Sitaare.

Aren’t stars proof that even darkness can shine?

In the darkest skies, stars still shine—yet they never wait for someone, never hope to be noticed, never compete. They simply shine quietly... just like the pain we never talk about. The brightest stars burn fast and fade young, while the dim ones glow quietly… and live the longest.

I hoped—once—that I would be the brightest one. I wish I knew how... how to glow without breaking, how to shine while knowing... you’re quietly falling apart.

Above me, the sky shimmered, and the night breathed softly—its stars twinkling like secrets too gentle to be spoken, as if the sky itself were slowly blinking. My gaze fixed on the whitish glow of the brightest one among the thousands of stars scattered across the sky. A cold breeze gently brushed my cheeks as I stood on the balcony, holding the metal railing that felt icy under my palms—palms adorned with intricate reddish patterns.

This cold night, the silence, the darkness—none of it scared me. Never. In fact, they felt like home… more alive. Somewhere far away, the faint chirping of crickets lingered in the air. I closed my eyes as the chilly breeze curled around me under the shimmering sky. I took a deep breath and then exhaled—like letting an invisible weight slip off my chest. Then a voice broke through the moment.

“Aanwi.” Riya. Riya Malhotra. My friend. The one who was getting married the very next day.

“Haan… aayi.” (Yes… I’m coming.) I said, almost like a whisper. The exhaustion and tiredness might not have shown on our faces, but our voices reflected everything. I turned, taking one last glance at that particular star. Inside the room, near the large bed, stood my two friends—Kanika and Riya. The only friends I had in my life. Their heads were slightly raised, shoulders a little low, hands hanging loosely by their sides, yet their eyes lit up the moment they met mine. We looked at each other.

“Kya kaha Aunty ji ne?” (What did Aunty say?) I asked. “Kya hi kaha… keh rahi hain so jao tum log.” (What else… she said you all should go to sleep.) Riya replied while walking toward me. “Chalo, leto chal kar.” (Come on, let’s go lie down.) She gestured toward the massive bed and walked past me, stopping at the dresser.

Kannu and I exchanged a glance before looking back at Riya. Something felt different about her tonight. We climbed onto the bed, sitting next to each other, quietly watching her as she removed her heavy jewelry. I glanced at the wall clock. It was almost two o’clock. We had wanted to join the ratjaga, but Rekha Aunty had made it very clear that tomorrow was the main function, so we needed proper sleep.

And honestly, she was right. We had been so busy with arrangements, enjoyment, and celebrations for the past three days—from engagement to haldi, then mehndi and sangeet—that we had forgotten what rest even felt like. Riya stood up and turned toward us, lifting one eyebrow as if asking—what?

That’s when I realized we had been zoning out while staring at her. I shook my head and shifted aside to make space for her. Kannu did the same, leaving a gap between us for her to lie down. “Soon-to-be Mrs. Riya Vineet Singh Rajvanshi, please have a last night out with us,” Kanika said in her usual playful tone. She was always the most goofy and energetic among the three of us. We sat straight with our palms joined dramatically while she sat cross-legged in front of us. A soft hint of pink appeared on her cheeks—blushing at the name. Barely hiding it, she replied, “Tum log ke saath kabhi bhi kuch bhi ‘last’ nahi hota… hamesha ‘forever’ hota hai.” (With you two, nothing is ever ‘last’… it’s always ‘forever’.)

A teasing hum followed, and we both said almost in sync, “Romantic baatein.” (Romantic talks.) Kannu and I exchanged a look as she added, “Asar dikh raha hai…” (The effect is visible…) We all chuckled. The air felt light around us—just like always, playful and warm.

Meanwhile, Riya lowered her eyelids shyly as she lay down on the bed. Our chuckles grew louder as we looked at our shy best friend, who had once been the most serious and cold-faced woman among us, the eldest of the three. Soon, we lay down beside her, staring at the white ceiling above, our lips curved into soft smiles—not playful ones, but quiet, calm, and content. She was getting married. A new house, new responsibilities, a new identity—things that wouldn’t take her away from us entirely, but would still create a small distance between us. I knew it. We all did.

