Krisha’s POV

The moment I entered my room, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, staring at the ceiling as if the answer to my entire life was written somewhere between the fan and the pale blue paint. My room looked exactly the same as it had that morning. The bed was unmade, one of my cushions had fallen onto the floor, my college books were still lying in a careless pile near the window, and the small table beside my bed was occupied by three hair clips, a half-empty bottle of water, a hand cream I had forgotten to close, and my phone. Everything was familiar. Everything belonged to me. And yet, somehow, I felt as though I had walked into a room that no longer knew me.

Tomorrow.

The word kept repeating inside my head.

Tomorrow I was getting married.

Not in a few months. Not after weeks of preparations. Not after a long engagement during which I could slowly get used to the idea, meet the man, talk to him, argue with him, dislike him, perhaps understand him a little. No. Tomorrow. At a temple. With only our immediate families present. With a man who had never seen my face and had apparently not even felt the need to meet me before agreeing to make me his wife.

I pushed myself away from the door and walked toward the bed, but I stopped halfway when my eyes fell on the mirror attached to the wardrobe. For a few seconds, I simply stood there and looked at my reflection. My hair was tied into a loose, messy ponytail. A few strands had escaped around my face. I was still wearing the same simple kurta I had worn in the evening, and my eyes looked slightly swollen from the conversation with Papa. I touched my cheek lightly, almost expecting to find some visible sign that my life had changed.

There was nothing.

I still looked like Krisha Mathur.

The same girl who had spent the afternoon scrolling through job openings, complaining about the heat, sending stupid reels to Lakshita, and arguing with Mummy over whether dinner should include aloo paratha or pulao. The same girl who had been worrying about her future in the ordinary way—about finding a job, earning something of her own, helping Papa, and perhaps one day buying Mummy a saree without having to ask for money first.

And now I was supposed to become someone’s wife.

Someone whose full name sounded like it belonged on the front page of a business newspaper.

Rudransh Rathore.

I said the name silently in my head, and immediately made a face at my own reflection.

“Naam hi itna serious hai,” I muttered. “Aisa lag raha hai jaise is aadmi pe hi puri duniya ki responsibilty ho "

The thought almost made me laugh, but the laughter disappeared before it could fully reach my lips. I sat down on the edge of my bed and picked up my phone. There were several notifications waiting for me—two messages from a family group, one promotional message from a clothing app, and seven reels from Lakshita.

Seven.

Of course.

I opened our chat, scrolled through the reels, and watched the first one. It was a video of a bride dramatically running away from her wedding while the groom stood behind her looking confused. The second was a meme about Indian parents announcing marriage plans as if they were informing their children about the weather. The third was a clip of a woman saying, “Mujhe shaadi nahi karni, mujhe bas sukoon chahiye,” followed by a man replying, “Dono ek saath nahi mil sakte.”

I stared at the screen.

Then I typed.

Krisha: Lakshu, you know what?

I waited for exactly four seconds before sending another message.

Krisha: Actually, no. Guess what?

As expected, she replied almost immediately.

Lakshita: Agar tune phir se koi cringe reel bheji na toh main block kar dungi.

I smiled.

Krisha: Excuse me? Main kab cringe reels bhejti hoon?

Lakshita: Tumhari poori personality ek cringe reel hai.

Krisha: Jealousy is a disease, baby.

Lakshita: Aur tu uski permanent patient hai.

I laughed quietly, looking down at the phone. It was strange how easily Lakshita could make me feel normal. Even when my mind was filled with confusion, even when my chest felt tight and I had no idea what the next day would bring, a single message from her could pull me back into the familiar rhythm of our friendship. We had known each other for years. She had seen me cry over exams, over silly fights, over boys who had never even known I existed, and over the time Mummy had accidentally thrown away my favourite pair of earrings. She had also seen me at my most irritating, most dramatic, and most unreasonable, and somehow had still chosen to remain my best friend.

I typed again.

Krisha: No, seriously. I have something to tell you.

There was a pause.

Lakshita: Bol.

Krisha: But promise you won’t overreact.

The moment I sent that, I knew I had made a mistake.

