Rudransh’s POV

I had never believed that a wedding could feel like a business transaction until that morning. There were no weeks of preparation waiting for me, no endless meetings about decorations, no lists of relatives, no loud celebrations spreading through the mansion, and certainly no excitement that I could recognize as my own. There was only a decision that had already been made, a promise I had given, and a clock moving steadily toward eight in the morning. By seven, the Rathore mansion was unusually quiet, although I knew every member of my family was awake. The cars had been arranged, the temple had been secured, the priest had been informed, and everything had been reduced to the minimum necessary for a marriage. It was exactly how I had wanted it. Private. Controlled. No unnecessary people. No questions from outsiders. No photographs being circulated before I even had the chance to understand what I had agreed to. Yet despite the controlled arrangements, there was one thing I could not control—the fact that by the end of the morning, a woman I had never met would be sitting beside me, wearing my name.

I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuff of my ivory sherwani while the words from last night's conversation continued to echo somewhere in the back of my mind. Rudransh is getting married tomorrow. Abeer had almost choked on his food. Yuvraaj had looked at me as if I had personally betrayed him. Ranvijay had immediately started thinking about documents and legalities, while Veerraj had watched me with the irritatingly observant expression he always wore whenever he knew I was hiding something. None of them knew the entire truth. They knew there was a reason behind this marriage, but they did not know what had forced my hand, and I had no intention of telling them yet. Some things were safer when they remained between the people who had made the decision. I looked at my reflection again and saw exactly what I expected to see—controlled features, a straight posture, an expression that gave nothing away. I looked like a man going to sign an important agreement, not a man going to get married. Perhaps that was exactly what I needed to look like.

There was a knock on my door before I could leave.

“Bhai Sa?”

I didn't have to turn to know it was Ranvijay.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Ranvijay walked inside, already dressed in a black bandhgala, his expression serious as always. He had a file in his hand, because apparently even on his brother's wedding morning, Ranvijay Rathore could not exist without legal documents somewhere within arm's reach. He looked at me for a few seconds before placing the file on the side table.

“Everything is arranged,” he said. “The marriage documents will be handled separately. Baba Sa has already spoken to the people involved, and security is in place around the temple.”

I nodded.

He didn't leave.

Instead, he looked at me carefully. “You still don't want to tell us anything?”

“No.”

“Not even me?”

“No.”

Rnvijay's jaw tightened slightly, but he nodded. He had always understood boundaries better than the others, even when he disliked them. “Fine. But if there is anything I should know before she enters this family, tell me before someone else has to find out for themselves.”

My gaze remained on him. “You will know when you need to.”

“That is what you said yesterday.”

“And my answer hasn't changed.”

He studied me for another moment before finally picking up the file. “She's going to be terrified.”

I looked at him.

Ran continued, “She is marrying a man she has never met. Don't expect her to behave like she knows this family.”

“I don't.”

“Good.”

He turned toward the door, then paused. “And Bhaisa …”

I waited.

“For once, don't make everything harder than it already is.”

My expression remained unchanged, but something in his words stayed with me after he left.

I didn't know Krisha.

I didn't know what she expected from this marriage.

And I certainly didn't know what she had been told about me.

But I knew one thing.

She was walking into a house where none of my brothers had asked for her presence.

That alone was enough to make me cautious.

---

By the time we reached the temple, the morning sun had already spread across the courtyard, touching the old stone walls with a warm golden light. The temple was smaller than the places where families usually held weddings, but that was intentional. There were no crowds, no decorated entrance large enough for photographers, no music blaring through speakers, and no rows of guests waiting to catch the first glimpse of the bride. A few marigold garlands hung around the entrance, and the faint fragrance of incense mixed with the cool morning air. It was quiet enough that I could hear the temple bells every time someone entered.

My brothers stood near the entrance while Baba Sa spoke to the priest. Ran was checking his phone, Veer had already received two calls from the hospital and was trying to deal with them without making the morning chaotic, Yuv stood with his arms crossed and an expression that could have made the entire temple uncomfortable, and Abeer was complaining about having skipped breakfast.

“Bhai, wedding hai ya punishment?” he muttered.

