Aanya awoke to the scent of marigold garlands and rising tension. The crystal ballroom was closed for today’s rehearsals, but downstairs, the kitchen staff prepared for Devika and Rhea’s joint haldi ceremony. Yellow powder lined every tray, every flower, every whispered secret behind kitchen doors.

She dressed in a pale lemon kurta, the color of surprise and sunlight. Her phone lay beside her sketchbook, screen dark, message thread hidden. Her pulse thrummed with questions: Who was Vihaan? What had really happened three years ago? And why did every beat of her heart echo his name?