Lakshita and the phrase don’t overreact had never belonged in the same sentence. If anything, telling her not to overreact was like pouring petrol on a burning stove and then requesting the flames to behave.

Lakshita: Ab toh pakka overreact karungi.

Krisha: Lakshu.

Lakshita: Bol na, kya hua? Mummy ne daanta? Tera phone toot gaya? Ya phir tu pregnant hai?

I blinked.

Krisha: WHAT?

Lakshita: Arre possibilities bata rahi hoon. Aajkal kuch bhi ho sakta hai.

Krisha: Shut up, idiot.

Lakshita: Toh phir bol.

I looked at the message box for a long moment. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but I couldn't bring myself to type the sentence. It was ridiculous. I had already said yes to Papa. I had already agreed to the marriage. I had already heard the word tomorrow from his mouth, and yet telling Lakshita made it feel more real than everything else.

Because Papa had spoken to me gently. He had looked tired. He had held my hand. He had promised me that I could come back if I was not respected. He had made the entire thing feel like a serious, frightening responsibility.

Lakshita would make it sound exactly as absurd as it was.

And perhaps that was why I needed to tell her.

I took a deep breath and typed.

Krisha: Tomorrow I am going to get married.

I stared at the message for two seconds before sending it.

The little blue ticks appeared almost instantly.

Then nothing happened.

I waited.

One second.

Five seconds.

Ten.

I frowned at the screen.

Krisha: Lakshu?

No reply.

I sat straighter.

Krisha: Oye?

Still nothing.

I checked whether my internet was working. It was. I sent her a sticker of a confused cat. No response. I called her once, but the call ended before she picked up. I frowned harder.

Krisha: Why are you not replying?

A minute passed.

Then another.

I threw myself backward onto the bed, holding the phone above my face. Perhaps she was in the kitchen. Perhaps her mother had called her. Perhaps she had dropped her phone somewhere. Perhaps she was taking time to think of an appropriately dramatic response.

That last possibility seemed the most likely.

After all, Lakshita had once stopped replying to me for twelve whole minutes because I had told her that the dress she wanted to buy looked like a curtain.

I sent another message.

Krisha: Lakshu, don’t tell me you fainted.

Nothing.

I turned onto my stomach and kicked my feet lightly against the mattress.

Krisha: At least send one emoji so I know you are alive.

Still nothing.

By the time ten minutes had passed, I was beginning to feel irritated. By the time fifteen minutes passed, I was genuinely confused. Lakshita never stayed silent after receiving dramatic news. She was the kind of person who would reply to a simple “I’m hungry” with seventeen messages, three voice notes, and a photograph of a dog that looked equally hungry.

I was about to call her again when I heard hurried footsteps outside my room.

Before I could sit up properly, the door opened so suddenly that I nearly dropped my phone.

Lakshita stood there.

Her hair was slightly dishevelled, her top was hanging from one shoulder ( it was a oversized top but it became an off shoulder top 😭,) and she was breathing as though she had run all the way from the main road to my house. One hand was pressed against her chest while the other held her phone tightly.

She stared at me.

I stared at her.

For a few seconds, neither of us said anything.

Then she whispered, “What the hell?”

I slowly lowered my phone.

“Hello to you too.”

“What the actual hell, Krisha?”

“Why are you breathing like you have just escaped from a tiger?”

“Because I came running!”

“From where?”

“From my house!”

I blinked.

“Your house is literally ten minutes away.”

“Exactly! Ten minutes, Krisha! Do you know how long ten minutes feels when your best friend suddenly texts you that she is getting married tomorrow?”

I sat up fully.

“You could have replied.”

She pointed at me with an accusing finger. “Reply? What should I have replied? Congratulations? Condolences? Should I have sent a wedding invitation? Should I have called a priest? I was trying to understand whether you were joking or whether you had finally lost your mind.”

“I thought you had fainted.”

“I almost did!”

She walked into the room and shut the door behind her, still looking at me as though I had personally committed a crime against friendship. Then she dropped onto the bed beside me, placed both hands on her knees, and took a deep breath.

