"There are goodbyes that happen with tears... and then there are goodbyes where a person smiles while their soul quietly buries itself alive."
---
Morning arrived with the sound of shehnai echoing throughout the Khanna Mansion.
The house that had remained awake all night preparing for the wedding looked almost celestial beneath the morning sunlight.
Every staircase was adorned with cascading white orchids and crimson roses.
The marble floors reflected thousands of flickering diyas placed meticulously along the corridors.
The fragrance of mogra and sandalwood lingered in every corner.
Relatives hurried from one room to another.
Someone called for the photographer.
Someone searched for the bride's jewellery.
Someone laughed loudly downstairs.
To everyone present...
this was the happiest day of the Khanna family's life.
Only one person knew...
it was also the day her own life would end.
Not physically.
But emotionally.
---
Inside the bridal suite...
six women carefully adjusted the heavy crimson veil over Anaya's head.
The bridal lehenga weighed almost fifteen kilograms.
Every inch shimmered with intricate zardozi embroidery, pearls and rubies.
Layers of jewellery rested around her neck.
Gold bangles covered both wrists.
A delicate maang tikka rested upon her forehead.
Her hands were adorned with deep maroon mehendi.
Hidden within the designs...
the artist had written—
Ayaan.
A name no one would ever notice.
A secret she would carry beneath another man's wedding rituals.
---
The makeup artist smiled.
"Perfect."
Everyone admired her.
"She's glowing."
"So beautiful."
"A princess."
Anaya slowly looked into the mirror.
She didn't recognise the woman staring back.
The eyes looked familiar.
Everything else belonged to a stranger.
---
A servant entered hurriedly.
"Ma'am..."
"It's time."
The room immediately became busy.
Her dupatta was adjusted once more.
The bridal bouquet was placed into her hands.
Someone whispered—
"Smile."
She tried.
Nothing happened.
---
Outside...
the wedding mandap looked magnificent.
Hundreds of guests occupied their seats.
The sacred fire had already been prepared.
The priest arranged the ceremonial items.
The dhol players tested their rhythm.
Above the mandap hung thousands of white lilies.
Her favourite flowers.
Ironically...
the only person who truly remembered that wasn't standing beside the groom.
---
The music changed.
The announcement echoed through the speakers.
"The bride..."
"...is coming."
Every guest stood.
Every camera turned toward the grand staircase.
Slowly...
Anaya appeared.
Her veil shimmered beneath the crystal chandeliers.
Each careful step echoed across the silent hall.
She descended with measured grace.
Not because she wasn't trembling.
Because she feared collapsing if she hurried.
Halfway down...
her eyes instinctively searched the crowd.
And then...
they found him.
---
Standing near one of the marble pillars...
dressed in a simple black kurta-pajama...
was Ayaan.
No sherwani.
No celebration.
No smile.
Just quiet dignity.
He looked impossibly handsome.
Yet heartbreak had carved itself into every feature of his face.
Their eyes met.
The world disappeared.
For one suspended heartbeat...
they were no longer surrounded by hundreds of people.
They were simply...
Ayaan and Anaya.
---
She reached the final step.
Before anyone else could move...
Ayaan walked toward her.
The hall became unusually quiet.
Even the dhol players lowered their sticks.
He stopped a respectful distance away.
Just as he had done...
for nine years.
He looked into her eyes.
Then...
very softly...
he asked—
"May I?"
(May I hold your hand?)
The question shattered whatever strength remained inside her.
Tears instantly gathered.
Nine years.
Nine years...
and he was still asking.
Still respecting boundaries.
Still choosing permission over assumption.
She nodded silently.
Unable to speak.
Only then...
did Ayaan gently take her hand.
His touch remained exactly the same.
Warm.
Careful.
Protective.
Never demanding.
Never possessive.
---
For a brief second...
he closed his eyes.
As though committing the feeling of her hand to memory.
Perhaps...
for the last time.
Then...
without saying a word...
he slowly walked her toward the mandap.
Every guest watched.
Nobody understood what they were witnessing.
To them...
he looked like an old friend helping the bride.
