, Samaira and Rishaan watched this exchange with matching expressions of affection and amusement.
"Are we witnessing a pre-proposal discussion?" Samaira whispered to Rishaan.
"I think we are," he whispered back. "Should we give them privacy?"
"Absolutely not. This is too sweet to miss."
"So we're doing this?" Veer said to Meher, still holding her hand. "We're getting married? Making it official?"
"We're doing this," Meher confirmed. "Though I expect a proper proposal. With planning and romance and me crying happy tears."
"Obviously. I'm not a monster. The proposal is going to be epic."
"Good."
"But you just agreed to marry me."
"I agreed to the concept of marrying you. The actual agreement comes when you actually propose."
"That's just semantics."
"That's how proposals work, Veer."
They were both grinning at each other, the love and happiness obvious, and Samaira felt her heart swell with joy for her friends.
"Congratulations on your pre-engagement," Rishaan said, raising his mocktail glass. "To Veer and Meher—may your actual engagement be as smooth as this pre-engagement."
"To us," Veer said, clinking glasses with everyone. "And to knowing what you want and going after it."
At that moment, Anvitha and Ahaan returned from their corner table, both looking more relaxed and happy.
"What did we miss?" Anvitha asked, sliding into a seat beside Samaira.
"Veer and Meher just basically agreed to get married," Samaira informed her. "Without an actual proposal. It was very anticlimactic and very them."
"We're having a proper proposal later," Meher clarified. "This was just timeline confirmation."
"Still counts," Ahaan said, grinning. "Congratulations, you two. Welcome to the engaged club."
"We're not engaged yet—"
"Close enough. I'm counting it."
The food arrived then—the main courses they'd ordered earlier, now perfectly timed for the full group. As they ate, Samaira pulled out her phone.
"Oh! I almost forgot—I have something to show you all."
She found the video her mother had sent her and turned her phone so everyone could see. "Amma recorded me scaring Rishaan at Starbucks earlier. It's glorious."
She played the video—Rishaan standing obliviously at the counter, Samaira creeping up behind him, the loud "BOO!", his dramatic jump and chest clutch, everyone's laughter.
The table erupted in laughter, Ahaan nearly choking on his drink, Anvitha wiping tears from her eyes.
"Oh my god," Anvitha gasped between laughs. "Rishaan, your face! You looked terrified!"
"I was terrified," Rishaan admitted, shaking his head but smiling. "She has no mercy."
"That jump, though," Veer said, replaying the video. "That was impressive height. I didn't know you could jump like that."
"Fear is a powerful motivator."
"Your mother sent this to Ammamma, right?" Meher asked Samaira.
"She did. Ammamma responded with laughing emojis and a message saying I'm a troublemaker, and she loves me for it."
"Your grandmother has excellent judgment," Samaira said to Rishaan.
"She really does. Unfortunately for me."
They ate and talked, the conversation flowing easily from topic to topic—wedding preparations, race season updates, business ventures, family gossip, future plans. The food was excellent, the company even better, and Samaira felt that deep contentment that came from being exactly where she was supposed to be.
At exactly 9:00 PM, Samaira's phone alarm went off—a reminder she'd set earlier.
"That's our cue," she said, checking the time. "We promised Anvitha's mom we'd be back by 9:30. That gives us exactly enough time to drive back."
"Already?" Anvitha said, looking disappointed. "But we're having such a good time!"
"I know, but we can't be late. Your mother trusted us to bring you back on time, and I'm not breaking that trust the night before your wedding starts."
"Samaira's right," Ahaan said, though he also looked reluctant. "We should go. But thank you—all of you—for tonight. This was exactly what we needed."
They settled the bill quickly—Veer insisting on paying since he'd orchestrated the venue—and made their way back to the parking lot.
"Alright," Veer said, checking his watch. "We need to get the bride back before her mother sends a search party."
"9:30 PM deadline," Samaira confirmed. "We have exactly thirty minutes."
The group naturally split—Samaira, Meher, and Anvitha heading toward Vamshi's Audi, while Rishaan, Veer, and Ahaan walked toward Rishaan's Ferrari.
"Wait, all three of us in the Ferrari?" Veer said, looking at the sports car sceptically. "That's going to be cramped."
"It has a back seat," Rishaan said. "Technically."
"A back seat designed for luggage, not humans."
"Then you're riding in the back, Veer. Ahaan's taller—he gets shotgun."
"This is discrimination against the hotel mogul."
"This is physics. Deal with it."
Before getting in the car, Rishaan caught Samaira's eye and walked over to her quickly.
"Drive safe," he said, his hand finding hers for a brief moment.
"You too. Try not to kill Veer with your aggressive driving."
"My driving is not aggressive. It's enthusiastic."
"That's what every aggressive driver says." She squeezed his hand. "See you tomorrow morning. 9 AM."
"I'll be there. Someone needs to keep you entertained during three hours of mehendi application."
"That's the only reason you're coming? To entertain me?"
"That and to watch you try to sit still for three consecutive hours, which should be hilarious."
"I can sit still!"
"You literally fidgeted through an entire movie last month. You reorganised my bookshelf while we were supposed to be watching."
"The books were out of order! It was offensive!"
He laughed and kissed her forehead quickly. "Go. Your thirty-minute deadline is ticking."
Samaira got into the driver's seat while Meher took shotgun, and Anvitha settled into the back. Behind them, they could hear Veer complaining loudly about having to squeeze into the Ferrari's back seat while Ahaan laughed.
