V I D H A R T

Wednesday dawned not with a gentle sunrise, but with the violent, beautiful pounding of my own heart against my ribs. It was a drumbeat of anticipation, a rhythm that had begun the moment I’d opened my eyes at 3 AM and known, with bone-deep certainty: Today.

Today, after four years of silence, I will speak to her. Today, my Eraya will hear my voice.

A smile, unbidden and irrepressible, touched my lips as I stood in the walk-in closet, the soft glow of the LED lights illuminating rows of tailored clothing. The usual ritual of selecting attire felt charged with new meaning. This wasn’t for a board meeting or a state function. This was for the most important audience of my life.

My gaze swept the organized space, and a sudden, domestic thought intruded. When she comes here… this room won’t be just mine anymore. It will be ours. The realization sent a warm, possessive thrill through me. I walked to the large, built-in almirah, running a hand along the empty side.

“One section for me is enough,” I murmured to the silence. “But for my Eraya… we’ll need three. Maybe four.” A soft chuckle escaped me. As soon as I return from Dehradun, I’ll call the interior designer. We’ll make space for her saree, kurtas, her dupattas, the simple, beautiful things that carry her scent.

I glanced at my wristwatch. 4:05 AM. A jolt of urgency shot through me. I need to leave Jaipur. The sooner I go, the sooner I see her. Every minute here is a minute stolen from being near her.

Turning to the full-length mirror, I gave myself a final appraisal. A crisp white linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Beige tailored trousers. Simple leather loafers. No three-piece suit, no brocade, no crest. Just… a man. I wanted to meet her as just Vidhart, not as Vidhart Singh Ranawt. The former felt infinitely more real, more worthy of her.

Okay. This will do. I gave a curt nod to my reflection. Now go, Vidhart. Before you lose your nerve standing here.

As I stepped out of my room and into the hushed corridor, I expected only the sleeping silence of the haveli. The soft glow of the dawn through the stained-glass windows painted colored shapes on the marble floor.

What I did not expect was the collective whisper that greeted me from the shadowy curve of the grand staircase.

“Best of luck, Bhaiya.”

I froze. My heart, already racing, stumbled. Slowly, I turned.

My entire family stood there, a sleepy, dishevelled, and utterly beautiful tableau in their nightclothes. Dadaji, in his silk kurta pajama, looking more awake than anyone. Maa and Papa, arm in arm. Chote Papa trying to stifle a yawn. Choti Maa smiling through her sleepiness. And the trio-Siya, Aaradhya, and Vikrant-grinning like conspirators who had pulled off a masterpiece.

A wave of emotion, so profound it tightened my throat, washed over me.

Dadaji stepped forward first. He placed his hands on my shoulders, his grip firm, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that saw everything. He leaned in, his voice a low, private rumble meant only for my ears. “Beta… aaj apne pyaar se milne ja rahe ho. Real rhna. Kyonki hum jaante hain… Eraya aapko naa nahi keh payegi. Aap jaisa insaan milna… bahut luck ki baat hai. Being yourself. Aur main jaanta hoon… jab Eraya aapko jaane gi… woh shaadi ke liye haan zaroor kahegi. Jaaiye. Aur unka dil jeet kar aaiye.”

(Beta... you're going to meet your love today. Just be yourself. Because we know... Eraya won't be able to say no to you. Meeting someone like you... is a matter of great luck. Just be yourself. And I know... when Eraya gets to know you... she will definitely say yes to marriage. Go. And win her heart.)

His faith was a mantle, heavy and glorious. I nodded, my voice thick. “Thanku, Dadaji. Zaroor… main unka dil jeet kar hi aaunga.”

In a gesture of deep respect, I bent and touched his feet. His hand came to rest on my head, a blessing that felt like a shield.

Then came the others. Maa’s eyes were glistening. “Beta, please... I want Eraya to become our daughter-in-law. Because this is the first time you've agreed to meet a girl... so there must be something special about her. Make sure... that things move forward..”

“ji, Maa,” I promised, my own eyes suspiciously moist.

Papa clapped my shoulder, a wordless communication of pride. Choti Maa pressed a small kalava into my hand for protection. Vikrant, yawning dramatically, muttered, “Bhai, main bhi chalta hoon saath? Aap akele kyun ja rahe ho?”

(Bhai, can I come along too? Why are you going alone?)

I shook my head, a genuine smile breaking through. “Nahi. Pehli mulaqaat… akele hi honi chahiye. Agar sab theek raha… toh phir sab mileinge hi.”

