1.his wife
Tisya Arora
What about green and pink?” my best friend Nithya suggested. “It’s a really nice combo, you know.”
“Yeah, it is,” I agreed, “but don’t you think it’s a bit early to plan all of this?”
“For god’s sake, Di, you’ve been planning your wedding for years—even when you didn’t know who the groom would be! And now that you do, you’re hesitating. You don’t want to pick out your outfits or choose a venue.” Nithya sighed dramatically.
“Just admit it—you don’t want to marry him,” my other best friend, Aarvika, said as she approached us with three cups of tea. She handed one to me, then sat down beside me, placing her hand on my knee. “At least tell us what’s going on,” she urged.
I took a deep breath. “I “am” ready for this wedding,” I said. “I was excited about the whole thing, but now… I don’t know if “he” wants it.”
“What do you mean? He said yes, so of course he does,” Nithya replied, taking a sip of her tea.
“We haven’t spoken since the wedding was arranged,” I said, staring down at my lap.
“Oh, so Mister Future King is giving you the silent treatment,” Nithya said, raising an eyebrow.
“Apparently, he is,” Aarvika chimed in.
“Well, if he’s not making a move, then you should,” Aarvika suggested.
“Yeah, you should call him and sort this out,” Nithya said, backing Aarvika up.
“And how am I supposed to do that?” I asked with a strained smile. For the next two hours, they brainstormed ways for me to reach out to him.
..........
After they left, I went to my room and lay down on the bed, my legs dangling off the edge. I knew this marriage wasn’t going to be simple. I was marrying my sister-in-law’s brother—a man destined to be a king. Which, by default, would make me the queen. As a child, I would have been thrilled at the thought of being a “queen,” but now I understood the weight of responsibilities and restrictions that came with the title.
His family had always been kind to me, but I hardly knew him. I’d stalked his social media, but there wasn’t much to find. The last time we had met was three years ago.
“Maybe I should just call him,” I muttered to myself, picking up my phone. But before I could dial, my brother’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hello, Tisya,” my brother greeted.
“Hey, bhai,” I replied.
“Listen, Vidyut wants to meet you,” he said.
“Wait, *who*?” I almost yelled.
“Vidyut - tumhari bhabhi ka bhai, tumhara hone wala pati.” Bhai said in a sarcastic tone
(Vidyut-your sister-in-law’s brother, your soon-to-be husband.)
“Oh, great,” I thought. “I was just about to call him myself.”
“You still there?” my brother asked.
“Ha, yahi hu. Kitne baje aa rahe hai woh?”
(Yeah, I’m here. What time?)
“Get ready by seven, okay?”
“O-okay. Bye,” I said, hanging up. I looked at the clock—6:30. Half an hour to get ready. I took a deep breath. I couldn’t avoid him forever.
I picked out a white dress, deciding not to overthink it. This wasn’t exactly the first time we were meeting, and I didn’t feel the need to impress him. By the time I was done, the doorbell rang. I froze. He was here.
“Jai Mata Di,” I whispered under my breath as I opened the door.
Standing there was an incredibly handsome man, and, strangely enough, we had coordinated—he was wearing a crisp white shirt, with two buttons undone and sleeves casually rolled up. The fit emphasized his frame. My staring was cut short when he spoke.
“Are you done checking me out, Miss Tisya Arora?” he said with a smirk.
“Yes... I mean, go out,” I stammered, immediately cringing at my own words. “I mean, let’s go,” I corrected, shutting the door behind me as I headed to his car. Why was I always embarrassing myself around him?
But as I walked, I hesitated. I wasn’t going anywhere until I had answers. I stopped and turned around, only to walk right into him. His eyes were already fixed on me. I took a step back, gathering my courage.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said firmly.
rt writing here…