"Boys are so dramatic," Meher observed, watching through the side mirror as Veer attempted to fold himself into the tiny back seat.
"They really are," Anvitha agreed. "Ahaan once complained for twenty minutes about a paper cut."
"Rishaan refuses to admit when he's sick," Samaira added. "Last month he had a fever and kept insisting he was 'just tired.'"
"Men are useless," Meher declared.
"Completely useless," Anvitha confirmed.
"Utterly useless," Samaira agreed.
Then all three of them paused.
"But we love them anyway," Anvitha said softly.
"Unfortunately, yes," Meher sighed dramatically. "We're stuck with them."
"Could be worse," Samaira said, starting the car. "They could be useless AND boring. At least ours are entertaining."
As they pulled out of the parking lot, the Ferrari followed behind them—Rishaan driving, Ahaan in the passenger seat, and presumably Veer still complaining in the back about the cramped conditions.
The drive back was filled with easy conversation—Anvitha talking about her dinner with Ahaan, how he'd been so nervous and sweet, how they'd talked about their hopes for the marriage, their plans for the future. Meher shared more details about the FIA opportunity and her nerves about proving herself at such a high-profile event. Samaira filled them in on the upcoming races and her excitement about having Meher in the paddock.
They pulled into the village at exactly 9:27 PM—three minutes early, much to Samaira's satisfaction.
"Perfect timing," she announced as they parked. "Aunty can't even be mad."
They got out of the car just as the Ferrari pulled in behind them. The passenger door opened, and Ahaan got out, then Veer literally had to unfold himself from the back seat, groaning dramatically.
"I'm too tall for that car," he declared. "My knees were by my ears. This is cruel and unusual punishment."
"You survived," Rishaan said unsympathetically. "Stop being dramatic."
"I'm not being dramatic. I'm being accurate. That back seat is a torture device."
"Noted. Next time, you can drive separately."
"I absolutely will."
Revathi appeared on the front porch of the house, clearly waiting for their return. She smiled when she saw them.
"Right on time," she called out. "Good. Come inside, all of you. We have chai and snacks."
"Thank you, Aunty!" Samaira called back.
The group made their way toward the house together—tired but happy, ready for chai and conversation before bed, knowing that tomorrow would bring the real start of the wedding festivities.
And as Samaira climbed the porch steps, Rishaan's hand briefly touching her lower back as they walked, she felt that deep contentment again.
This was right. This was good.
This was home.
Thursday Morning - 5:45 AM
Samaira's POV:
Samaira woke to the sound of roosters crowing and the soft light of pre-dawn filtering through the window. Beside her in the other bed, Meher was still completely asleep, one arm thrown over her face, breathing deeply.
For a moment, Samaira considered going back to sleep—it was barely 6 AM, the mehendi didn't start until 9, and she could get at least two more hours of rest.
But her body was used to early morning workouts, and she felt restless. Three days without proper exercise—just walking and casual movement—was making her feel sluggish. She needed to move, to get her blood pumping, to clear her head before the chaos of the day began.
Quietly, so as not to wake Meher, she changed into workout clothes—comfortable leggings, a sports bra, and a loose t-shirt. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail, splashed water on her face, and grabbed her phone and earphones.
The house was quiet as she made her way downstairs, though she could hear distant sounds of activity from the kitchen—caterers already starting breakfast preparations, the organised chaos of a wedding household waking up.
But when she stepped out onto the front porch, she found it already occupied.
Three women sat in a semi-circle on the porch floor, surrounded by baskets of fresh flowers—marigolds, roses, jasmine—carefully stringing them into garlands. Her mother, Anvitha's mother, Revathi, and Meher's mother, Shanti, all working together in comfortable silence, their fingers moving with practised efficiency.
"Good morning," Samaira said softly, not wanting to startle them.
All three women looked up, smiling.
"Chinni! You're awake early," her mother said. "We thought you'd sleep in after last night."
"I can't sleep late anymore. My body's too used to early mornings." Samaira gestured to her workout clothes. "I was thinking of going for a jog. Just around the village, maybe thirty minutes."
Revathi immediately looked concerned. "Beta, I don't think that's a good idea. Not alone. It's still dark, and you don't know anyone here. What if you get lost? What if something happens?"
"Aunty, I'll be fine—"
"Revathi is right," Lakshmi interjected, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You're not going alone. Either take someone with you or wait until it's fully light and there are more people around."
"Amma, everyone else is sleeping. I'm not waking anyone up just to go for a jog."
"Then wait—" Shanti started to say.
"Wait for what?" a male voice interrupted from the doorway.
They all turned to see Rishaan emerging from inside the house, already awake and dressed in casual clothes, carrying a basket of fresh flowers that he'd apparently been asked to bring from somewhere.
"Perfect timing!" Shanti said immediately. "Rishaan beta, Samaira wants to go for a jog, but we don't want her to go alone. Can you go with her? Just for safety?"
Rishaan set the flower basket down beside the women and looked at Samaira, his expression amused but warm. "You're going jogging at 6 AM on the morning of a wedding?"
"I need to move. I haven't worked out properly in three days."
"Fair enough." He turned to the mothers. "I'll go with her. We'll stay on the main roads, won't go far, and be back within thirty minutes."
"Thank you, beta," Revathi said, looking relieved. "That makes me feel much better."