Yuv didn't even look at him. “If you keep talking, it will become punishment.”

Abeer sighed. “Mera khud ka bhai meri kushhi ko support nahi karta.”

Veer ended his call and looked at him. “Your happiness seems to be directly connected to how much you can irritate Yuv.”

“Exactly. At least someone understands me.”

I ignored them.

My attention remained on the temple entrance.

Then a car stopped outside the temple.

And everything changed.

The first person to step out was a young woman who looked around the courtyard with open curiosity before turning toward the person behind her. I recognized her immediately from the little information we had gathered—Lakshita Kapoor, Krisha's closest friend. She moved aside.

And then Krisha stepped out.

For the first time in my life, I understood why people sometimes became silent without meaning to.

She wasn't dressed like the heavily decorated brides I had seen at political functions and business weddings. There was no attempt to overwhelm the room with jewellery or makeup. The saree was deep red, almost wine-coloured, with heavy golden embroidery that caught the morning light whenever she moved. It had been sent by Baba Sa, and it suited her far more than I had expected. Her hair fell softly around her face, with a few strands framing her features, and the jewellery was elegant rather than excessive. There was a small bindi on her forehead, red bangles around her wrists, and a nervousness in her eyes that she was trying very hard to hide.

She looked young.

Not childish.

Just… untouched by the kind of world I had spent most of my life living in.

My eyes remained on her for longer than they should have.

I had expected to feel nothing.

Instead, I noticed everything.

The way her fingers held the edge of her pallu a little too tightly. The slight hesitation before every step. The way she looked around the temple as though trying to memorize the surroundings before entering a place that would change her life. And then, eventually, her eyes found mine.

She stopped.

For one brief second, neither of us moved.

I had seen her photograph before the wedding arrangements were finalized, but photographs had never been enough to understand a person. They captured a face but not the way someone's eyes changed when they were nervous, or the way their lips parted slightly when they were surprised, or the way they instinctively looked away when they realized someone was staring at them.

Krisha looked away first.

Beside her, Lakshita leaned toward her and whispered something.

I couldn't hear the words.

Yuv followed my gaze toward the two girls and immediately frowned.

“I still don't understand why her friend is here.”

Veer glanced at him. “Because she's her friend.”

“I know what a friend is.”

“Then your question has been answered.”

Yuv looked annoyed.

Meanwhile, Lakshita was still whispering to Krisha, and from the expression on Krisha's face, I could tell whatever she was saying was not helping her remain composed.

Krisha finally started walking toward us.

I watched her approach.

The closer she came, the more obvious her nervousness became.

When she reached Baba Sa, she lowered her gaze respectfully.

“Namaste.”

Baba Sa nodded. “Come, beta.”

She moved forward.

Her eyes briefly passed over Ran, then Veer, then Yuv, and finally Abeer. I watched the small changes in her expression as she looked at each of them, and for the first time that morning, I understood exactly what her friend had probably been thinking.

Five men.

All different.

All intimidating in their own ways.

All staring at her because she was the stranger who was about to become part of the family.

Abeer was the first one to soften his expression.

“Hi,” he said.

Yuv looked at him.

Abeer cleared his throat. “I mean… welcome.”

Krisha gave him a small, nervous smile.

Veer nodded politely. “I'm Veerraj.”

“Krisha,” she replied softly.

“We know.”

She looked slightly embarrassed.

Ran stepped forward next. “ranvijay.”

She nodded.

Then her eyes moved toward Yuv.

He said nothing.

His expression remained hard.

Krisha's smile disappeared slightly.

I saw it.

So did Veer.

Yuv finally said, “Yuvraaj.”

She gave a small nod.

Then she looked at me.

Neither of us spoke.

Baba Sa's voice broke the silence.

“Rudransh.”

I looked at him.

Her fingers tightened around the pallu.

She nodded.

---

The wedding ceremony began a short while later.

I sat beside Krisha in front of the sacred fire, listening to the priest recite the mantras while the smoke from the havan rose slowly between us. I had attended countless ceremonies in my life, but I had never imagined myself sitting in this position. I had always considered marriage something distant, something that belonged to other people, other lives. My own life had been built around responsibility, business, family, and control. There had never been room for anything else.

