ABOUT THE BOOK
🔗🔗INTRODUCTION & Prologue🔗🔗:
The mandap stood glowing under strands of marigold and jasmine, its pillars wrapped in mango leaves and sacred threads. Brass diyas flickered gently despite the soft evening breeze, and the fragrance of agarbatti curled into the air like whispered blessings from the heavens.
He stood there — tall, composed, yet anything but calm.
Dressed in a deep dark green sherwani embroidered with intricate golden motifs, he looked every bit the royal groom. A matching green pagri adorned his head, a finely designed brooch gleaming at its center, catching the golden light of the diyas. A rich green stole flowed from his right shoulder, falling diagonally across his torso and ending gracefully at his left hand, pinned neatly as though even the fabric understood the importance of today.
Today was his wedding.
The shehnai played softly in the background, its melody carrying centuries of tradition. Family members whispered, children ran about in excitement, elders adjusted their shawls and glasses — but his world had narrowed to just one thought.
Her.
His eyes kept drifting toward the hallway that led to her room. Every small movement made his heart leap. He had faced business rivals without fear, spoken in crowded rooms without hesitation — but today, waiting for his bride, his palms felt warm and his breath slightly uneven.
The priest began arranging the havan kund, chanting low mantras to prepare for the sacred fire. The groom adjusted his stole for the tenth time, trying to steady his restless heart.
And then—
A soft murmur rose from the guests.
From her bedroom doorway, she appeared.
Clad in a breathtaking green ensemble — a long dress adorned with intricate golden embroidery that shimmered like woven sunlight — she moved forward slowly. The fluffy skirt flowed around her like waves of silk, brushing the floor with gentle grace. A delicate drape covered her head, framing her face beneath layers of exquisite jewellery — a maang tikka resting against her forehead, jhumkas swaying softly, bangles chiming with every step.
Her hands, decorated with deep mehendi, trembled ever so slightly as she walked from her room into the living space transformed into a sacred mandap.
The world seemed to pause.
The groom’s restless expression softened into awe. The shehnai grew louder, or perhaps his heartbeat did. Their eyes met — and in that single glance, all the waiting, all the prayers, all the unspoken promises found meaning.
She walked toward him, step by careful step, her family following behind her. The sacred fire crackled as if welcoming her presence.
He straightened, his nervousness melting into quiet devotion.
Today was not just a wedding.
It was the merging of two families, two souls, two destinies bound by sacred vows — beneath the mandap, before the agni, and under the blessings of everyone who had gathered to witness their forever begin.
And as she reached his side, the waiting finally ended.
The murmurs slowly faded as the pandit ji adjusted his angavastram and looked at the couple with a gentle smile.
(The Priest)
“Beta, ab aap dono baith jaiye,” he said softly, gesturing toward the beautifully decorated seats before the sacred fire.
(Dear, now you both sit down)
The groom carefully held the edge of his sherwani and sat down on the right side of the havan kund, maintaining the traditional position. His green stole shifted slightly as he settled, the golden embroidery catching the firelight. Even seated, his eyes couldn’t resist stealing glances at her.
She lowered herself gracefully beside him, arranging the fluffy layers of her green skirt so they fell neatly around her. The soft clinking of her bangles blended with the rhythmic chanting that had now begun. Her drape remained delicately over her head, casting a tender shadow across her shy smile.
The sacred fire was lit.
As the flames rose, the pandit began chanting Vedic mantras, his voice steady and powerful. The sound echoed through the mandap, sanctifying the air itself. Family members folded their hands in reverence. The groom’s parents watched with teary eyes, pride and emotion shining clearly.
The pandit guided them through the rituals — offering ghee into the fire, placing sacred grains, tying the holy thread. When their hands accidentally brushed while offering samagri into the flames, a subtle spark passed between them — one that had nothing to do with the fire.
The groom’s nervous restlessness slowly transformed into calm certainty.
She, who had walked out with hesitant steps, now sat beside him with quiet strength.
The mantras continued.
Two individuals.
One sacred fire.
And a lifetime waiting to unfold with every vow they were about to take.
The flames rose higher, dancing like they knew they were witnessing something eternal.
The pandit’s voice deepened as he began the kanyadaan ritual. The bride’s father gently placed her hand into the groom’s. His hands trembled — not from doubt, but from the overwhelming weight of responsibility and love being entrusted to him.
“From today,” the pandit chanted, “you are each other’s dharma, each other’s strength, each other’s home.”
(You are the spiritual path or moral support for each other)
The groom looked at her properly for the first time since she had sat beside him. Up close, he could see the delicate details of her mehendi, the slight nervous flutter of her lashes, the way her lips curved into the faintest smile.
He tightened his hold just slightly — reassuring, protective.
She noticed.
And in that small squeeze, she understood: she was safe.
The pandit took the edge of her drape and tied it gently to the groom’s green stole, forming the sacred gathbandhan— the knot that symbolized their union.
As the knot was secured, a soft cheer rose from the family.
Bound together.
Not by force.Not by expectation.But by vow.
The groom glanced down at the knot, then at her. A silent promise passed between them — we walk together from here.
“Ab phere honge,” the pandit announced.
(Now, the wedding rounds will begin or Now the sacred pheras will take place.)
They stood.
The groom moved first, as tradition required, leading her around the sacred fire. With every step around the flames, the pandit recited one vow.
First Phera— For nourishment and prosperity. He silently vowed he would work tirelessly to keep her world secure.
Second Phera— For strength. She prayed for the courage to stand beside him in every storm.
Third Phera— For prosperity and growth. Their steps synchronized naturally now.
