Chapter 1
The house stood like a newly wedded bride — adorned from head to toe in the shimmering threads of festivity, its every corner whispering tales of both bygone memories and hopeful beginnings. Draped in the gleam of fairy lights and the delicate scent of fresh marigolds, the air itself seemed embroidered with nostalgia. Old photo frames blinked from the walls like forgotten lullabies, while new drapes danced in excitement, fluttering like the heart of a bride waiting at the threshold of a new life.
But beneath this silken veil of beauty, chaos reigned — loud, untamed, and utterly merciless.
The symphony of celebration had surrendered to the cacophony of confusion. Footsteps thundered like a stampede across the marble floors; voices clashed mid-air, tumbling over one another in a frantic rush. Someone was screaming for the missing fruits basket ; another wept over misplaced bangles as if the wedding itself might collapse without them. Sarees trailed behind flustered aunts, uncles waved instructions like field marshals, and cousins darted from room to room like arrows loosed from a bow, each on a mission more urgent than the last.
The once serene home, now choked in incense and sound, resembled a battlefield in disguise — one where the weapons were flower garlands and undone checklists, and the soldiers wore embroidered kurtas and anxious expressions. And in the middle of it all, the bride’s mother stood like a lone lighthouse in a storm, holding back a flood of tears with a shaky smile, praying to the heavens that this beautiful madness would somehow weave itself into the perfect memory.
The house, once alive with the whirl of wedding frenzy, fell into an eerie, stunned silence — as though time itself held its breath.
And then— “WHERE IS MY BABYGIRL?”
The voice cut through the golden dusk like a lightning strike, raw and desperate, trembling not with anger but something far deeper… heartbreak. As someone is suffering from the seperation
Gasps filled the air. Anklets stilled mid-chime. The rushed steps halted in midway in the new not so new wedding drama in one more wedding.
At the gates stood a man—unkempt, wild-eyed, his chest rising and falling like he had sprinted through storms to get here. Beside him, two little children clutched his hands tightly, their innocent eyes wide with confusion and fear.
“This marriage can’t happen,” his voice cracked, choking on a sob he didn’t try to hide. “She’s my girl. My Anya. You can’t force her into this… not like this. These two—” he looked down at the children, his voice trembling, “they’re hers. Ours children. You can’t take her away from them. Or me.”
Whispers spiralled through the crowd like wildfire. Shock melted into disbelief. Disbelief into judgment.
At the centre of it all, the bride stood frozen — a porcelain figurine wrapped in crimson silk, suddenly too heavy to move. Anya’s breath caught in her throat as her trembling fingers loosened the bangles that had once sparkled with joy. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears louder than the wedding drums that had now gone silent.
She took a step forward.
And then another.
The crowd parted for her, sensing that this was no longer just a wedding—it was a reckoning.
She stepped into the centre, her gaze locked onto the man’s tear-filled eyes. He dropped to his knees before her, holding her hands as if holding the last piece of his shattered world.
“My baby,” he whispered, burying his face in her palm. “I came… I promised I would. I’ve come to take you away from all of this. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
Then he hugged her— not with passion, but with a broken tenderness — a hug that carried years of pain, of words never said, of love left behind.
Gasps rippled across the hall.
Before anyone could react, footsteps echoed like thunder.
The groom had arrived.
“Riansh!” someone hissed.
His eyes flared with disbelief. Then rage.
In three strides, he grabbed the man by his collar and lifted his fist, fury burning through his veins. “Who the hell are you?! What nonsense are you spewing? Stay away from her!”
But before the blow could land, a hand caught his wrist.
Anya.
Calm. Quiet. But her eyes held fire.
She turned back to the man — and before anyone could blink, she grabbed his ear and twisted it hard, yanking off his fake beard in one swift move.
“OWW! Yaar, Anya!” the girl winced, voice rising an octave.
A stunned silence. Then confusion. Then—
“Avni ?” Anya blinked.
The bride staggered, her emotions colliding — disbelief, annoyance, then affection blooming like a secret flower in her chest.
She pulled the girl—her best friend, her chaos, her heart—into a crushing embrace. Her eyes shimmered with tears that finally fell, soaking into Avni ’s shoulder. “I thought you’d just come quietly, like ghosts,” she whispered, half-laughing, half-crying. “But you had to bring the whole damn storm.”
And then the other two “strangers,” who had been standing solemnly like tragic statues, slowly removed their fake beards. Familiar eyes. Familiar smiles. Her people.
Her family, the one she had chosen.
They said nothing—only stepped forward and wrapped their arms around her too, pulling her into the kind of hug that only years of friendship, loss, and healing could build.
Riansh, watching from behind, exhaled sharply as understanding washed over him. The tension in his shoulders dissolved. His clenched fist uncurled.
They weren’t strangers. They were home. Her home.
The four of them held each other like lifelines—arms wrapped tight, as if letting go would shatter the fragile magic of the moment. No words passed between them, yet a thousand memories echoed in the silence. It was the kind of embrace that patched soul-deep wounds, the kind that only true friendship could offer.
