❤️24❤️

The morning sun was soft but golden, spilling its light gently into the ancient temple courtyard. The fragrance of fresh jasmine and marigold garlands filled the air, mingling with the faint smoke of incense that rose from brass lamps kept at the entrance. Every pillar of the temple had been carefully adorned with strings of flowers, the ground was freshly washed and sprinkled with turmeric water, and tiny rangolis of colored powder decorated the floor at each step.

The flowers had arrived early from a well-known florist shop, Aara Blooms, their freshness adding life to every corner.

The rhythmic sound of the nadaswaram and thavil played in the background, echoing through the stone corridors, and it felt as though the very air was vibrating with blessings.

At the center, on the decorated wedding stage under a canopy of flowers, Aarav sat tall and composed, though his heart was racing. He was dressed traditionally—a crisp white shirt tucked neatly, his dhoti shining with a golden zari border. A sandalwood paste tilak graced his forehead, and his wrists bore fresh flower strands tied by his mother earlier. His face looked serene but his eyes betrayed the anticipation within him. He adjusted his seat slightly, looking around at the arrangements, then at his mother, who busied herself helping the priest and making sure everything was in order. Her face glowed with pride; this was the day she had been waiting for.

Meera’s parents moved about with nervous joy, ensuring the offerings were placed right, coconut and betel leaves arranged properly. Their smiles were bright, but their eyes were heavy with emotions, watching their daughter step into her new life.

Then came the priest’s call. His voice was steady, carrying weight: “Call the bride.”

A hush fell. Heads turned toward the entrance.

And there she was.

Meera walked slowly, her silk saree in shades of red and gold shimmering with every step. Her long braid was decorated with strings of jasmine, the gentle sway of the flowers matching the rhythm of her anklets. Bangles chimed softly at her wrists, her cheeks glowed with a natural blush, and her eyes, though lowered, had a sparkle that betrayed her excitement. She walked with grace, her cousins holding the edges of her saree lightly, while women behind whispered blessings.

Aarav’s gaze found her instantly. His breath caught, his lips parted in silent awe. For a moment, he forgot the crowd, the rituals, the noise—everything faded into a blur. All he could see was Meera, the girl who had walked into his life so quietly, now walking toward him as his bride.

When she reached the stage, she sat beside him, adjusting her saree carefully. Their hands brushed accidentally. Aarav let his fingers linger just for a second, his eyes catching hers. She gave the faintest smile before lowering her gaze again, her cheeks turning warmer.

The rituals began. The priest chanted mantras, their voices rising and falling with rhythm, conch shells blowing at intervals. Aarav and Meera followed each instruction—offering flowers, pouring rice, feeding the sacred fire. With every small ritual, their hands moved in unison, and each time their fingers brushed, it sent an unfamiliar warmth through them both.

Finally, the moment arrived. The priest held up the sacred yellow thread with the golden thali and handed it to Aarav. A wave of silence rippled through the hall. Aarav took it in his hands, his palms trembling slightly though his face remained steady. He looked at Meera, searching her eyes. She glanced up for a brief moment, giving the smallest nod, her lashes fluttering down immediately, her lips curving in a shy smile.

Taking a deep breath, Aarav leaned forward and gently tied the first knot around her neck. His fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary. The second knot followed, steady and sure. By the time he tied the third knot, Meera’s eyes had welled with unshed tears—tears not of fear but of overwhelming happiness.

The temple bells rang loudly, and the music burst into a higher pitch. Family clapped, relatives cheered, some showered flowers over the couple. Meera’s parents folded their hands in prayer, tears rolling down their cheeks while they smiled wide. Aarav’s mother stood silently, her palms joined, her lips moving in prayer, pride shining in her eyes.

Aarav glanced at Meera again. She touched the thali lightly, her lips trembling as if whispering a prayer. He smiled softly, whispering so only she could hear, “You’re mine now.” Her cheeks flushed and she looked away quickly, but her heart raced at his words.