"Don't let her overdo it," Lakshmi added. "She thinks she's training for a marathon every time she exercises."
"I'll keep her in check," Rishaan promised, then looked at Samaira. "Give me two minutes to change into proper workout clothes."
He disappeared back inside, and Samaira found herself the subject of three knowing maternal smiles.
"What?" she said defensively.
"Nothing," her mother said innocently, returning to her garland-making. "Just nice that you have someone who wakes up early to keep you company."
"And keeps you safe," Shanti added.
"And doesn't complain about being woken up," Revathi contributed.
"I didn't wake him up! He was already awake!"
"Even better," all three women said in unison.
Samaira shook her head, trying not to smile, and waited on the porch. True to his word, Rishaan emerged within two minutes, now wearing athletic shorts and a t-shirt, proper running shoes instead of his casual sandals.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready. Let's go before they start planning our wedding, too."
"Too late," Lakshmi called after them. "Already planning!"
As they walked away from the house, both of them could hear the mothers' laughter behind them.
6:00 AM - Morning Walk
The village was beautiful in the early morning—still quiet, the sky gradually lightening from deep blue to soft purple to orange, the air cool and fresh. A few other early risers were visible—an old man walking with a stick, a woman sweeping her front porch, and children running to fetch milk from the local dairy.
They started at an easy pace, warming up their muscles, side by side on the narrow village road.
"So," Rishaan said after a few minutes of comfortable silence, "you really can't go three days without exercise?"
"I can. I just don't like to. It throws off my whole rhythm. Makes me feel sluggish and unfocused."
"Even on vacation? Even at a wedding?"
"It's not really a vacation when there are five days of intensive social events. I need the physical outlet to balance the mental energy of constant socialising."
"That's fair. I feel the same way, actually. I usually run every morning, but I skipped yesterday because of the drive. Felt weird all day."
"See? You get it."
They picked up the pace slightly, moving from a walk to a light jog, their feet hitting the ground in sync. The village began to wake up around them—more lights turning on in houses, the sound of temple bells in the distance, the smell of cooking fires and fresh coffee drifting from kitchens.
"This reminds me of something," Samaira said as they jogged past a small temple with intricate carvings.
"What?"
"The last time we were here. For Anvitha and Ahaan's engagement. Remember?"
"Of course I remember. That was—" he paused, his tone shifting to something softer, more meaningful, "—that was when we decided to really try. To give this relationship a proper chance."
"The sunset viewpoint," Samaira said, the memory vivid. "We sat there and talked about logistics and timelines and whether long distance could actually work."
"And we decided it could. That it would. That we wanted it badly enough to make it work."
They slowed their pace slightly, the conversation taking priority over the exercise.
"Want to go there?" Rishaan asked. "To the viewpoint? It's not far from here—maybe another kilometre down this road."
"It's in the opposite direction from the house."
"So? We'll take a longer route back. The mothers said thirty minutes—we'll make it forty-five. I'll take the blame if anyone complains."
Samaira smiled. "Okay. Let's go."
They changed direction, jogging down a narrower path that led away from the main village, toward the small hill where the viewpoint was located. The path was rougher here—more rural, less maintained—but manageable.
After about ten minutes, the path opened up to the viewpoint—a small clearing at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the valley below and the village in the distance. In the gradually brightening sky, it was beautiful—peaceful and private, exactly as Samaira remembered.
They both stopped, breathing hard from the uphill jog, and took in the view.
"It's different in the morning," Rishaan observed. "Last time we were here was at sunset. Everything was gold and orange. Now it's all purple and pink."
"Different but equally beautiful," Samaira said.
They stood there for a moment, catching their breath, and then Rishaan said, "Want to race? Like we did last time?"
"What?"
"Last time we were here, right before we left, you challenged me to a race back to the village. Said something about 'testing my stamina' if I remember correctly."
"Oh my god, I did say that!" Samaira laughed at the memory. "And you said—"
"I said I'd show you stamina," Rishaan finished, grinning. "And then I won."
"You did not win! I let you win!"
"You absolutely did not let me win. I am faster than you."
"You are not!"
"Then prove it. Race me back to the village. Right now."
Samaira studied the path—downhill, which was easier but also more dangerous if you weren't careful. Then she looked at Rishaan, who was watching her with that playful challenge in his eyes that she'd come to love.
"You're on," she said. "But when I win, you have to admit I'm the faster runner."
"When I win," he countered, "you have to admit I have superior athletic ability."
"Deal. On your mark—"
"Get set—"
"GO!"
They took off together, sprinting down the path, laughing and competitive in equal measure. Samaira had a slight lead initially—she was lighter and more agile on the uneven terrain—but Rishaan had longer legs and caught up quickly.
"You're slow today!" he called out, pulling ahead slightly.
"I'm pacing myself!" she shot back, pushing harder to match his speed.
They were neck and neck as the path leveled out, entering the outskirts of the village. A few early morning villagers watched them with amused expressions—two city people racing like children, clearly too competitive for their own good.
"Last sprint!" Rishaan announced as the main village road came into view. "Go!"
They both pushed into a full sprint, gasping for breath, legs burning, competitive spirit overriding common sense. They crossed an invisible finish line—a lamppost they'd silently agreed on—at almost the exact same moment, both of them immediately bending over to catch their breath.
"I won," Samaira gasped.
"You did not," Rishaan wheezed. "It was a tie."
"Ties go to the person who suggested them."
"That's not how ties work!"