“Start from the beginning,” she ordered.

I tilted my head. “What beginning?”

“Don’t act smart with me. You sent me, ‘Tomorrow I am going to get married,’ What happened? Who is getting married? You? Some other Krisha? Did your phone get hacked? Is this a prank? Is there a camera somewhere?”

I tried not to smile.

“Lakshu—”

“No, first answer me properly. Is this real?”

I nodded.

Her face changed.

The irritation remained, but underneath it came disbelief, followed by concern. She leaned closer and lowered her voice.

“Krisha. Seriously. Is this real?”

I nodded again.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Like… actual tomorrow?”

“Yes, Lakshita. The tomorrow that comes after today.”

She stared at me.

Then she turned toward the ceiling and shut her eyes.

“Bhagwan, mujhe utha le.”

I burst out laughing.

She opened one eye and glared at me. “Tu has rahi hai?”

“Thoda.”

“Your life is collapsing and you are laughing?”

“Main kya karun? Roun?”

“Obviously!”

“I have already cried.”

That silenced her for a moment.

Her expression softened. She turned toward me, and the dramatic irritation on her face slowly faded. “You cried?”

I nodded, looking down at my hands.

“Papa se baat hui?”

“Haan.”

“Okay.” She shifted closer. “Now tell me everything. Slowly. And don’t skip anything. I want the entire story, from the moment your father came home looking like someone had stolen his kidneys.”

I looked at her.

“Tumhe kaise pata Papa aise lag rahe the?”

“because your mother called my mother earlier and said something was happening at your house. Also, your father’s face has apparently become a national emergency.”

I sighed.

“Lakshu, please.”

“Okay, okay. I’m listening.”

I took a deep breath and began.

I told her about Papa sitting silently in the living room, about Mummy pretending everything was normal, and about the way Papa had looked when I asked him whether something was wrong. I told her about the proposal, about the Rathore family, and about Rudransh. I explained that Papa had not told me everything, that there was something complicated happening, and that he believed I would be safer with Rudransh.

Lakshita listened without interrupting, but I could see her expressions changing with every sentence. At first, she looked confused. Then suspicious. Then openly offended on my behalf.

When I told her that Rudransh was thirty, she nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

When I told her that he was the eldest son, she narrowed her eyes.

“Fine.”

When I told her that he was a businessman and that the family was extremely powerful, she folded her arms.

“Hmm.”

But when I told her that he had agreed to marry me without meeting me, her entire body went still.

“Wait.”

I stopped.

She leaned toward me.

“Say that again.”

I swallowed. “He doesn’t want to meet me before the wedding.”

Lakshita stared at me as if I had just announced that I was marrying a ghost.

“What?”

“He doesn’t want to meet me.”

“Before the wedding?”

“Yes.”

“Not even once?”

“No.”

“Not even a phone call?”

“No.”

“Not even a video call?”

“No.”

“Not even a bloody photograph?”

I hesitated.

“I don’t know.”

She placed a hand over her forehead.

“What the fuck, bro?”

I looked down.

“Lakshu—”

“No. What the fuck is happening? Who is this man? Why is he behaving like you are some parcel being delivered to his house? He is getting married to you, not ordering a sofa online ki manga lo pasand aaya toh rakh lenge varna wapis kr denge !"

I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh.

She continued, her voice rising with every word. “And what do you mean he doesn’t want to meet you? Is he allergic to women? Does he have some kind of royal rule that he cannot look at his future wife before the wedding? Is he a vampire? Does sunlight affect him? What is wrong with him?”

“Lakshita.”

“No, tell me! Is he handsome at least?”

I looked at her in disbelief. “ Yes he was .”

“You have seen him ?”

“Papa showed me his pic .”

“Dikha dikkha ? ”

" Ni hai behn , papa ke pass hai .Ab mai mangti ki photo dedo acha todi lgta "

She stood up from the bed and began pacing around my room, her dupatta slipping further down her shoulder. “This is not normal. This is not even slightly normal. A man’s family comes to your house .Oh ho i forgot not even come to your house .Just called your father and asks for your hand, fixes a wedding, and the man himself is sitting somewhere in his palace or office or whatever rich-people dungeon he lives in, refusing to meet you?”