(No. The first meeting... should be alone. If everything goes well... then everyone will meet later.)

Siya and Aaradhya engulfed me in a joint, fragrant hug. “Bhaiya, waise toh aap handsome ho,” Siya whispered dramatically, “lekin wahan par apna, stoic aur ajeeb-sa behavior mat dikhana! Apna asli charm dikhana… jisse woh willingly aapse shaadi ke liye haan kar de!”

(Bhaiya, you are handsome, by the way,
but don't show that stoic and strange behavior of yours there! Show your real charm... so that she willingly says yes to marrying you!)

Aaradhya nodded vigorously. “Haan, Bhaiya! Jaldi shaadi ho jaaye!”

I shook my head at their antics, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. “Haan. Ab yahan se jaunga, tabhi toh kuch baat aage badhegi.”

As I finally stepped towards the massive front doors, their chorus followed me, a blend of laughter and love: “All the best! Hamari naak mat katwana!”

I shot a mock-glare over my shoulder, but the joy in my chest was uncontainable.

Outside, the first hints of dawn were painting the sky in watercolor hues of pink and gold. My car, a sleek but understated sedan, waited. Naresh, my driver and silent confidant of four years, stood beside it, his face etched with a polite, knowing smile.

“Sorry, aapko aaj thoda jaldi uthana pada,” I said, feeling a pang of guilt.

He shook his head, his expression sincere. “Nahi, Sir. Main khush hoon. Bilkul theek hai. Main ummeed karta hoon… aapki meeting achi ho. Aur aapki jaldi hi shaadi ho jaaye Eraya Madam se.”

(No, sir. I'm happy. Everything is fine. I hope... you have a good meeting. And I hope you get married to Ms. Eraya soon.)

His words, so simple and heartfelt, struck a deep chord. I patted his shoulder, a gesture of gratitude that went beyond employer and employee. Naresh knew. He had been my shadow on every clandestine trip to Dehradun. He had waited with me through endless nights outside her NGO, had seen my restless pacing, had witnessed the exact moment my world would right itself—the moment she appeared, smiling, alive, unharmed.

He never spoke of it. Never gossiped. In a world of sycophants, his discretion was a loyalty I valued more than he knew.

As the car glided out of the estate gates and onto the highway, the rising sun cast long, hopeful shadows. I leaned back, but there was no repose. My mind was a reel of memories.

The night I stood in the rain-shadowed alley opposite her NGO because two children were sick with fever, and she hadn’t left their side. Naresh had waited in the car, wordlessly passing me a thermos of coffee as the hours bled into dawn. The only thing I wanted was to see the worry lift from her face. When she finally emerged, sleep-deprived but smiling softly at a recovered child, it was as if the sun had risen just for me.

The time she led a protest against a corporate house that had reneged on its charity promise. I’d stood at the periphery of the crowd, disguised in simple clothes, my blood boiling not at the company’s deceit, but at the way a few hired goons tried to intimidate the protestors. My fists had clenched, ready to intervene, but she had stepped forward, a tiny, fierce figure, her voice cutting through the tension without a shout. She’d handled it. She hadn’t needed a prince in shining armor. She was the armor.

I never interfered. To intervene would have been to shatter the beautiful, real bubble of her life. She would have hated the intrusion, the implication that she needed saving.

Lost in the past, I barely noticed the landscape changing until the first golden ray of proper sunlight streamed through the window, warm on my skin. I looked up, my eyes tracing its path.

Hey Bhagwan… please. Let today go well. Let her find just one quality in me that she likes. If she says yes to marrying me… I will become whatever she needs. I will mold myself into the best version of myself, for her.

The quiet in the car was broken by Naresh’s hesitant voice through the speaker. “Sir… ek baat poochun?”

“Haan, Naresh. Bolo.”

“Sir… jab aap Madam ko itna pasand karte hain… toh aapne seedhe jaake kyun nahi bataya? Chaar saal intezaar kyun kiya? Aur ab bhi arranged marriage ka proposal bhejwaya?” He paused, choosing his words carefully.

(Sir... if you like Madam so much... why didn't you just go and tell her directly? Why did you wait for four years? And even now, you've sent a marriage proposal through an arranged marriage setup?)

He continued, “Mere khayal se… agar aap unhe bata dete ki aap kaun hain, aur aap unhe chahte hain… toh woh waise bhi proposal accept kar leti. Aapse shaadi toh kitni ladkiyan karna chahti hain.”