"That's exactly how ties work!"
They were both laughing, still breathing hard, and Rishaan straightened up and pulled her into a hug—sweaty and gross but somehow perfect.
"We're ridiculous," he said into her hair.
"We really are," she agreed, her arms around his waist. "Racing like teenagers."
"But it was fun."
"It was so much fun."
They stood there for a moment, just holding each other, the village continuing to wake up around them. Finally, Samaira pulled back.
"We should get back. We've been gone almost forty minutes. The mothers are probably worried."
"The mothers are probably watching us from the porch with binoculars."
"You're probably right."
They walked the rest of the way back to the house at a more sedate pace, cooling down properly, their breathing gradually returning to normal.
"Thank you for coming with me," Samaira said as Anvitha's house came into view. "I know you probably wanted to sleep in."
"I was already awake. And besides—" he took her hand, squeezing gently, "—I like spending time with you. Even if it means getting up early to exercise."
"Even when I make you race and nearly give you a heart attack?"
"Especially then."
As predicted, when they reached the house, all three mothers were still on the porch—now with more completed garlands piled beside them—and all three looked up with knowing smiles.
"Good workout?" Lakshmi asked innocently.
"Very good," Samaira confirmed.
"You were gone forty-three minutes," Revathi observed. "That's longer than thirty minutes."
"We went to the viewpoint," Rishaan admitted. "My fault. I suggested the detour."
"The viewpoint," Shanti repeated, exchanging glances with the other mothers. "How romantic."
"It's not romantic, it's just a nice view—" Samaira started.
"Very romantic," all three mothers agreed.
"I'm going to shower," Samaira announced, giving up. "Before they start planning which viewpoint we should get married at."
"Too late!" her mother called after her. "Already planning!"
Rishaan laughed and headed toward the guesthouse to shower and change, leaving the mothers to their garlands and their matchmaking schemes.
But as Samaira climbed the stairs to the room she shared with Meher, she was smiling.
The morning jog, the race, the sunrise at the viewpoint, the easy companionship with Rishaan—it had been the perfect start to what would surely be a chaotic day.
And in three hours, the mehendi would begin.
The wedding festivities had officially started.
Thursday Morning - 8:30 AM
After showering and getting ready, Samaira emerged wearing a beautiful emerald green lehenga with intricate silver embroidery—the same one she'd carefully packed days ago. Meher was already dressed in a bright pink outfit, applying her makeup with practised efficiency.
"You look gorgeous," Meher said, turning to assess Samaira. "That colour is perfect on you."
"Thanks. You too. Very festive."
"That's the goal. Now sit down—I'm doing your makeup whether you like it or not."
"Meher, I can do my own—"
"Sit. Down."
Samaira sat, surrendering to Meher's bossy expertise. As Meher worked on her face foundation, eye makeup, and a touch of highlighter, they could hear the house coming alive around them. Music playing downstairs, relatives laughing and chatting, the mehendi artists arriving to set up their stations.
"Ready for three hours of sitting still?" Meher asked, applying lipstick to Samaira's lips.
"Absolutely not. I'm going to be the worst mehendi client ever."
"That's why Rishaan promised to sit with you and keep you distracted. Smart man."
"He is pretty smart," Samaira agreed, smiling at the thought.
Downstairs, the courtyard had been transformed—colourful canopies providing shade, floor cushions arranged in a semi-circle for the ladies getting mehendi, low tables for the artists to work on, and a separate seating area for everyone else to watch and socialise.
The mehendi artists—three experienced women with years of practice—were setting up their supplies: fresh henna paste, plastic cones, designs sketched in notebooks for clients to choose from.
Anvitha was already there, sitting in the central position of honour, looking nervous and excited. Her mother and aunts surrounded her, making sure everything was perfect.
Samaira made her way down and found Rishaan already present, dressed in a cream kurta with subtle gold embroidery—exactly the outfit she'd suggested he wear. He was talking with Veer and Ahaan near the drinks table, but the moment he saw her, his attention shifted completely.
"You look beautiful," he said, coming over to her immediately. "That lehenga is stunning."
"You look pretty good yourself. I have excellent fashion sense."
"You do. Though I think you chose this specifically so we'd coordinate."
"Maybe a little."
The mehendi ceremony began with a small puja, blessing the occasion and the bride. Then Anvitha was seated, and the lead mehendi artist began working on her hands—intricate, elaborate designs that would take hours to complete.
Samaira was scheduled to go second as the maid of honour along with Meher. She settled onto cushions near Anvitha, and a different artist began preparing her hands.
As promised, Rishaan appeared and sat down beside her—not getting mehendi himself, just there for company.
"Three hours," he said. "You can do this."
"I'm already fidgeting."
"You've been sitting for two minutes."
"Two minutes too long."
The artist smiled, clearly used to restless clients. "Don't worry, madam. I'll work as fast as I can while keeping it beautiful. And you can talk, just keep your hands still."
For the first hour, Samaira managed fairly well. The design was intricate—peacocks and flowers and geometric patterns spiralling up her forearms—and watching it take shape was actually fascinating. Rishaan kept up a steady stream of conversation, telling her stories about his businesses, asking about her races, and discussing their friends' relationships.
Around them, the courtyard was full of activity—women getting mehendi, others watching and chatting, music playing, children running around with excitement. It was colourful and chaotic and joyful.