“His family doesn’t live in a palace.”

“Whatever. Mansion. Palace. Fort. I don’t care.”

“He lives in Jaipur.”

“Jaipur is not on another planet!”

“I know.”

“He could have come here.”

“I know.”

“He could have asked you to meet him somewhere.”

“I know.”

“He could have called you.”

“I know, Lakshu.”

She stopped pacing and looked at me.

“Then why are you so calm?”

I gave her a helpless smile. “I’m not calm.”

“You look calm.”

“I am sitting calmly. That doesn’t mean I am calm.”

She studied me for a moment, and then her face softened again. “You’re scared.”

I looked away.

That was enough of an answer.

Lakshita came back and sat beside me. This time, she didn’t make a joke immediately. She placed her hand over mine and waited until I looked at her.

“Krisha, do you actually want to do this?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Did I want to marry Rudransh?

I didn’t know him. I didn’t know his voice, his habits, his temper, his likes, his dislikes, or the way he treated people when no one was watching. I didn’t know whether he was kind or arrogant, patient or cruel, honest or manipulative. I didn’t even know what he looked like.

But I knew Papa.

I knew the fear in his eyes. I knew that he would never willingly push me into something dangerous. I knew that he had asked me to trust him, not the man. And I knew that there was something happening behind the scenes that no one was ready to explain to me.

“I don’t know,” I finally whispered.

Lakshita squeezed my hand.

“That’s an honest answer. Why did you agree krishu ? Just refuse yrr .why are you suddenly marrying a man out if nowhere .You dont even know him "

“I said yes because Papa asked me to trust him. He promised that if anything went wrong, I could come back. He said I wouldn’t have to stay somewhere I wasn’t respected.”

“Good. At least he said that.But still yrrr This is too much "

“He also said that I could continue working if I got a job.”

“ Excuse me? Was that your so called future family going to stop you from working and all ? Krishu mai kasam mai unki band—"

" Arey niii pagal , asa kuch ni hai . I was just assuming things that's all "

“Hn fir thek hai , Varna asa hota na toh bhaad mei jaane de unko .”

I gave her a look.

She immediately raised both hands. “Okay, fine. I’m just saying, these are basic things, but apparently we have to celebrate them like constitutional amendments.”

Despite myself, I laughed.

She leaned back against the wall and exhaled. “Okay. So, let me understand this. You are getting married tomorrow to a man named Rudransh Rathore. You have never met him. He has never met you. His family is powerful. Your father is worried about something. The wedding is happening in a temple with only immediate family. And you are sitting here wearing the same kurta from the afternoon, looking like you are waiting for your online order to arrive.”

I looked down at my clothes.

“Don’t remind me.”

“Have you even thought about what you are going to wear?”

“No.”

“Jewellery?”

“No.”

“Hair?”

“No.”

“Makeup?”

“No.”

“Shoes?”

“Lakshita, I don’t even know what is happening in my life.”

She nodded seriously. “Fair. But at least your eyebrows are done.”

I looked at her.

She looked at me.

Then both of us burst out laughing.

For a few minutes, the room filled with the kind of laughter that came from exhaustion rather than happiness. It was too absurd to be real. My wedding was tomorrow, and my best friend was sitting beside me conducting an emergency bridal checklist while I was still trying to understand why my life had suddenly turned into the plot of a television serial.

After the laughter faded, Lakshita picked up my phone from the bed and opened our chat.

She read the message I had sent her.

Tomorrow I am going to get married.

Then she looked at me with narrowed eyes.

“You could have written more.”

“What was I supposed to write?”

“Something like, ‘Dear Lakshita, please remain seated. I have some devastating news.’”

“Sorry. Next time I get married, I’ll send a formal notice.”

“Next time?” she repeated sharply. “There will be no next time. One marriage is enough. Especially when the first one is happening with a man who sounds like he owns a private army.”

I leaned my head against the wall.

“Do you think he is really that bad?”

Lakshita’s expression became thoughtful.