Just then, a gentle but firm voice sliced through the tender moment.
“fresh up baccho and come for dinner,” Anya’s mother (Somya) said, her tone brisk but affectionate.
Nodding, the girls loosened their grip and followed the rest toward the hall, still a little breathless from the emotional whirlwind. As the guests prepared for the ritual next day, Avni, Sakshi, and Yahvi slipped away to their mansion room, ready to transform from undercover mischief-makers into glowing bridesmaids.
Avni ’s POV:
Here I am, standing not at the wedding of a childhood best friend, but someone far more unexpected—a friend I met halfway through life’s chaos.
The kind of friend who shows up when you least expect it, who begins as a quiet presence and becomes a force of healing. The kind who stitches your broken pieces back together, even though they were never the one who broke you.
Anya. My dodo.
She’s one of the best things that’s happened to me.
Somewhere along the way, we all became each other’s safe space. I don’t even remember when. All I know is that they’re my home now—the kind I never want to walk away from.
So of course, we decided to crash her wedding like it was a movie set. We planned the whole thing down to the last second—dramatic entry, chaos, confusion. And me? I got the leading role. I was to march in like a heartbroken lover, claim her as my wife, and send everyone into a frenzy.
And it worked—almost too well.
Her face. The shock in her eyes. It was priceless.
But damn it, I forgot how well she knows me.
The second I opened my mouth—just once—her expression changed. Busted. So much for disguising my voice.
She didn’t even hesitate. The Anya I know just pinched my ear hard enough to make me yelp, like she was scolding a school kid, not reuniting with her soul sister at her own wedding.
And then— She pulled me into a hug.
That kind of hug that swallows the world whole.
A second later, Sakshi and Yahvi joined in, and the four of us stood there, tangled together like vines grown wild with love. A messy, imperfect, unbreakable knot.
Our veere hug.
Messy eyeliner, undone dupattas, sweaty faces—but in that moment, we were magic. We were loud. We were alive. We were us.
And for the first time in a long time… everything felt whole again.
As I turned around, the laughter still bubbling in my chest, reality hit me like a slap.
We weren’t alone.
A sea of eyes—wide, amused, confused—were locked onto us. The hall, once bustling with wedding preparations, had fallen into stunned silence. Guests, decorators, caterers… everyone had paused to witness the drama we had orchestrated so confidently.
And then it happened.
My eyes met the gaze. My relative. No—multiple relatives. Distant aunties. That overbearing uncle who always questioned my life choices. Even the family friend who once proposed I marry his son.
Shit.
I felt the blood drain from my face. My palm flew to my forehead in pure second-hand embarrassment. What had I just done?
Dressed like a runaway groom, screaming about children and stolen brides—what was I thinking?
And to make it worse, why are Anya’s and my relatives basically the same? It’s like the universe wanted me to be caught in 4K. My parents hadn’t even arrived yet, and I was already living their nightmare.
Still, pretending dignity hadn’t left my soul five minutes ago, I straightened my fake beard and marched—yes, marched—toward them.
“Namaste, Nani ji. How are you?” I greeted politely with a smile stretched a little too wide. My eyes darted quickly toward my partners in crime—Sakshi and Yahvi—secretly hoping they’d at least pretend to blend in or vanish altogether. They didn’t.
Excusing myself before the relatives could ask too many questions, I rushed over to them, dragging my embarrassment behind me like a heavy suitcase.
“What the hell did I just do?” I groaned, pressing my fingers to my temples in theatrical despair.
Sakshi burst into laughter, her voice echoing through the hallway. “First time doing the drama king act, huh?”
“And clearly the last,” Yahvi added between giggles, both of them now laughing like maniacs.
I instinctively brushed the side of my nose with my fingers—an unconscious habit whenever I embarrassed myself beyond redemption. These two—God, Sakshi and Yahvi—I was going to murder them. Slowly.
“Shut up!” I snapped irritably, narrowing my eyes at them.
Wrong move.
That only made Sakshi and Yahvi laugh harder, now clinging to each other and wheezing like absolute lunatics. I crossed my arms and scowled, thoroughly unimpressed.
“I’m done. I’m not talking to either of you. Get lost!” I huffed, stomping my foot like a five-year-old mid-tantrum before dramatically turning to march toward my room.
Well… I tried.
Before I could even take three steps, I walked straight into what I assumed was a wall.
Correction: it was a person. I looked toward him and muttured a small sorry while sliding my hair back behind my ear.
“God, why me? Why again and again?” I muttered under my breath, rubbing my forehead in disbelief.
Behind me, their giggles erupted into full-blown howls. I turned around, glaring at the sight of Sakshi and Yahvi doubled over, clutching their stomachs and crying from laughter.
“I swear, I’m never talking to you both again,” I groaned, tossing my hands up in the air like a defeated sitcom character. “Mereko baat hi nahi karni!” I muttered dramatically and finally made my escape.
The moment I stepped into my room, I let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Finally,” I muttered to myself. “Peace at last.” I changed into something more comfortable, enjoying the rare moment of calm—only for it to be shattered a minute later by a loud bang on the door.