“Oye… dono meri baat suno dhyaan se.” (Hey… listen to me carefully, both of you.) Riya said softly. Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if meant only for us. We both turned toward her, fully attentive. “Shaadi ko kabhi burden ya duty ki tarah mat dekhna.” (Never see marriage as a burden or a duty.) Her tone was gentle. “Yeh humari poori life decide karta hai… toh faisla sirf khud lena.” (It decides our whole life… so the decision should always be yours.)

She looked at each of us.

“Jab tumhari rooh bhi usse chune, sirf dil nahi… jab tumhe lage ki he is the special one—only then say yes.” (When your soul chooses him too, not just your heart… when you truly feel he is the special one—only then say yes.) She paused before finally looking at us with a bright smile—one I was sure I had never seen on her before. “Phir toh dikkat hai.” (Then we have a problem.) I sighed dramatically, placing my hand on Riya’s stomach.

“Haan… kyunki wo special one exist hi nahi karte.” (Yeah… because that ‘special one’ doesn’t even exist.) Kannu added doing the same. “Hmmm… dekh lo bhai, main bhi pehle aisi hi baatein karti thi.”Riya replied, a thin-lipped smile forming as she looked at us.(Hmm… look at me, I used to say the same things before too.)

We both paused for a second, staring at each other—as if silently admitting that she was right. Then we huffed and dramatically dropped onto the soft mattress. “Bhai… mujhe meri purani bestie wapas chahiye.” (I want my old best friend back.) Kannu whined, curling closer to her. “Sahi kaha, ye thoda zyada ho gaya.” (True, this is a bit too much.) I said, shifting nearer to her. A soft chuckle echoed in the room, and I felt her hand gently pat my head.

“Achha theek hai, ab so jao dono… good night.” (Alright, now go to sleep… good night.) We hugged her tightly. “Same to you… Mrs. Rajvanshi.” We both said together before closing our eyes. She looked happy. And we felt happy for her. Being with her since childhood, it was the first time I had seen her so carefree and relaxed. I felt grateful to the man who had made her like this—happy, brighter, more alive. I was happy… truly happy… that she would finally belong to the person she truly loves..

But deep down, we all knew that nothing could truly pull us apart. Not the different streams we chose, not the different career paths, not even the countless ups and downs of life. Through all of it, we had always found our way back to each other. So how could her marriage change that? With that quiet thought settling in my mind, and the last gentle pat of her hand still resting softly on my head, I slowly drifted into sleep.

.

.

.

This morning didn’t begin with the sound of an alarm clock. It began with chaos—the noise of arrangements, different voices and tones echoing through the villa as we stepped out of the room. And just like that, we were pulled back into the endless chores with everyone else.

After some time, I found myself in the garden, standing near the stage and watching it being decorated with flowers. Yellow and orange strings of marigolds lined the sides perfectly. Gerberas and lilies formed the background, while orchids, roses, and hibiscus were arranged across the roof design. Their mixed fragrance lingered gently in the air. The entire garden looked majestic—almost heavenly, so beautiful that it felt unreal. The water fountain shimmered under the sunlight, the white marble stone and the water sparkling like glass. Surrounded by pink tulips, it felt like the very soul of the whole atmosphere.

“Oye!” Kanika called out from the pathway. I looked toward her, and she gestured for me to follow. I walked over to her. “Kahan?” (Where?) I asked. Without answering, she began walking toward the main gate—the entrance. I followed beside her. The walkway glistened beneath my feet, the tiles shining like tiny crystals. The fragrance of jasmine filled the air along the path leading to the gate.