“I don’t know. And I’m not going to call him bad without knowing him. But I don’t like the way this is happening.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then why are you agreeing?”

I looked at my hands again.

“Because Papa is scared.”

She didn’t respond immediately.

I continued, my voice quieter. “He didn’t say it directly. But I could see it. There is something wrong, Lakshu. I don’t know what. He wouldn’t tell me. He just kept saying that things were complicated and that I would be safer with Rudransh.”

“Safer from whom?”

“I asked him.”

“And?”

“He didn’t answer.”

Lakshita’s jaw tightened.

“Of course.”

“I think there is some threat.”

“Do you know what kind?”

“No.”

“Did your father tell you anything about someone threatening him?”

“No.”

Did he mention money? Business? Some rival?”

“No.”

She fell silent, and the room suddenly felt heavier.

The playful atmosphere disappeared slowly, leaving behind the truth we had both been avoiding. This was not merely an unusual arranged marriage. Papa had not simply come home and announced that he had found a wealthy family for me. He had looked worried. He had spoken as though he was trying to protect me from something he could not name. And Rudransh had agreed to marry me without meeting me, as if the marriage was not a beginning but a decision already made for reasons I did not understand.

Lakshita looked at me.

“Krisha, promise me something.”

“What?”

“If you feel uncomfortable tomorrow, you tell me.”

I frowned. “ Ofcourse baby "

“ Wase will i be there ?.” Lakshita asked ." i mean they asked for your parents only right ?"

I looked at her with narrowed eyes , " What do you mean ? Ofcourse you will be there .Meri shaadi ho aur tu na ho na baba asa toh ho ni skta

“But krishu, it is a private wedding. Only immediate family.”

“Shut up lakshu , You are my immediate family .My Sister .My bestfriend .My parents literal Second daughter ”

She laughed ” Hheeh vo toh mai hu "

I shook my head, smiling.

She narrowed her , " Yes yes i have to be there .You are my best friend. Also, if you marry a psycho, I need to be there to identify him.”

“Lakshu!”

“What? I’m just saying. If he looks at you strangely, I’ll know.”

“You haven’t even seen him.”

“I have instincts.”

“You once thought a man was trustworthy because he had dimples.”

“He had very trustworthy dimples.”

I laughed again, and this time the laughter felt easier.

Lakshita picked up one of the cushions and hugged it to her chest. “Okay. Tell me about the temple.”

“Papa said it will be simple.”

“How simple?”

“Just the wedding rituals. No big ceremony. No engagement. No guests. Only immediate family.”

She nodded slowly. “And you are okay with that?”

I looked toward the window.

“I don’t know.”

I had imagined my wedding many times, though I had never admitted it aloud. I had imagined Mummy crying while helping me get ready. I had imagined Papa pretending to be strong and then becoming emotional at the last moment. I had imagined music, flowers, laughter, cousins running around, relatives complaining about food, and Lakshita probably insulting someone behind a pillar.

I had never imagined a quiet temple wedding with a stranger.

“I always thought…” I began, then stopped.

“What?”

I smiled faintly. “Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“I thought my wedding would be different.”

Lakshita’s expression softened.

“Different how?”

“Warm. Noisy. Chaotic. A little embarrassing. Mummy would be running around. Papa would keep checking everything. You would probably fight with the caterer.”

“I would not fight with the caterer.”

“You would.”

“Only if the food was bad.”

“And now?”

I swallowed.

“Now it feels like something that has to happen.”

Lakshita didn’t try to contradict me. She simply moved closer and rested her head against mine.

For a while, we sat quietly.

Then, because she was Lakshita and silence could never survive around her for too long, she suddenly asked, “Do you at least know whether this Rudransh guy has hair?”

I turned toward her.

“What?”

“I’m asking a valid question.”

“Of course he has hair.”

“You don’t know that. Hs could have worn a wig "

“Lakshita, he is thirty, not an eighty.”

“Some men are bald at thirty.”

“Why are you so concerned about his hair?”