Only two hearts knew...
this was a funeral.
---
Armaan stood waiting near the sacred fire.
Calm.
Composed.
As Ayaan reached him...
he gently placed Anaya's hand into Armaan's.
His own fingers lingered for the smallest fraction of a second...
before letting go completely.
Like someone releasing an entire lifetime.
---
He leaned slightly toward Anaya.
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Only she could hear.
"Remember..."
"You once asked me..."
"How could I speak so easily about dancing at your wedding?"
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
Painfully calm.
"I promised you..."
"I'd dance at your wedding."
He paused.
His gaze never left hers.
"Maybe I misunderstood our story."
"Maybe I believed forever... while you had already chosen another tomorrow."
His voice remained astonishingly gentle.
"Whatever happened..."
"Today is the last day you'll ever see love in my eyes."
A tear rolled down Anaya's cheek.
She tried to speak.
"Ayaan... please—"
He slowly shook his head.
"After today..."
"If fate ever makes us cross paths again..."
"You won't find the man who looked at you as though you were his entire world."
He swallowed.
For the first time...
his composure almost cracked.
"You'll only meet someone who learned that even the purest love can lose its way."
Then...
he stepped back.
Without waiting for an answer.
Without allowing himself one last look.
---
The priest began chanting.
The sacred fire was lit.
The wedding rituals commenced.
Guests smiled.
Family members showered flower petals upon the couple.
Someone called for music.
The dhol players began beating their drums.
One of them suddenly paused.
Because Ayaan quietly walked toward him.
He folded his hands politely.
"May I?"
The elderly dhol player looked confused.
Then silently handed him the drum.
Ayaan adjusted the strap across his shoulder.
He looked once toward the mandap.
The priest announced—
"Prepare for the pheras."
At that very moment...
the first notes of "Jogi Mahi" filled the air.
The beat rose.
Steady.
Powerful.
Ayaan struck the dhol.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
His rhythm was flawless.
Guests clapped enthusiastically.
Some even joined the celebration.
To them...
it looked as though the bride's closest friend had decided to celebrate wholeheartedly.
No one saw...
that every beat echoed like a heart breaking.
---
Anaya took the first phera.
Her veil fluttered softly.
The sacred fire reflected in her tear-filled eyes.
Across the mandap...
Ayaan continued playing.
His face remained composed.
His hands never missed a beat.
Yet every strike of the dhol buried another memory.
Their first coffee.
Their first rain together.
Their endless "May I?"
Their forehead touches.
The first kiss they had promised to save for marriage.
Dreams of a home filled with laughter.
Children whose names they had once argued over.
Everything...
was disappearing into the rhythm.
---
By the seventh phera...
Ayaan's palms had begun bleeding where the wooden sticks rubbed against his skin.
He didn't stop.
Not once.
Because he had made a promise.
And unlike everything else...
this promise...
he intended to keep.
---
When the final wedding mantra ended...
Ayaan quietly placed the dhol back into its owner's hands.
He folded his hands in gratitude.
Turned toward the mandap one last time.
Anaya looked at him desperately.
He didn't smile.
He didn't wave.
He simply looked at her for a brief moment...
then turned around...
and walked away.
This time...
without looking back.
---
End of Chapter Ten
"Some people keep their promises even when it destroys them.
Because character is revealed not by how we love when our hearts are full...
but by how we choose to leave when our hearts have been broken."
Dear future readers, I'm a new writer on Wattpad, and maybe today my stories are strangers to you. But I have a promise. I'm not here to write characters you'll forget after the last chapter. I'm here to create the kind of people who will stay in your mind long after you close the book. You'll celebrate with them. You'll get angry because of them. You'll cry for them. You'll miss them when the story ends. Some chapters will make you smile. Some will leave you staring at the ceiling at 3 a.m., wondering why fictional characters can feel so real. If you decide to give my stories a chance, don't expect perfect people. Expect unforgettable ones. One day, I hope you'll recommend my novels not because I asked you to… …but because you couldn't stop thinking about the characters. Welcome to the beginning of an obsession. I hope you're ready. 🖤
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