As we reached there, Kanika turned toward me and said, “Chal, baraatiyon wali feel lete hain.” (Come on, let’s act like we’re part of the groom’s procession.) I smiled brightly, instantly understanding the assignment. First, we both stopped and stared at the acrylic golden nameplate where the words Riya weds Vineet were engraved. We nodded at each other, fully immersed in our characters. Keeping straight, serious faces, we began walking along the pathway, exchanging occasional glances and subtle reactions. When we reached the fountain, Kannu spoke in a firm tone. “Hmmm… ye thoda theek lag raha hai.” (Hmm… this looks somewhat acceptable.)

“Ji bhai sahab.” (Yes, sir.) I replied in the same tone. We approached the stage that was still being decorated. “Ye bhi theek-thaak hai.” (This is also decent enough.) I said, crossing my arms over my chest with a critical expression. “Huh… humare yahan isse achha saja tha, bhai sahab. Aapne dekha hoga.” (Huh… at our place it was decorated even better, sir. You must have seen it.) she replied with a straight face. And with that final line, we both broke into laughter.

We probably looked like idiots. But who cared?

My gaze wandered around the villa. Lights were being set up everywhere. The staircase was decorated with garlands along the sides, and inside the mandap, delicate strings of jasmine, marigolds, and roses hung beautifully. Then something suddenly clicked in my mind.

Am I forgetting something? Yes.

The rangoli.

My hand flew to my forehead, tapping it lightly before I almost shouted, “Abe!” (Hey!) Kannu looked at me with wide eyes, completely confused.

"Are gadhi, rangoli baaki hai abhi!” (You idiot, the rangoli is still left to do!) Before she could even respond, I turned and ran toward the staircase—while she hurried after me.

...........

“Bas kar yaar,” I said, standing beside my friend Kannu, who was dressed in a light blue lehenga adorned with tiny mirrors that shimmered under the lights. My hands were full of belongings—her purse, her specs, and my purse. ( That’s enough, yaar)

Meanwhile, she was completely busy eating golgappas. With her mouth full, she looked at me and asked, “Aap kaun?” (Who are you?) And that was it. I was done. Seriously. I looked down at the things in my hands and then back at her with an exhausted expression.

“Tumhari friend. Aankhon se to nahi khana hota, phir chashma kyun utaarti ho?” I said, extending her glasses toward her. (Your friend. You don’t eat with your eyes, so why do you remove your glasses?) She raised her hand after finishing the last pani puri and said with a stuffed mouth, “Bas chehra nahi dikhai deta… khana dikh jaata hai mujhe.” (I can’t see faces… but I can see the food.)

I took a long breath at her utterly senseless logic. “Kannu, agar baraat aa gayi aur main Riya ko dekh nahi payi, to phir dekhna tum—” (Kannu, if the baraat arrives and I don’t get to see Riya, then you’ll see what happens—) “Theek theek, chalti hoon… dhamki mat diya karo yaar, mera dil dhak-dhak karne lagta hai,” she interrupted, making a fake scared face while dropping the plate into the dustbin and dramatically placing a hand on her chest. (Okay, okay, I’m coming… don’t threaten me like that, my heart starts beating fast.)

She could never be serious.

Just then, the sound of the shehnai started playing—the baraat must have arrived. Kannu quickly wore her specs, and we both looked at each other with wide eyes.

“Shit.”

The word escaped both of us at the same time as we grabbed each other’s hands and ran toward the staircase. We rushed into the room. Inside, a figure sat before the dresser, dressed in red—glowing beautifully. We walked toward her and stopped just behind, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Kannu placed a hand over her heart, taking a deep breath.

“Kitni pyaari lag rahi ho.”

(You look so beautiful.)

Riya’s lips curved into a shy smile, shining with happiness. “Nazar na lage,” I added softly.

(May no evil eye fall on you.)

I circled my hand beside her head, silently pulling away the evil eye the way my Nani always did. Then I touched my fingers to my temples and snapped them with a sharp pop, sealing the ritual just like she used to. A bright smile spread across our faces. “Ek photo,” Riya said. (One photo.) We both almost jumped with excitement before quickly pulling out our phones and starting to click pictures.