“Because if I have to insult him tomorrow, I need material. And just think my bestfriend will marry someone with no hair? ewwww .Ganja jiju????chiiiii"

I laughed and pushed her shoulder.

She grinned. “Does he have a beard?”

“Yes .”

“Height?”

“I don’t know.”

“Voice?”

“I don’t know.”

“Favourite food?”

“I don’t know.”

“Temper?”

I hesitated.

“I don’t know.”

She stared at me.

“Krisha, you know absolutely nothing about your future husband.”

“I am aware.”

“Do you know his blood group?”

“No.”

“His zodiac sign?”

“No.”

“His Aadhaar number?”

I looked at her with disbelief.

“Why would I know his Aadhaar number?”

“Maybe for emotional compatibility.”

“You are impossible.”

“I am practical.”

I shook my head, but the smile slowly faded when I remembered one thing.

“Lakshu?”

“Hm?”

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

She stopped smiling.

I looked down at my lap. “What if he sees me tomorrow and thinks he made a mistake? What if he doesn’t want this marriage? What if he is only agreeing because his family is forcing him? What if he hates the fact that he has to marry someone he has never met?”

Lakshita’s eyes softened.

“Then he should have had the courage to say no before dragging you into this.”

I didn’t answer.

She continued, more gently, “But Krisha, listen to me. If he doesn’t like you, that doesn’t mean there is something wrong with you. You are not an object that someone has to approve of. You are not a dress he can reject because the colour doesn’t suit him.”

I looked at her.

“And if he behaves badly,” she added, “then he is the one with the problem. Not you.”

My throat tightened.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. You say you know, but then you start blaming yourself for everything. You’ll sit there wondering whether you spoke too much, laughed too loudly, wore the wrong clothes, or looked too ordinary. Don’t do that.”

I looked away.

She knew me too well.

“Krisha,” she said firmly, “you are allowed to be nervous. You are allowed to be confused. You are allowed to dislike the situation. But don’t make yourself smaller just because some man has decided not to meet you. If he doesn't want to marry you .That's good . Its his loss . Wase bhi you never wanted to marry in first place ."

I nodded slowly.

For the first time that evening, I felt something other than fear.

Not confidence exactly.

But a small, steady reminder that I was still myself beneath all of this.

I was still Krisha Mathur.

I was still someone with choices, even if those choices were currently tangled in circumstances I did not understand.

Lakshita suddenly grabbed my wrist.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

“Get up.”

“Why?”

“We have work.”

I stared at her. “What work?”

“Your wedding preparation.”

“Lakshu, the wedding is tomorrow. What preparation can we do now?”

“Everything that can be done.”

I allowed her to pull me off the bed.

She walked toward my wardrobe and opened it with the seriousness of a professional stylist. Clothes were pushed aside one after another. She examined a yellow suit, rejected it .Other suit rejected ." Ek min shadi msi toh lehnga pehnte hai na ? she suddenly said .

I rolled my eyes ." Exactly , then why are you looking for clothes in my wardrobe? Dusri shadi hai kya ye meri jo pehli shadi ka lehnga pada hoga ander "

She looked at me and gave me a chessy smile " Heheheeh , lets go and ask aunty"

We were going outside when suddey mummy came inside . " Arey aunty aap , hm abhi apke pass hi aa rhe the " Lakshita said .

Mummy smiled .I looked at mummy .She was smiling but i can see tears in her eyes .

" Mumma why are you crying?" I aksed pulling her to bed to sit .

" Kuch ni beta " She looked at me " Meri choti si beti itni badi ho gyi pta hi ni laga .Kal teri shaadi hai Vishwas hi ni ho rha " She said .Tears started forming in my eyes ." Maa , ro mat maa please" I suddenly hugged her .We both started crying .

" Arey arey bas bas dono maa beti aaj hi ro loge .Kuch kal ke liye bhi bacha ke rakho " Lakshita said from behind .I looked at her .I can see tears in her eyes too.

"Chlo chlo ab ye rona dhona band kro , aunty ab ye btao iska lehnga kaha hai ?" Lakshita said .