At one point, Samaira noticed her father talking near the drinks table, but then that person was called away by some relatives, leaving Vamshi standing alone.
"Shaan," Samaira said, "go talk to my father. He looks a bit lost."
"You sure? I don't want to leave you—"
"I'm fine. Meher is here, and I'm not going anywhere anyway." She gestured at her hands, currently covered in wet henna. "Go. I think he'd enjoy the company."
Rishaan stood and made his way over to Vamshi, who smiled when he approached.
"Rishaan beta! Come, sit. These wedding events are exhausting even when you're just watching."
They settled at a quiet table away from the main activity, both with chai that had been circulating among guests.
9:45 AM - A Father-Figure Conversation
Rishaan's POV:
"Samaira's mehendi is coming along beautifully," Vamshi observed, watching his daughter from a distance. "Though I can tell she's struggling to sit still."
"She's terrible at sitting still," Rishaan confirmed, smiling. "Give her another hour, and she'll be vibrating with restlessness."
"She's always been like that. Even as a child, constant motion, always busy with something. Drove her teachers crazy but made her an excellent student because she couldn't stand being bored."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping their chai, and Rishaan found himself gathering courage to say something he'd been thinking about for weeks.
"Uncle," he started, then paused.
"Yes, beta?"
"Can I tell you something? It might sound strange, but I've been wanting to say it for a while."
"Of course. Tell me anything."
Rishaan took a breath. "Do you remember the first time we met? At Anvitha and Ahaan's engagement party, six months ago?"
"I remember. You and Samaira had just reconnected after years of being in the same friend group but not really knowing each other."
"Right. And I remember watching you with her that day—how affectionate you were, how you kept checking on her, making sure she'd eaten, asking about her work. And the way you talked about her achievements—there was this pride in your voice that was so obvious, so genuine."
Vamshi smiled. "She's my daughter. Of course, I'm proud of her."
"I know. But Uncle—" Rishaan paused, trying to find the right words, "—watching you that day, I felt jealous. Not of you, but of Samaira. Because she has parents who celebrate her, who are proud of her not just for meeting expectations but for being herself."
Vamshi's expression shifted to something more serious, more attentive. "Tell me more about that."
"My parents—they've always been focused on business, on legacy, on what the family name represents. My achievements were only valuable if they benefited the family's reputation. When I won awards or got featured in magazines, they'd acknowledge it with a message saying I should do better, achieve more, not get complacent." Rishaan looked down at his chai. "They're trying to change now—really trying. After Kerala, after we had that conversation, they're making an effort. But years of that kind of relationship... it leaves a mark."
"I imagine it does," Vamshi said quietly.
"And then I saw Samaira's room at your house. All her trophies displayed, her magazine covers framed on the walls, her achievements celebrated not because they make the family look good but because you're proud of her. When I asked about it, she said casually, 'Oh, my parents did that. They insist on displaying everything.'" Rishaan felt his throat tighten. "And I felt this overwhelming longing—to have someone who celebrates me like that. Not for what my success can do for them, but just because they love me and want to honour my hard work."
Vamshi reached across the table and placed his hand over Rishaan's. "You have that now, beta. With us."
"I know. And that's—Uncle, I need to be honest about something that might sound selfish." Rishaan met Vamshi's eyes. "When I realised I was falling for Samaira, there was a part of me—a small, selfish part—that thought, 'If I choose her, I get her parents too. I get a family that actually functions as a family should.'"
"That's not selfish, beta. That's human."
"But it feels wrong to admit it. Like I'm using her to get to you and Aunty."
"Are you?" Vamshi asked directly. "Are you with Samaira because you want her parents, or are you with her because you love her?"
"I love her," Rishaan said immediately, with absolute certainty. "I love her more than I knew it was possible to love someone. She's brilliant and kind and challenging and exactly what I need. The family connection is just—"
"A beautiful bonus," Vamshi finished. "And there's nothing wrong with that, Rishaan. Choosing a life partner means choosing their family, too. The fact that you want that connection with us, that you value what Lakshmi and I can offer—that's a good thing. It means you understand that relationships extend beyond just two people."
Rishaan felt relief wash through him. "Thank you for saying that."
"And I want you to know—Lakshmi and I consider you our son now. Not our future son-in-law, not Samaira's boyfriend. Our son. Which means when you achieve something, we celebrate it. When you're struggling, we support you. That's what family does."
"Like yesterday," Rishaan said, his voice rough with emotion. "When Aunty talked about framing my Forbes magazine cover. My own parents probably didn't even read that article. They saw the cover and sent me a message saying, 'Good work, but don't get complacent.' But Aunty wanted to frame it, to display it alongside Samaira's achievements."
"Because we're proud of you," Vamshi said simply. "For building something from nothing, for having integrity in your business dealings, for treating our daughter with love and respect. All of that deserves to be celebrated."
"I've never—" Rishaan had to stop, collect himself. "I've never had that before. Parents who are just proud, without qualifications or conditions."
"You have it now. And you'll have it for the rest of your life."
"I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything. Just know that you're loved, Rishaan. By Samaira, yes, but also by us. By our entire family. You're not alone anymore."
Rishaan felt tears threatening and had to blink them back. "Thank you, Uncle. You have no idea what that means to me."
"I think I do." Vamshi squeezed his hand once more before letting go. "Now, I should tell you something, too. I'm proud of Samaira for many reasons—her intelligence, her achievements, her kindness. But I'm also incredibly proud of her for choosing you."