........

Right now, I was standing beside my grandparents on the stage, dressed in a blush-pink lehenga with golden borders, just behind bride-groom sofa for the photoshoot. After a few pictures, we stepped down and took our seats on the chairs arranged in front. The varmala ceremony had ended, and now everyone was gathering with their families for photographs.

Then a small voice called out from the stage, “Ani!” I could recognize him without even looking—just by his voice. No one except him had ever called me “Ani,” the name that meant so much to me. And when I looked up, I saw him—a little boy running straight toward me. Mayur.

“Hello, my little Ironman,” I said with a smile. He grinned brightly before leaning against my legs and turning toward the stage. Pointing at Riya and Vineet, who were sitting there with fresh rose garlands around their necks, he said happily, “Mumma–Papa achhe lag rahe hain na?” (Mumma and Papa look nice, right?) “Haan, aur tum bhi bahut pyaare lag rahe ho,” I replied softly. (Yes, and you look very cute too.) I gently patted his head.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up—a strange sensation creeping through me. It felt like someone… someone was watching me. I slowly turned my head and scanned the garden. Everything looked normal. The chatter of the crowd, the loud music playing nearby, footsteps moving here and there, laughter floating in the air—but no one seemed to be specifically looking at me. Still, my eyes kept searching.

No one. Just like the past three days.

It had happened again and again—the unsettling feeling of someone’s gaze on me. Yet whenever I looked around, I found no one. I sighed and turned my head back, shaking the thought away as if washing it out of my mind. I knew this was probably just exhaustion. Nothing more. Then I sensed someone standing beside me. When I looked up, I saw a woman in a blue saree—not too flashy, just enough to shine gracefully.

“Namaste, Aunty,” I greeted politely. Mayur’s voice followed as he bent down to touch her feet. It was Payal Aunty. I had met her during the engagement ceremony and again today. She seemed like a sweet and composed woman. Her words always felt genuine—never sugar-coated, yet never harsh. “Namaste, beta. Khush raho. Kaisi ho?” she asked. (Hello, child. Stay blessed. How are you?) She lightly brushed her hand over my head, giving her blessing.

I smiled. “Ji Aunty, main theek hoon… please baithiye.” (Yes, Aunty, I’m fine… please have a seat.) I stood up, offering her my chair. She simply smiled and shook her head. “Nahi beta, tum baitho. Main thodi der mein aati hoon.” (No, dear, you sit. I’ll come back in a while.) With that, she turned and walked toward the stage.

I looked back and saw Mayur now sitting beside my Nanu, chatting about something excitedly. Right next to them, Nani and Rekha Aunty were busy gossiping about something only they seemed to understand. I glanced around, trying to find Kanika. She was nowhere to be seen—only her parents were sitting in the second-last row.

After some time, the main rituals began. Under the mandap, the bride and groom started taking the pheres around the havan kund, the sacred fire glowing softly between them. A bond forming in quiet sacredness—tying them together in a pure promise, one that was meant to last not just for this life, but for seven lifetimes.

....

Three days off.

Three days away from the clinic, and now here I was again—sitting on the leather chair in my office, papers scattered across the table. I checked files, noted down important points, and signed documents, completely absorbed in my work.

With a deep sigh, I leaned back against the chair, resting my head on the headrest and closing my eyes for a moment.

After a while, I opened them again and lifted my wrist to check the time. Almost four o’clock. Today I could go home early. Yesterday I had reached after eight.

Pushing the chair back, I stood up and adjusted my white kurti before arranging the papers neatly on the table. Rashmi was leaving for home as well, so I instructed the rest of the staff to wrap up their work by six.

Soon after, I settled into my car, started the engine, and drove towards home.

The door opened with a soft click as I stepped inside.