Fourth Phera— For love and respect. He slowed slightly, making sure her heavy skirt did not tangle.
Fifth Phera— For children and responsibility. Her bangles chimed softly like blessings.
Sixth Phera— For health and long life. Their hands brushed again, intentionally this time.
Seventh Phera— For eternal companionship.
By the time they completed the final circle, something had shifted.
They were no longer two people walking carefully around a fire.
They were partners.
The seven sacred pheras had been completed.
The guests were smiling, elders nodding in approval, the priest preparing for the next ritual. The fire crackled softly, its flames now steady and calm — as if satisfied.
But he wasn’t done.
As everyone adjusted themselves and the pandit briefly looked down to arrange the samagri, the groom leaned slightly closer to her. His fingers tightened around hers — not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for her heart to skip.
“Ek aur,” he whispered so softly that even the fire seemed to lean in to hear.
(One more round)
Before she could fully understand, he gently guided her for one more small circle around the sacred fire. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t announced. It wasn’t part of tradition.
It was theirs.
An eight phera.
Intentional.
Private.
The guests thought they were simply repositioning. The priest glanced up but said nothing, perhaps sensing that some vows are too sacred to interrupt.
As they completed that quiet circle, he bent slightly toward her ear.
“In this lifetime,” he murmured, his voice steady and deep, “no matter what changes, no matter what storms come... I promise you this — I will never let you feel alone. Even when I am wrong. Even when the world turns against us. You will always have me. Not just as your husband... but as your safest place.”
Her steps faltered for a fraction of a second.
This wasn’t a ritual vow spoken in Sanskrit. This wasn’t prompted by a priest. This wasn’t for society.
This was from his soul.
Her eyes shimmered, but she kept her composure. As they completed that secret circle, she responded just as quietly:
“And I promise you... I will stand beside you not because I have to — but because I choose to. Every day. Even when it’s hard.”
Their hands tightened.
No flowers showered this phera. No chants marked it. No elders recorded it.
But it became the most powerful vow of all.
When they returned to their places, everything appeared the same.
The fire still burned. The guests still smiled. The rituals continued.
Yet something invisible had changed.
Between the seven sacred pheras witnessed by the world... there now lived an eighth one — witnessed only by two hearts and a silent, understanding flame.
And that secret promise would remain theirs. Forever.
They sat once again.
The pandit handed the groom a small silver box containing sindoor. The entire mandap fell silent.
He lifted his hand — steady now — and gently filled the parting of her hair with the red vermilion.
A collective gasp.
Tears shimmered in her mother’s eyes.
Then he tied the mangalsutra around her neck, his fingers brushing against her skin. She closed her eyes briefly — not from shyness, but from the weight of the moment settling into her heart.
When she opened them, she was no longer just a bride.
She was his wife.
The pandit smiled broadly. “Vivah sampann hua.”
The wedding is complete.
Applause, cheers, and ululations filled the space. Flower petals rained down upon them.
But in the middle of all the noise, they looked only at each other.
The restless groom who had waited under the mandap now looked peaceful.
The shy bride who had walked out of her room now looked radiant with quiet confidence.
Two strangers hours ago.
Two souls bound for a lifetime now.
And as their families surrounded them with blessings, the sacred fire slowly dimmed — its duty fulfilled.
“With the blessings of the sacred fire and the presence of your loved ones, this marriage stands complete. Rishita Kothari and Parth Samthaan are now husband and wife. From today, you shall be known asMr. and Mrs. Samthaan."
With this statement from Pandit Ji, a new journey had begun.
🔖🔖Main Characters🔖🔖
Protagonist >> Parth Samthaan✨🖤
deuteragonist>> Rishita Kothari🌸💫
🖋️🖋️Disclaimer🖋️🖋️:
This story is a work of fiction. All characters, events, names, places, and incidents portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The wedding rituals, traditions, and cultural elements described in this story are inspired by Hindu customs. While care has been taken to portray them respectfully, certain scenes may have been modified or dramatised for storytelling purposes.
In every Hindu wedding, the priest guides the couple through sacred mantras and rituals that bind two souls together in the presence of Agni, the holy fire. But beyond the mantras and traditions, I believe there are always unspoken promises — the ones made in whispers, in glances, and in silent understanding.
The extra phera in this story is symbolic. It represents the vows lovers take not because ritual requires them, but because their hearts do.
This book is written purely for entertainment and emotional expression.
⚠️⚠️ Content Warning⚠️⚠️:
This story contains themes ofsexual assault, rape, and suicidal thoughts. It may be triggering or distressing to some readers. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
⚠️ ⚠️Reader Advisory⚠️⚠️:
English is not my first language, and this is a first draft, an unedited version of the story. Please stop reading if you feel uncomfortable, and know that this draft is sharedfor creative purposes only.
Yoursafety and comfort are important, and this story contains sensitive material. Please do not report—this is a work in progress.
💬💬Author’s Note 💬💬:
Dear Readers,
Tumhi Dekho Naa – Love Happened Without Askingis more than just a wedding story. It is about the silent promises that are not spoken aloud, the emotions that are felt between heartbeats, and the kind of love that chooses you before you even realize it.
The secret phera in this story symbolizes something very personal — the promises we make when no one is watching, the vows that matter not because tradition demands them, but because the heart does.
I believe love is not always loud. Sometimes, it happens quietly... without asking.
Thank you for reading, for feeling, and for stepping into this sacred moment with my characters. I hope their journey touches your heart the way it touched mine while writing it.
Please, don’t forget to vote and comment!
With love ♥️Sam.