(I think... if you had told her who you are, and that you love her... she would have accepted the proposal anyway. So many girls want to marry you!)

A soft, incredulous laugh escaped me. “Nahi, Naresh. Aap galat hain. Dusri ladkiyon aur meri Eraya mein bahut farak hai.”

My voice softened with absolute certainty. “Eraya un ladkiyon mein se nahi hai jo kisi ke naam ya daulat ke peeche bhaagtī hain. Agar main unko pehle hi bata deta ki main kaun hoon, aur phir propose karta… toh pakka woh mera proposal kabhi accept nahi karti. Arranged marriage ka proposal bhejwaya, tab jaake woh mujhse milne ko tayyar hui hai.”

(Eraya is not one of those girls who chase after someone's name or wealth. If I had told her who I was beforehand and then proposed... she definitely wouldn't have accepted my proposal. I sent an arranged marriage proposal, and only then did she agree to meet me.)

I shook my head, a wry smile on my lips. “Warna, pehle hi bata deta toh shayad woh mujhse baat bhi nahi karti.”

Naresh was silent for a moment, then I saw his nod in the rearview mirror. “Hmmm. Sir. You are right.”

A little later, as we passed a bustling flower market on Dehradun’s outskirts, Naresh suggested, “Sir, aap Madam ke liye kuch flowers le lein?”

My mind had already been made up. I knew exactly what to get her. It wasn’t roses or orchids. “Nahi, Naresh. Main jaanta hoon Eraya ko kya pasand aayega.” I hoped, with every fiber of my being, that I was right.

The rest of the journey was a blur of green hills and my own churning thoughts, all orbiting a single, shining center: Eraya.

Just let everything go well today.

My phone buzzed, cutting through the reverie. The screen lit up with a picture of Aryan, my brother in everything but blood. A smile, easier now, touched my lips.

I connected the call. “So, lover boy,” his voice, laced with sleep and amusement, came through. “Finally meeting your sunshine today. Don't mess anything up in your excitement.”

“Yahi soch raha tha… ki kahi gadbad na ho jaaye,” I admitted, the vulnerability slipping out only for him.

He chuckled. “Arey, Vidhart. Tension mat le. Tujhse kabhi koi gadbad nahi ho sakti.” Then his tone turned earnest. “Bhai, maine toh already apni achkan ke liye designer ko bol diya hai teri shaadi ke liye. Kyonki main jaanta hoon… mere bhai ko koi maana nahi kar sakta. Tu bekar mein tension le raha hai. Jab woh tujse milegi… woh zaroor haan kahegi. I’m sure.”

(Vidhart. Don't worry. You can never do anything wrong.
Brother, I've already told the designer about my outfit for your wedding. Because I know... no one can say no to my brother. You're worrying unnecessarily. When she meets you... she'll definitely say yes. I'm sure.)

His unwavering belief was a pillar. “When are you coming back?” I asked, deflecting the emotion his words evoked.

“There are still two weeks of work left. The deal is almost finalized. After that…”
“Don't worry. I'll be back before your wedding.”.”

We talked a little longer, his easy banter grounding me. When the call ended, I looked out the window. Dehradun’s familiar landmarks began to appear. The mountains stood guard, the air grew cooler, fresher.

Her air.

The frantic drumbeat in my chest settled into a steady, powerful rhythm of resolve. The waiting was over. The hoping was done.

Now, it was time to meet my destiny.

E R A Y A

The clock on my bedroom wall ticked with a merciless, mocking slowness. 1 PM. The text had come an hour ago, simple and seismic: ‘I have arrived.’

Now, I stood frozen before the full-length mirror, a stranger staring back at me. I had chosen a simple white anarkali kurta with delicate, self-embroidery, a sheer white chiffon dupatta draped over my shoulders, and my favorite pair of small, silver jhumkas. My Kolhapuri flats felt grounding against the dizzying whirl in my head. The outfit was me—simple, elegant, unpretentious. But the woman wearing it felt like an imposter in her own skin.

Why am I so nervous?

It was a foreign, unsettling sensation. In my world, I faced down corrupt officials, managed chaotic fundraisers, and soothed crying children without a second thought. Yet, the prospect of meeting one man in a quiet cafe had my palms damp and my heart performing a frantic, irregular tap-dance against my ribs.