And now there was a woman sitting beside me wearing a red saree and my family's future around her neck before the ceremony had even begun.

Krisha's hands were folded tightly in her lap.

She was nervous.

I could see it in the way her fingers moved against each other, the way she occasionally swallowed, the way her eyes remained lowered whenever the priest spoke directly to us. I wondered what she had been told about me. I wondered whether she was frightened of me. I wondered whether she had agreed because she wanted this or because circumstances had left her with no other choice.

I did not ask.

Not yet.

The priest instructed me to place the garland around her neck.

Krisha looked up.

For the first time since she had arrived, our eyes met at such close distance.

There was uncertainty there.

And something else.

Trust, perhaps.

Or simply the decision to move forward despite fear.

I lifted the garland and placed it around her neck.

She did the same.

When our hands brushed, she immediately pulled hers back.

I noticed.

I noticed everything about her.

The priest continued with the rituals.

When the mangalsutra was brought forward, I took it from his hands. Krisha lowered her head, and the room seemed to become quieter despite the chanting continuing around us.

I moved closer.

Her hair shifted over her shoulder as I placed the mangalsutra around her neck.

For one moment, my fingers brushed her skin.

She inhaled softly.

I stepped back.

Then came the sindoor.

I had seen men perform the ritual countless times.

It had never meant anything to me.

Until that morning.

Krisha closed her eyes.

I took the vermilion between my fingers and filled the parting of her hair.

When she opened her eyes again, she looked different.

Not because of the sindoor.

Because she was no longer simply Krisha Mathur.

She was my wife.

The thought came without permission.

I didn't like the effect it had on me.

The priest instructed us to stand for the pheras.

Krisha rose carefully.

The edge of her saree caught beneath her foot.

Before she could stumble, my hand caught her arm.

She looked at me in surprise.

“Careful,” I said quietly.

It was the first personal word I had spoken to her.

She nodded.

“Sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize.”

She looked at me for a second longer before turning toward the fire.

We began walking.

One round.

Then another.

The priest spoke about duty, respect, companionship, family, responsibility.

Words.

Promises.

Things I had always considered abstract.

But with every step, I became increasingly aware that this wasn't an arrangement written on paper anymore. This was a marriage being performed before our families, before the sacred fire, before everything either of us believed in.

On the fourth round, her saree shifted again.

This time, she managed it herself.

I noticed the small determination in her expression.

Something about it stayed with me.

She wasn't helpless.

She was simply unfamiliar with the situation.

There was a difference.

By the seventh round, my mind was quieter than it had been all morning.

The priest blessed us.

“Vivah sampann hua.”

I looked at Krisha.

She looked toward her parents.

Her mother's eyes were filled with tears.

Her father's face carried pride, fear, and relief all at once.

Krisha's expression changed when she saw them.

I watched her walk toward her father and embrace him.

She cried.

Not loudly.

She simply held him as though she was trying to memorize the feeling of being his daughter before stepping into a new identity.

I looked away.

I had never been comfortable watching other people's emotions.

Perhaps because I had spent too many years avoiding my own.

When Krisha finally stepped away from her parents, Lakshita hugged her next.

The two women spoke quietly, and I watched Lakshita glance toward me.

There was no fear in her eyes.

Only warning.

It was almost amusing.

Almost.

She then looked at Krisha and said something that made Krisha laugh through her tears.

Abeer leaned toward Veer.

“She's going to be trouble.”

Veer smiled. “For whom?”

Abeer looked at me.

“Everyone.”

I ignored him.

Baba sa came toward us.

“Rudransh.”

I looked at him.

“Take Krisha home.”

I nodded.

Krisha looked at him, then at me.

She followed.

---

The car was silent after we left the temple.

Krisha sat beside me, looking out of the window. The deep red saree covered her carefully folded hands, and the mangalsutra rested against her chest. Every few minutes, her fingers moved unconsciously toward it, as if she still couldn't believe it was there.

I watched her reflection in the window.

She looked exhausted.

Overwhelmed.

But she wasn't crying anymore.