Maa chuckled " Arey mai wahu btane aayi thi"

i can see a bag in her hands " Look this is the saree for you krisha to wear tomorrow ".

i Saw the saree it was beautiful red saree with heavy embroidery .

" Aunty pr ise toh lehnga pehnna chahiye na "Lakshita said with a pout .

" Hn beta wase toh lehnga pehnna chahiye , but shaadi mandir mei hai toh kaha itna bhari lehnga pehngi ye isliye iske sasural se ye saari aayi hai "

I looked at the saree and then maa ." Waha se ? " Maa nodded .

Lakshita holded the saree and put it on me .

“Perfect.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. You’ll look like a bride without looking like you are trying too hard.”

I glanced at myself in the mirror while she stood behind me.

“A bride,” I whispered.

The word sounded unfamiliar.

Lakshita noticed my expression and immediately began speaking again, perhaps because she could sense the emotions gathering in my eyes.

“Okay, tomorrow we’ll do light makeup. No heavy foundation. Your skin is already good. A little kajal, mascara, blush, lip tint. Hair open or half-tied. Small earrings. Maybe a bindi.”

“A bindi?”

“Yes, a bindi. Beautiful small red bindi "

I smiled.

She continued, “And no crying before the wedding because then your eyes will swell and I’ll have to fight with the makeup artist.”

“There may not even be a makeup artist.” Maa said from behind .

“Then I’ll do it.”

“You once made me look like a ghost.”

“That was one time.”

“You used a foundation three shades lighter than my skin.”

“It was bad lighting.”

“It was daylight.”

She waved her hand dismissively. Maa looked at us and smiled . Then she left .

I sat back down on the bed while she continued arranging my clothes. For the next half hour, she transformed my room into a temporary bridal planning centre. She made a list on her phone, checked whether I had matching footwear, searched for earrings, inspected my hair accessories, and even called her mother to ask whether she had a small box of safety pins.

At one point, she looked at me seriously and said, “We also need to discuss the emergency escape plan.”

I nearly choked on my water.

“What escape plan?”

“In case the groom turns out to be a serial killer.”

“Lakshita!”

“Fine, fine. In case he turns out to be a normal arrogant rich man.”

“That is not much better.”

“Then in case he turns out to be emotionally unavailable.”

“Most men are.”

“Exactly. We need a plan.”

I shook my head, but I couldn't stop smiling.

She sat beside me again after finishing her list and looked at the time.

“Your papa know I’m here?”

“I think so.”

“You think?”

“Lakshu, you entered my room like a criminal.”

“I knocked.”

“You knocked once and then opened the door.”

“That counts.”

Before I could respond, there was a soft knock on the door.

Both of us turned toward it.

Mummy’s voice came from outside.

“Krisha? Lakshita beta, dinner laga diya hai.”

I stood up and walked toward the door, but before opening it, I glanced back at her.

For a moment, my eyes moved around the room—the clothes laid out on the bed, the phone in her hand, the familiar chaos she had brought with her, and the small sense of safety that had returned simply because she was there.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

Tomorrow, I would walk into a temple and stand beside a man I had never met.

Tomorrow, I would become Rudransh Rathore’s wife.

But tonight, I was still just Krisha.

I was still a daughter sitting in her room, still a best friend laughing over ridiculous jokes, still a girl who had no idea what kind of man was waiting for her at the other end of the wedding fire.

I opened the door.

Mummy smiled at us from the hallway. “Chalo, dono. Khana thanda ho raha hai.”

Lakshita immediately stood up and slipped her arm through mine.

“Chaliye, future dulhan ji.”

I gave her a warning look.

“Don’t start.”

She leaned closer and whispered, “I’m just saying, kal se tumhara naam Krisha Rathore ho sakta hai.”

My stomach twisted at the sound of it.

Krisha Rathore.

I didn’t know whether the name felt strange because it was new or because it belonged to a life I had not chosen for myself.

Lakshita noticed my silence and squeezed my arm.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” she whispered, “you won’t face it alone.”

I looked at her.

Then I nodded.

And together, we walked toward the dining room, carrying jokes, fear, unanswered questions, and the weight of a wedding that was only a few hours away.