Kabir sat in his study, the muted glow of his desk lamp catching the edges of his watch. The phone screen glowed bright, each face of the group lined up in tiny squares — Keya’s easy laughter, Raghav’s mischievous grin, Inaya’s bright energy, Mihir and Avira’s gentle banter, Shaurya’s calm smile. Myra, her eyes soft and watchful. Ishaan, as quiet and steady as ever.
And then there was Sia.
Sia, in her night dress , her face composed and her lips curved in that polite smile he had seen so often. She looked every inch the bride-to-be, and yet… there was a distance in her eyes that no video call could bridge.
Kabir watched the conversation unfold — teasing remarks about wedding plans, old college jokes that seemed to crack open memories of days long gone. For a moment, it almost felt like the world they had built together in those college corridors had returned, laughter echoing through the years.
But it was all an illusion.
Because even as Avira teased Mihir about his serious face, and Inaya nudged Keya to sing a song, Kabir could feel the weight in the spaces between their words. They had all grown up, all scattered across cities and careers, their voices carrying the echoes of dreams they were chasing in separate corners of the world.
Myra and Ishaan — once inseparable, now careful with their silences, their laughter a little too soft to be real.
Avira and Mihir — partners in ambition, yet continents apart in their pursuits.
Raghav’s jokes — light as always, but Kabir could hear the hesitation in his pauses.
And Sia — Sia, who sat like a queen among them all, but whose gaze was fixed somewhere far beyond the glowing screen. He knew her well enough to read the unspoken words in the curve of her smile. She had always been brave — graceful in her silence, resolute in her choices.
But tonight, she looked tired of pretending.
As they teased her — about the engagement, the rituals to come — Kabir watched her eyes flicker with something unspoken. She laughed along, nodded politely, but he could see that she was not really there. Not with them, not with him.
She was alone in a room full of voices.
And in that moment, Kabir felt a strange ache bloom in his chest. Because he knew this wasn’t the wedding she had once dreamed of. It wasn’t the love story she had written in the margins of her college notebooks. It was a compromise — a transaction dressed in red and gold.
He wanted to reach across the screen and hold her hand, to tell her that he saw the weight she carried in the quiet way she held herself.
But he didn’t.
Because he was part of this too — part of the families, the negotiations, the legacy that had built this engagement like a fortress. He had played his part with a calm face and a steady voice, and now he watched her do the same.
As the call drew on — as Keya sang an old Bollywood song and Inaya danced in her seat — Kabir leaned back in his chair, silent. He let the laughter wash over him, let the memories flicker in the corners of his mind.
It had been years since they had all been together like this. Years since Myra had stopped answering Ishaan’s late-night messages. Years since Avira and Mihir had shared coffee on rainy days. Years since Sia had looked at him with anything but polite indifference.
The call was filled with voices, but for Kabir, it was a conversation of ghosts.
When the goodbyes were said and the screen went dark, Kabir closed his eyes. In the hush of his room, he let the ache of that distance settle into his bones.
And he promised himself that tomorrow, when he stood beside Sia in the glow of a hundred lamps, he would remember this moment — the quiet of her gaze, the loneliness in her smile.
Because love wasn’t always laughter and light. Sometimes it was the courage to stand beside someone, even when every word between you was a memory.
And for Sia, he would be that courage — even if tonight, all he could do was watch her from the other side of the screen.
The morning was painted in the quiet pastels of a new dawn, the sky a gentle wash of white and blue that mirrored the lehenga Sia wore. She stood by the window, the soft silk of her dupatta brushing against her skin like a whisper of comfort. In the distance, the city moved on in its usual rush — horns blaring, lives intertwining — but here, in this hotel suite, time felt suspended.
The lehenga was an heirloom of sorts — the intricate silver embroidery shimmering with every breath she took, every memory she tried to swallow back. White and light blue. Colors of calm. Colors of surrender.
As she traced the delicate threads of her outfit, Sia let herself drift back to a simpler time. To the laughter of her friends echoing down crowded college corridors, to the gentle teasing over coffee cups, to the way Avira would scold her for not letting her hair down more often. Keya’s bright giggles. Mihir’s calm voice cutting through any storm. Myra’s fierce loyalty, Inaya’s mischievous smile.
They were all far away today — scattered across cities, chasing dreams that had kept them apart. They’d all wanted to come, she knew. But life had a way of tangling plans and pulling people in different directions. One by one, the calls had come — voices heavy with apologies, soft with regret.
“We’re so sorry, Sia. We’re with you, always. Even if we’re not there in person.”
She had smiled then, each time, her voice soft and sure:
“I know. I’ll carry your wishes with me.”
But today, as the weight of her jewelry pressed against her collarbones, she felt the ache of their absence like a hollow in her chest. No Avira fussing over the drape of her dupatta. No Inaya cracking jokes to break the tension. No Keya’s bright eyes shining with excitement.
Just the quiet expanse of this grand hotel suite, and the gentle knock of her mother’s bangles as she adjusted Sia’s maang tikka.
“Perfect,” her mother whispered, pride and tears mingling in her voice.
Sia nodded, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror.
She looked… regal. Every inch the bride-to-be. Every inch the woman her family needed her to be. But beneath the kohl-lined eyes and the pale blue elegance of her lehenga, she was still the same girl who had once danced barefoot in the rain with her friends, laughter ringing in the monsoon air.
The memory brought a small, wistful smile to her lips.
The phone on her vanity chimed softly, pulling her back. A message from Avira.
“You’re going to be the most beautiful bride. We’re with you, Sia.”
Sia closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in those words like a balm.
She wondered if Kabir felt the same tremor in his heart today — if he, too, was caught between the ceremony and the truth of how quickly this day had arrived. It had only been a week since the families decided, a single week that had felt like a lifetime.
In that week, she had become a promise. A promise to her family’s legacy. A promise to the name she carried.
Her mother’s gentle voice cut through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present.
“Beta, it’s time,” she said.
Sia rose, each step heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead. She took one last look in the mirror. The girl who stared back was serene, unbreakable. Her dupatta settled over her shoulders like moonlight. Her kohl-rimmed eyes, calm and unflinching.
She reached for her phone one last time, typing out a simple message to the group chat that had once been her whole world:
“I’m stepping into this with grace. Your love is with me.”
Then she slipped the phone into her clutch, lifted her chin, and stepped out of the room.
The hallway was empty, the hush of the morning heavy with expectation. She could hear the soft strains of the shehnai music drifting up from the ballroom below, a melody of beginnings and quiet promises.
Sia pressed a hand to her heart, feeling the slow, steady rhythm there. She had always believed that elegance was not just in the way you dressed or moved — it was in how you carried yourself when your heart was full of questions you couldn’t voice.
Today, she would walk into that ballroom, into that promise, with every ounce of grace she had learned. And even though her friends weren’t there to hold her hand, she would carry their laughter, their love, like a secret light in her soul.
Because this was her day.
And she would meet it with quiet courage and a heart that still believed in something soft and beautiful — even in the midst of this carefully arranged fairytale.
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