My long braid was now twisted into a loose bun, secured with a claw clip. Exhaustion was written all over my face. A few stubborn strands of hair kept falling over my cheeks, irritating me, yet I kept tucking them behind my ear again and again. Slipping into my house slippers, I hurried inside. All I wanted now was a quick shower and some rest. But the moment I turned, soft murmurs of conversation drifted from the living room.

Guests?

Who could it be?

Curious, I walked in—and stopped. The guests were Payal aunty and Rajdeep uncle. It felt slightly strange. We weren’t that close; we had only met a few times earlier. Still, a polite smile formed on my lips seeing them chatting so calmly with my grandparents.

As I entered the room, their heads turned towards me, welcoming smiles appearing on their faces. After greeting them, my eyes quickly scanned the table. There was nothing for refreshments.

I immediately turned toward the kitchen when Nani’s voice stopped me. “Aanwi, thodi der baitho phir jana.” (Aanwi, sit for a while first, then go.)

I shook my head lightly.

“Haan Nani, main bas chai-nashta le aati hoon.” (Yes Nani, I’ll just bring some tea and snacks.)

Payal aunty smiled gently. “Nahi beta, rehne do. Hum nashta kar chuke hain. Aapko kuch khana ho to kha lijiye.” (No dear, let it be. We have already eaten. If you want something, you can have it.)

“Nahi aunty ji, main theek hoon.” (No aunty, I’m fine.) I replied before sitting beside Nani.

I still couldn’t understand the reason behind their visit, so I simply looked down at my hands resting quietly in my lap while they continued talking about something—something I couldn’t quite connect.

Then suddenly, the doorbell rang. My head snapped toward the door. Now who? I stood up. “Main dekhti hoon.” (I’ll check.)

Walking toward the entrance, I smoothed my dupatta. Just as my hand reached the doorknob, the bell rang again. I frowned slightly at the impatience of the person outside and twisted the knob.

The door opened.

And there he stood.

A man dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, standing tall at the doorway. One hand rested casually in his pocket while the other lingered near the doorbell. Black sunglasses concealed his eyes.

For a moment, I simply stared at him, my brows knitting together as I tried to recall if I had ever seen him before.

Had we met? Did I know him?

Questions rushed through my mind—but every answer was the same.

No.

Then he moved. He tilted his head slightly to the side. The movement revealed a sharp jawline, strong and defined. His lips—neatly shaped—rested in a calm, unreadable line.

Even behind the dark shades, I could feel his gaze fixed on me. That quiet intensity. It made me blink, suddenly aware that I had been staring. Stepping aside quickly, I gave him space to enter. As he walked past me, a faint fragrance surrounded me.

Sandalwood and musk. Warm, woody, and strangely comforting.

The scent lingered in the air as he strode past with long, steady steps, the sound of his polished shoes echoing softly across the tiled floor. There was something about his presence—calm yet powerful.

A quiet authority.

I blinked again, watching his tall, broad figure disappear into the living room. Closing the door behind him, I followed slowly, though my thoughts were still tangled around that brief moment. Even now, his faint scent lingered in the air. With every breath, it felt as if his presence was still there.

When I entered the living room again, I saw him greeting my grandparents. He bent slightly and touched their feet, earning their blessings before sitting down on the single sofa across the table. His sunglasses were gone now.

Just then , I saw his eyes.

Grey.

Dark grey eyes. The moment my gaze met his, those grey eyes looked straight into mine—calm, steady, completely unreadable.

My breath caught for a second.I quickly looked away. Just then, Payal aunty called softly, “Anwita bete, aao mere paas baitho.” (Anwita dear, come sit beside me.) I looked at her. Her gaze was warm and comforting. Nodding slightly, I walked over and sat beside her.

After sometime, Nani spoke.

“Ab dono aa gaye hain, to rishte ki baat karte hain.” (Now that both of them are here, let’s talk about the proposal.) My head lifted instantly at her words. She was looking at me with a bright smile. My expression, however, had turned completely still.

“Rishta?”

(A proposal?)

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