#Chapter-2 Wedding

The smell of jasmine flowers and sandalwood hung in the air as I stepped into my grandmother Lakshmi’s courtyard.

It was wedding season — the busiest, loudest, most chaotic time of the year for a family like ours. And this time, it was my cousin Vishnu’s turn to get married.

The courtyard was already alive with chatter, music, and the metallic clang of utensils from the kitchen. Aunties bustled around in bright silk sarees, cousins argued over decorations, and somewhere in the background, the shehnai’s notes floated through the air like a promise.

“Amma!” I called, spotting my mother near the entrance, giving instructions to the florist. She turned, her eyes scanning me from head to toe, and before she even greeted me, she said, “Ammu, you could’ve worn the green lehenga. This one makes you look pale.”

Typical.

I was halfway through defending my outfit choice when I noticed him.

Ajay.

He was standing near the gate, holding a tray of coconuts, talking to my uncle Rahul like he’d been part of the family forever. His white kurta was simple, but somehow… it fit him perfectly. His smile — small, genuine — caught me off guard.

Our eyes met for just a second before I looked away, pretending to adjust my dupatta.

Why was my heart suddenly beating faster? This was Ajay. I’d known him for years.

But something about the way he was looking at me — like he was seeing me for the first time — made the noise of the wedding fade into the background.

“Go help with the decorations,” my mom’s voice snapped me back to reality. I nodded, forcing my gaze away from him.

As I moved toward the mandap where cousins were hanging marigold strings, my younger cousin Vaishu came running.

“Ammulu! Finally! We’ve been waiting for you. These boys are hopeless,” she said, pointing at Surya and Gane, who were more interested in teasing the little kids than fixing the flowers.

“Excuse me? We’re doing the real work,” Surya retorted, balancing a ladder dangerously while Gane laughed.

“Yeah, real work,” I muttered, grabbing the end of a garland and climbing onto the stool. The cousins’ chatter wrapped around me like the background score of my life.

Still, I couldn’t help sneaking a glance back. Ajay had moved closer now, handing coconuts to the priest. He laughed at something my uncle said, his voice deep and warm, and the sound made my stomach twist in ways I couldn’t explain.

“Stop staring,” Vaishu whispered in my ear suddenly.

“I am not staring!” I whispered back, almost dropping the garland.

“Right. And I’m the queen of England,” she smirked, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

I tried to focus on tying the flowers, but my mind betrayed me, replaying the way his eyes had lingered on me for that split second. It was different — softer, curious, almost… dangerous.

By evening, the house was glowing with lights. The courtyard transformed into a festival of colors — red drapes, golden diyas, and the fragrance of freshly cooked sweets floating from the kitchen. Relatives poured in one by one, and with every new arrival came more laughter, more noise, and more chaos.

But through all of it, I was painfully aware of Ajay. He blended in so easily — joking with my cousins, helping the elders, even carrying trays when no one asked. He was talkative with everyone, yet somehow, whenever his gaze flicked toward me, there was a secretiveness in it that made my chest tighten.

I told myself I was imagining things. After all, he was just Ajay. The same boy I’d known since childhood.

And yet, that night, as fireworks lit the sky above Vishnu’s house, I realized something unsettling.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like just one of the cousins in the crowd.

Because somewhere in the middle of the laughter, the rituals, and the madness of wedding season… his eyes kept finding me.

And mine kept finding him back.

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