"For choosing me?"
"For recognising a good man when she saw one. For not letting superficial things like family drama or logistical complications stop her from pursuing what she wanted. For being brave enough to choose love even when it's difficult." Vamshi smiled. "That takes courage and wisdom. And I'm proud that we raised a daughter who has both."
"She definitely has both."
"And I'm proud of you, beta. For the man you are—hardworking, honest, loyal. For how you treat Samaira—with respect and affection and partnership. For how you're handling your parents' shortcomings with grace while still maintaining boundaries. All of that makes me proud to have you in our family."
Rishaan couldn't speak for a moment, overwhelmed by the acceptance, the love, the sense of finally belonging somewhere without conditions.
"I'm going to make sure I deserve that pride," he finally said. "I'm going to take care of your daughter, support her dreams, be the partner she deserves."
"I know you will. I've never doubted it."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the mehendi celebration continue around them. Then Vamshi chuckled.
"What?" Rishaan asked.
"Look at your girlfriend. She's trying to reach for something with her elbows because her hands are covered in henna, and Meher is laughing at her."
Rishaan looked over to see Samaira indeed attempting to grab her phone using only her elbows, her expression one of extreme concentration, while Meher collapsed in giggles beside her.
"I should probably go rescue her," Rishaan said, standing.
"You should. But Rishaan—" Vamshi stood as well, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome to the family. Officially and truly."
"Thank you, Uncle. For everything."
As Rishaan walked back toward Samaira, who immediately called out, "Shaan! Help! I need to check a message, and my hands are useless!"—he felt lighter than he had in years.
He'd found love with Samaira.
But he'd also found family with her parents.
And that was a gift beyond measure.
Thursday Afternoon - 1:00 PM - Lunch
After the mehendi ceremony concluded—with all the ladies sporting beautiful henna designs on their hands and arms—lunch was served in the large dining area. Long tables had been set up with an elaborate spread of traditional Andhra dishes, and everyone gathered, chatting excitedly about how beautiful the mehendi designs were.
Samaira was carefully trying to eat without smudging her still-drying mehendi when she noticed her mother making a beeline toward Rishaan, who was loading his plate at the buffet.
"Rishaan beta," Lakshmi said, appearing beside him with a purposeful expression, "come sit with me. I want to hear more about your Belgium trip plans."
"Of course, Aunty—"
"Amma!" Samaira called out, mock-offended. "That's my boyfriend! You can't just steal him!"
"I'm borrowing him," Lakshmi corrected, already steering Rishaan toward a table. "You see him all the time. Let me have a conversation."
"I don't see him all the time! I've been away racing!"
"Exactly why you should understand the value of quality time," Lakshmi said, completely unbothered. "Now eat your lunch. Rishaan and I are having a chat."
Samaira turned to her father with an exaggerated expression of betrayal. "Nanna, are you seeing this? She's stealing my boyfriend."
Vamshi, who had just sat down with his own plate, watched his wife commandeer Rishaan with amused resignation. "She does this with everyone she likes. Remember when you brought Anvitha home in high school? Your mother monopolised her for three hours."
"That's different! Anvitha was my best friend, not my—" Samaira gestured helplessly at where Rishaan was now sitting with her mother, both of them engaged in animated conversation.
"Your boyfriend," Vamshi finished. "Yes, I'm aware. Which is exactly why your mother wants to get to know him better. She's being a good future mother-in-law."
"They're not even married yet," Meher said, appearing with her own plate and sitting down beside Samaira. "Why are we talking about mother-in-law dynamics?"
"Because Amma literally stole Rishaan," Samaira said, still watching them across the room. "Just grabbed him and walked away."
"Your mom has game," Veer observed, joining them. "I respect the direct approach."
At Lakshmi and Rishaan's table, they appeared to be having a very engaged conversation. Rishaan was talking animatedly, gesturing with his hands, and Lakshmi was nodding along, occasionally laughing, clearly enjoying whatever story he was telling.
"What are they even talking about?" Samaira wondered aloud.
"Probably embarrassing stories about you," Ahaan suggested, sitting down with Anvitha, whose hands were still carefully wrapped to protect her mehendi. "That's what mothers do—gather intel from the boyfriend."
"Oh god, you're right. She's probably telling him about my awkward teenage phase."
"You had an awkward teenage phase?" Veer asked with interest. "This I need to hear."
"Everyone has an awkward teenage phase," Samaira defended. "It's scientifically required."
"Some people's awkward phases are worse than others," Meher said with a knowing grin. "Remember the braces? And the glasses? And that unfortunate haircut in ninth grade?"
"We don't talk about ninth grade."
"I think we should absolutely talk about ninth grade," Rishaan's voice said from behind her.
Samaira turned to see him standing there with a plate of food, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Her mother was right behind him, also looking satisfied.
"What did she tell you?" Samaira demanded.
"Nothing," Rishaan said innocently, sitting down beside her.
"Nothing," Lakshmi echoed, sitting beside Vamshi. "Just pleasant conversation about Belgium and racing schedules."
"And absolutely nothing about ninth grade," Rishaan added.
"Shaan!"
"Though I did learn some very interesting information about a science fair incident involving a volcano and the principal's car—"
"That was an accident! The trajectory calculations were slightly off!"
"You launched volcano lava onto the principal's car?" Veer said, delighted. "Samaira, you absolute legend!"