This is the first time. The first time I’ve ever agreed to meet a man like this. I never wanted to get married… so why? Why did I say yes?

The logic I’d used—curiosity, respect for his seemingly genuine profile, my family’s gentle hope—all of it crumbled under the sheer, terrifying weight of now.

Tara materialized behind me in the mirror, her reflection a burst of reassuring normalcy. She blew me a flying kiss. “You look beautiful, Di.”

I managed a wobbly smile, my eyes wide with a panic I couldn’t hide.

“Thanks, Tara. I… I don’t know what to say to him.”

She placed warm hands on my shoulders, her touch steadying. “Di, you researched him. You know he’s not some arrogant royal caricature. He believes in simple things, in real work, just like you. So just be yourself. And look at you—you’re getting nervous! The great Eraya Sharma, nervous!”

“It’s new,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s all… very new.”

“Don’t worry. Just go. Meet him. If you like the vibe, talk more. If you don’t, you can leave anytime. No chains, remember?” Her practicality was a lifeline.

She rummaged on my dressing table, then pressed a small, sparkling stone bindi to the center of my forehead before I could protest.

“Tara! That’s too much!”
“It’s perfect!You look ethereal. Now, go!”

Downstairs, the living room felt like a stage. Papa and Ma sat together, their silent support a tangible force in the air. Ma’s eyes softened as she took me in. “Pyari lag rahi hai, beta.”

Papa stood, walking over to me. He placed a heavy, comforting hand on my head, his touch imbued with a lifetime of love and trust. “Eraya,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Remember, whatever your decision is, we are with you. There is no pressure from our side. Never.”

I took a deep, shuddering breath, nodding as I looked into his wise, kind eyes.

“I know how much you value your independence,” he continued, his gaze holding mine.

“I’ve always tried to raise you to choose your own path, not to be pushed into someone else’s mold. So, the entire decision of marriage is yours alone. Whether you want it or not. If you say you never want to marry, we are all okay with that, too. Understood?”

Tears pricked the back of my eyes, born of gratitude, not fear. I hugged him tightly, inhaling the familiar, safe scent of his cologne and old books. “I understand, Papa.”

The ride to the cafe with Tara was a blur of green and passing traffic. The wind whipped my dupatta, and I clung to her, seeking anchor in her cheerful chaos.

“Tara,” I shouted over the roar of the scooter. “When you get married… what will you ask the guy you meet?”

She laughed, the sound carefree. “Di, first, I’m not doing arranged marriage! I’ll have a love marriage, and only when the guy is completely, utterly obsessed with me! I want a dramatic, all-consuming love story!”

She glanced back. “And second—stop overthinking what to say! When you meet him, just say whatever comes to mind and your heart. Don’t prepare. Just… go with the flow. Okay?”

Go with the flow. It was antithetical to my nature—I planned, I organized, I managed. But for this, perhaps it was the only way.

She dropped me off outside the quaint, vine-covered cafe. “All the best, my future Maharani!” she teased before zooming away, leaving me alone on the sidewalk.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the cafe’s wooden door. Don’t overthink, Eraya. It’s just a meeting. Be clear. Don’t give false hope. Just be you.

I pushed the door open.

A gentle bell chimed. The interior was cozy, bathed in soft, filtered afternoon light, and blessedly, completely empty. The quiet hum of an air conditioner and the faint scent of coffee and vanilla filled the space.

My eyes scanned the room and then stopped.

At a table by the large, sunlit window, he sat.

Vidhart Singh Ranawat.

He was looking down at his phone, his profile sharp and focused against the light. The photographs hadn’t done him justice. They captured his regality, his poise. But they didn’t capture the quiet intensity that seemed to radiate from him in person, or the way his simple white shirt stretched across shoulders that spoke of discipline, not just tailoring. He looked… real. And profoundly present.

As if sensing the weight of my gaze, he looked up.

Time didn’t stop. It did something else—it sharpened, crystallizing every detail. The way his dark eyes, which I’d seen so often in pixels, found mine across the room. The slight, almost imperceptible hitch in his movement. And then, the change in his expression.

It wasn’t just a polite smile. It was a dawn breaking. A flicker of pure, unguarded happiness illuminated his eyes, softening the stern lines of his face, before it settled into a warm, respectful curve of his lips. It was a smile that reached his eyes, and it was directed entirely at me.

My breath caught.

He stood up gracefully, placing his phone in his pocket, and began walking towards me. Each step was measured, confident, yet I could see a faint tension in his jaw, a slight hesitation in his pace. He’s nervous too.