After rituals ended, photographs began. Aarav and Meera stood side by side. Every picture captured their subtle smiles, their unspoken bond.

By evening, the reception unfolded in a decorated hall beside Aarav’s new home. The setup was simple yet elegant—pastel drapes flowing from the ceiling, golden fairy lights twinkling across the backdrop, vases of fresh roses and lilies placed on every table. The atmosphere was warm, not grand, but filled with genuine happiness.

Aarav, now in a plain but smart black tuxedo , stood at the entrance, greeting guests with folded hands. Meera stood beside him in a pastel saree with silver embroidery, her hair open, small earrings shining under the lights. Together, they welcomed each guest, their smiles blending seamlessly like they had been doing it for years.

Suddenly, a voice called, “Meeraaa!” and before Meera could react, Anya rushed in, hugging her tightly. “So fast you became Mrs. Aarav? Don’t forget me, okay?” she teased loudly, making people around laugh. Meera giggled, hugging her back, “As if I could ever forget you, silly.” Aarav stood amused, shaking his head at their antics.

Guests blessed them, laughter filled the hall, and the couple’s hands remained entwined discreetly.

Then, a young woman entered, wearing a simple salwar, graceful and calm. Aarav smiled politely. “Meera, this is Roshni Rajiv Vedanth—the one who made sure both temple and reception looked this beautiful.”

Meera’s eyes lit up. “You did all this? It’s heavenly.”

Roshni smiled humbly. “You both looked so pure together, it made decorating feel sacred. Congratulations.”

Meera clasped her hands warmly. “Thank you, Roshni. I’ll never forget this kindness.” Roshni exchanged a few more gentle words before slipping away quietly, leaving behind an aura of softness.

A little later, another figure arrived — tall, sharp, and charismatic. Dev Rana Varadhan. His presence carried quiet authority, dressed in a tailored suit though the event was simple. Meera greeted him with respect, introducing him to Aarav as her father’s long-time business friend.

Dev exchanged a few polite words, his gaze calm and unreadable. He congratulated the couple, his words brief yet sincere, and moved aside, not lingering much. For now, it was just a name and a face, but the aura he left behind hinted at a bigger role to come.

The reception wound down with laughter, blessings, and a simple dinner, the atmosphere light and content. And then, finally, the night arrived.

Aarav’s newly built house stood waiting, decorated with strings of jasmine and roses. Their bedroom glowed with candlelight, petals scattered across the bed, the soft fragrance of sandalwood in the air. Both had changed into white attire — Meera in a delicate saree, Aarav in a plain white kurta.

On the balcony, under the moonlight, they stood side by side. Aarav slipped his hand into hers, his voice low. “All my life, it was just me and Amma. I built this house thinking maybe one day, someone would walk in and make it a home. Now I have you, but… sometimes I fear, Meera. You come from richness, and I—I’ve struggled all my way here. Will I ever make you feel like a queen?”

Meera turned to him, cupping his face gently, her eyes brimming with love. “Aarav… I don’t need a throne to feel like a queen. You’ve already given me more than anyone else could—your love, your honesty, your strength. That’s all I ever wanted.”

His chest tightened, emotions breaking his usual composure. He pulled her into a tight embrace, burying his face into her hair. For a long moment, they just held each other, breathing in the reality of being husband and wife.

When he finally pulled back, she smiled, her cheeks glowing. “Shall we go inside?”

He nodded, taking her hand, and together they stepped back into the flower-decked room — the start of a new chapter, not just in their story, but in their hearts.

******************************************

Author’s Note:
You might have noticed two new characters — Dev and Roshni. They are from another story of mine.

For now, they just make a brief appearance at the wedding. 💐💛

Also, the next chapter is going to be very bold, mature, and extremely detailed with more length and scenes. I don’t want to make it available for everyone because of guidelines, and I truly respect that — so it will be exclusive paid content on Scrollstack. Thank you so much for your understanding and for always supporting my work. 🌸✨