"It wasn't lava, it was the baking soda mixture, and it was supposed to go straight up, not sideways!"
"The principal was very understanding," Vamshi said, trying to look serious but failing. "Eventually. After the car was cleaned."
"I can't believe you told him that story," Samaira said to her mother, who was trying very hard not to laugh.
"He asked if you were always good at engineering or if there were any learning moments," Lakshmi said. "I was being factual."
"Traitor."
"I prefer 'thorough historian.'"
Rishaan was grinning, clearly enjoying this. "Don't worry, bangaram. I think the volcano incident just makes you more endearing."
"I'm so glad my teenage disasters are endearing to you."
"Very endearing. Though I am curious about the glasses and braces phase that Meher mentioned—"
"We're not discussing that!" Samaira interrupted, while Meher collapsed in giggles.
"I have photos!" Lakshmi announced. "On my phone! Would you like to see—"
"Amma, no!"
"Aunty, yes!" Rishaan said immediately.
"I hate everyone at this table," Samaira declared, though she was smiling.
"No, you don't," Vamshi said, patting her hand. "You love us. Even when we embarrass you."
"Especially when we embarrass you," Lakshmi corrected. "That's what family is for."
They ate lunch together—all of them at the same large table, conversation flowing easily between bites of biryani and curry. Lakshmi did eventually show Rishaan photos of teenage Samaira, much to Samaira's mortification and everyone else's delight. But she retaliated by asking Lakshmi about Rishaan's childhood stories from what his grandmother had shared, so the embarrassment was at least mutual.
"I like this," Anvitha said softly to Ahaan, watching their friend group interact with their parents. "Everyone just fitting together naturally. No awkwardness, no tension. Just family."
"It's what we're all building," Ahaan agreed. "Our chosen family expanding to include the people we love."
Thursday Afternoon - 3:00 PM - Dance Practice
After lunch, the friend group retreated to Samaira and Meher's room for dance practice. The sangeet was scheduled for 7 PM, and they had a group performance planned that required at least some coordination if they wanted to avoid complete disaster.
All six of them crowded into the room—Samaira, Meher, Anvitha, Rishaan, Veer, and Ahaan. Someone pulled up the song on their phone, connected it to a portable speaker, and they attempted to run through the choreography.
"Okay, so we start with the couple's entry," Meher said, taking charge. "Anvitha and Ahaan centre, obviously, as the bride and groom. Samaira and Rishaan on the left, Veer and I on the right."
"And then the turn sequence," Anvitha added, demonstrating. "Boys spin us, we come back, synchronised movements."
"I can't spin," Veer said immediately. "I'll get dizzy."
"You just have to spin her, not yourself," Samaira pointed out.
"Still risky. I have inner ear issues."
"You don't have inner ear issues, you have coordination issues," Meher said. "Now spin me properly, or I'm making you sleep on the couch when we're married."
"We're not even married yet!"
"Practice for the future!"
They ran through the dance several times, with varying degrees of success. Rishaan and Ahaan were competent if not graceful, Veer kept deliberately messing up to make Meher laugh, and Samaira kept getting distracted trying to perfect the footwork.
After about forty-five minutes of practice, they collapsed onto the available surfaces—Samaira and Rishaan on one bed, Meher and Veer on the other, Anvitha and Ahaan claiming the cozy chairs near the window.
The room fell into comfortable silence, broken only by their breathing and the distant sounds of wedding preparations outside. Then, naturally, each couple drifted into their own private conversations.
Samaira and Rishaan:
"Your mother really likes interrogating me," Rishaan said, lying on his back with Samaira curled into his side.
"She likes you. That's why she interrogates. If she didn't like you, she'd be coldly polite and distant."
"That's comforting, I think."
"It should be. My mother's approval is not easily won." Samaira traced patterns on his chest absently. "You nervous about tonight? The sangeet is going to be intense."
"Not nervous. Maybe slightly concerned about my dancing ability being judged by two hundred wedding guests, but not nervous."
"You'll be fine. Just follow my lead and try not to step on my feet."
"I would never step on your feet. I'm a gentleman."
"You're a terrible dancer who somehow gets away with it through sheer enthusiasm."
"That's accurate."
Meher and Veer:
"You're really going to propose soon?" Meher asked quietly, playing with Veer's fingers.
"Very soon. I'm thinking next month, actually. After the wedding chaos settles, after Samaira leaves for her races, just us."
"Where?"
"That's the surprise part. You don't get to know everything in advance."
"I'm a planner! I need to know things!"
"Not this time. This time you just have to trust that I'll make it special and memorable and perfect for us."
"Fine," Meher said, pretending to be grumpy but smiling. "But it better be good."
"It will be. I promise."
Anvitha and Ahaan:
"Are you ready?" Ahaan asked, holding Anvitha's mehendi-covered hands carefully. "For tomorrow? For getting married?"
"Terrified," Anvitha admitted. "But also excited. Mostly terrified though."
"Me too. But good terrified."
"The best terrified. The kind that means it matters."
"You matter. To me, to everyone. You're going to be the most beautiful bride."
"I'm going to cry during the ceremony. I know it. I'm going to be that bride who sobs through her vows."
"Then I'll cry with you. We'll be the crying couple. Very emotional, very memorable."
They sat like that for a while longer, each couple in their own world, comfortable and happy and surrounded by their closest friends.
Finally, Meher checked the time and sat up with a groan.
"It's 4:30. We need to start getting ready for the sangeet. Girls need way more time than boys for hair and makeup."