The realization was a small, comforting shock.

He stopped before me, close enough that I had to tilt my head up slightly to meet his gaze. He was taller than I’d imagined. His presence wasn’t overwhelming; it was… encompassing.

“Finally,” he said, his voice a deep, calm baritone that seemed to vibrate in the quiet space between us. A single, perfect word. “Hi.”

The simplicity of it broke the spell of formality. A small, genuine smile touched my own lips. “Hi.”

“Baithiye, Eraya.” The way he said my name—not as a question, but with a gentle certainty—sent a strange flutter through my stomach.

He led me to the table, and before I could process it, he had pulled out my chair. The old-fashioned gallantry, done without a trace of performance, surprised me. I murmured a thank you, my smile growing as I sat.

He remained standing for a second, just looking at me with that same warm, focused attention. It wasn’t a scrutinizing stare. It was… absorption. As if he were memorizing the moment.

“Aap aise hi khade rahenge?” I asked, my own nervousness making me blunt.

He blinked, shaking his head slightly as if coming out of a trance. A faint, charming pink tinged his ears. “Arre, nahi. Sorry.” He took the seat opposite me, his movements still graceful but now touched with a hint of self-consciousness.

“Aap kya lenge, Eraya?” he asked, gesturing towards the menu.

A thought, clear and sudden, cut through my social anxiety. He’d traveled from Jaipur this morning. He’d been waiting here.

“Vidhart, Aap toh subah hi Jaipur se nikle honge,” I said, my NGO-worker’s practical concern overriding everything else. “Aapne kuch khaya hai?”

(Vidhart, you must have left Jaipur early this morning,
Have you eaten anything?)

He seemed momentarily taken aback by the question, then shook his head. “Nahi.”

“Kyun?” The word came out more forceful than I intended. “Vidhart, aap subah se nikle hain. Wait, let me order some food for you.” My mind was already racing. “Aap akele aaye hain ya koi aur bhi hai?”

(Why, Vidhart, you've been out since this morning. Wait, let me order some food for you.
Did you come alone or is someone else with you?)

He just looked at me for a moment, that gentle, amused smile returning to his lips. “Haan. Mere driver, Naresh ji, bhi aaye hain.”

(Yes. My driver, Naresh ji, has also come.)

“Unhone bhi kuch nahi khaya hoga,” I deduced, my eyes widening in genuine consternation. “Vidhart, aap log yahan pichle ek ghante se baithe hain, aur aapne kuch khaya nahi? That’s not right.”

(He probably haven’t eaten anything either, Vidhart, you guys have been sitting here for the past hour, and you haven’t eaten anything? That’s not right.)

He held up a hand, his smile turning into a soft, genuine laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“It’s okay, Eraya. Pehle hum baat kar lete hain. Phir main kuch kha lunga. Chinta mat kijiye.”

(It's okay, Eraya. Let's talk first. Then I'll eat something. Don't worry.)

But I was already shaking my head, a familiar, stubborn fire lighting within me. This wasn’t about a date anymore; this was about basic care. I fixed him with a look I usually reserved for children who refused to eat their vegetables. “Vidhart, agar aage baat karni hai, toh tabhi. Pehle aap aur Naresh ji lunch kariye.”

(Vidhart, if you want to talk further, then we can do that later. First, you and Naresh ji should have lunch.)

He actually laughed again, a rich, warm sound that filled the quiet cafe. He held my gaze, the amusement in his eyes mingling with something deeper, something like admiration.

“Theek hai,” he conceded, raising his hands in playful surrender. “Lekin sirf tabhi… jab aap bhi hamare saath join karengi.”

(Ohky, But only if... you also join us.)

I nodded, the tension in my shoulders easing, replaced by a sense of odd, shared victory. “Okay.”

He called Naresh ji in, and the older man entered with a respectful nod. Vidhart told him to order anything he liked, but in the end, with a quiet, shared understanding, it was me who took the menu and placed the lunch order—simple, hearty, wholesome food.

As I spoke to the waiter, I was acutely aware of Vidhart’s gaze on me. Not scrutinizing. Not judging. Just… watching. As if he’d been waiting for this-not just for the meeting, but for this moment of mundane, caring normalcy- for a very, very long time.

The first, formidable barrier had been crossed not with profound conversation, but with a concerned question about an empty stomach. And somehow, it felt like the most honest beginning we could have had.