"That's sexist," Veer protested.
"That's factual. Boys just shower and put on a kurta. Girls have to do hair, makeup, jewellery, saree draping—"
"Point taken. We'll get out of your way."
The boys reluctantly left, heading back to the guesthouse to get ready, leaving the three girls to begin their transformation process.
Thursday Evening - 7:00 PM - The Sangeet
The sangeet was held in a massive, decorated tent in the courtyard—elaborate lighting, a professional sound system, a proper stage for performances, and enough seating for all the guests. The energy was electric, music already playing as people arrived, everyone dressed in their brightest, most festive clothes.
Samaira wore her pink and silver lehenga—the one she'd specifically chosen for this event. Her makeup was more dramatic than the mehendi, her jewellery more elaborate, and her hair was styled in soft curls that Meher had painstakingly created.
When she emerged from the house with Meher and Anvitha, she immediately spotted Rishaan standing near the entrance with Veer and Ahaan. He was wearing a teal blue kurta that coordinated perfectly with her pink lehenga—not matching exactly, but complementary in a way that showed thought and care.
His eyes found hers immediately, and his expression shifted to something warm and appreciative.
"You look incredible," he said when she reached him, taking her hand.
"So do you. We coordinate well."
"We do everything well together."
The sangeet officially began with traditional performances by family members—aunts and uncles dancing to classic Bollywood songs, cousins attempting modern choreography with mixed results, small children stealing the show with their unselfconscious enthusiasm.
Then came the friend group's performance. They took the stage—Anvitha and Ahaan in the center, the rest of them flanking as support—and the music started.
The choreography was simpler than what they'd practiced, having been scaled down to match their actual ability level, but it was enthusiastic and joyful. Samaira hit most of her marks, Rishaan was enthusiastic if not graceful, Veer deliberately added comedy elements that had the audience laughing, and Meher kept everyone on track with her perfect timing.
By the end of their performance, they were all breathless and laughing, and the audience applauded enthusiastically.
"We didn't completely embarrass ourselves!" Meher announced.
"That's the best we could hope for," Veer agreed.
After the formal performances ended, the DJ took over, playing a mix of Bollywood and popular dance music. The floor filled immediately, everyone eager to dance and celebrate.
Samaira was pulled into the family ladies' dance circle almost immediately, and she danced with aunts and cousins and relatives she'd just met, all of them laughing and having fun.
After about thirty minutes, she felt someone tap her shoulder.
"Taking a break?" Rishaan asked, holding out a bottle of water.
"Oh god, yes. Thank you." She drank gratefully, realising how exhausted she was. The dancing, the heat, the energy—it was all catching up with her.
"Come on," Rishaan said, gently guiding her to a quieter seating area away from the dance floor. "Sit. Rest."
"I should go back—"
"In a few minutes. Right now, you rest."
He disappeared briefly and returned with a plate of snacks—samosas, pakoras, small sweets. "Eat. You've been dancing for forty minutes straight. You need fuel."
"When did you become so bossy?"
"I learned from the best," he said, sitting beside her. "Your mother gave me very specific instructions to make sure you eat and drink water and don't overexert yourself."
"She's very demanding."
"She's very caring. There's a difference."
Samaira ate while Rishaan ran interference—whenever a relative approached to pull her back to dancing, he'd politely explain she was taking a quick break and would join them soon. After about fifteen minutes and two samosas, she felt revived.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much better. You're good at this."
"At what?"
"Taking care of me without being overbearing about it. Knowing what I need before I realise I need it."
"That's what partners do."
They rejoined the dancing, this time together. When a slow couple's song played, Rishaan pulled her close, one hand on her waist, the other holding hers, swaying together in the middle of the chaotic dance floor.
"This reminds me of Kerala," Samaira said, her head resting on his shoulder. "The sangeet at your cousin's wedding. You took care of me then, too."
"I remember. You fell asleep on the couch, and I carried you back to our room."
"You did. And I woke up with all my makeup professionally removed because you'd used AI to figure out how to do it."
"One of my finest moments," he said, grinning.
"One of many."
As the night continued, Rishaan maintained his pattern—making sure Samaira had water, that she took breaks when she looked tired, that she ate enough to keep her energy up. He checked in without hovering, supported without smothering, and somehow knew exactly when she needed him close and when she needed space to dance with her friends.
Around 10 PM, when the sangeet was still going strong, but the older relatives were starting to drift away, Samaira found herself on the dance floor with all her favourite people—Anvitha, Meher, Rishaan, Veer, Ahaan, all dancing together in a circle, laughing and joyful and completely in the moment.
"This!" Anvitha shouted over the music, gesturing to all of them. "This is everything! My favourite people, all together, celebrating!"
"We love you!" Meher shouted back. "Best bride ever!"
"Best friends ever!" Anvitha responded.
They danced until they were exhausted, until their feet hurt and their faces hurt from smiling, until the DJ finally announced the last song and everyone gathered for a final group dance.
As they walked back toward the house afterwards—all six of them together, tired but happy—Samaira felt overwhelming contentment.
Tomorrow would bring haldi and more festivities. Saturday the actual wedding. But tonight had been perfect.
Just friends and family and celebration and joy.
And Rishaan beside her through all of it, taking care of her without being asked, knowing what she needed, being exactly the partner she'd always hoped for.
Life was good.
Life was really, really good.
Word Count: 24,553
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