Morning came softly.

Kiara woke without an alarm, the light filtering gently through the curtains, settling across the room in quiet gold. For a few seconds, she didn’t move—just lay there, letting the stillness exist before the day caught up.

Then she turned and saw him. Aarav was still asleep.

Not tense. Not guarded. Not carrying that constant edge he always seemed to have.

Just… still. Peaceful.

Kiara frowned slightly because this version of him didn’t make sense.

Her gaze lingered for a second longer than necessary—taking in the calmness, the absence of irritation, the way he looked like someone completely unaffected by everything that had happened.

And then it hit her. Where she was. What this was. Who he was. Her expression hardened instantly.

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath. “You’d be peaceful.”

She turned away, pushing the blanket aside and getting out of bed.

Downstairs, the house was already awake.

Not chaotic—but active. Purposeful. There was movement in every direction, voices overlapping softly, things being arranged with quiet efficiency.

Kiara slowed near the last step, her brows drawing together slightly.

This wasn’t normal morning activity.

“Good morning,” she said as she stepped in.

A few elders greeted her warmly. Anika was already there, sitting with her coffee, fully dressed like she had been up for hours.

Kiara looked at her, then at the rest of the house. “Why does it feel like I’ve missed something?”

Anika didn’t answer.

Because at that exact moment, Aarav’s aunt walked past.

Kiara turned immediately. “Chachi?”

She stopped, smiling. “Yes?”

“…what’s happening?” Kiara asked.

There was a pause.

Then his aunt let out a small laugh.

“You forgot?” she said gently.

Kiara blinked. “Forgot what?”

“The Satyanarayan Vrat.”

Kiara stilled.

Right.

Her shoulders dropped just slightly.

“…ohh right.”

“Go wake Aarav,” her aunt added, clearly amused. “And both of you get ready.”

Kiara nodded quickly and turned back upstairs, a little faster this time.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. He was still asleep. Still completely unaware. Kiara stood there for a second, arms crossed. Then she walked closer.

“Aarav,” she said flatly.

No response.

She frowned slightly. “Aarav.”

Still nothing.

She leaned forward slightly and poked his shoulder.

Nothing.

Her jaw clenched.

“Unbelievable.”

She looked around, her eyes landing on the glass of water on the bedside table.

A second later she picked it up and splashed it straight onto his face.

—

Aarav woke up instantly.

“What—” he jerked up, wiping his face, his expression snapping from confusion to irritation in seconds.

Kiara stepped back, completely unfazed. “Good morning.”

His eyes locked onto hers. “Are you serious?”

“You weren’t waking up.”

“You could’ve tried harder.”

“I did,” she said evenly. “five times.”

A pause.

Then—“Get ready,” she added. “There’s a Satyanarayan Vrat.”

He stared at her for a second longer, then exhaled sharply, running a hand through his wet hair. “Of course there is.”

.

When they came downstairs after that, the house had settled into the kind of formal calm that only existed before a ritual. Kiara wore a red saree, rich and deep and impossible to ignore, while Aarav had changed into an ivory kurta with muted gold detailing that looked annoyingly good on him without even trying. Neither of them commented on the other. Both of them noticed.

Aarav walked toward the kitchen instinctively, reaching for something—

And his hand was slapped away immediately.

“Not before the puja,” his grandmother said firmly.

He blinked. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” she cut him off.

A pause.

Then he stepped back slightly. “…fine.”

From the side, Kiara watched.

And judged silently.

The puja began soon after, with everyone seated in their places, the priest guiding the rituals in a steady rhythm that filled the room with mantras and the smell of flowers and turmeric. The house felt quieter now, more centered, and for a little while even Kiara stopped trying to fight the atmosphere.

Then the turmeric threads were brought forward.

“Extend your hands,” the priest said.

Kiara did.

Aarav followed, though he looked only half attentive, his mind clearly somewhere between irritation and resignation. The priest placed the thread in Aarav’s hand. Aarav looked down at it, then looked around the room, then made the fatal mistake of turning slightly toward the wrong person.

For a moment, it looked very much like he was about to tie it around the priest’s wrist.

There was a tiny pause. A few people noticed. Someone let out the kind of laugh they were trying very hard to hide.

The priest glanced at him and said calmly, “Not me.”

Aarav stilled. Looked at the priest. Then at the thread. Then finally at Kiara, who was trying and failing to keep the corner of her mouth from lifting.

He tied the thread around her wrist in silence.

Kiara tied his next, just a little tighter than necessary.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. But he said nothing, which somehow made it worse.

The rest of the puja went on smoothly enough after that, with the two of them seated side by side and trying not to look at each other too much. At one point, they were asked to hold the same offering together. Their fingers brushed. Neither of them reacted immediately, but the pause was there, brief and sharp, before they adjusted their hands and continued as if nothing had happened.

As soon as the puja ended, the tone of the house shifted. The formal atmosphere eased, and Kiara was directed into the kitchen for pehli rasoi.

Anika, Rohan, and Kabir were already there, along with a few others who had clearly decided that watching her cook was a much better use of the morning than anything else.

She made gajar halwa without hesitation, her movements efficient and calm, as though she’d done this kind of thing a hundred times before. The kitchen slowly filled with the smell of cardamom, milk, and sugar, warm and rich and impossible to ignore.

Anika leaned against the counter, watching. “You’re taking this very seriously.”

“I don’t do things halfway,” Kiara replied.

Kabir smirked. “Not even when you’re forced into them?”

Kiara didn’t look at him. “Especially then.”

Rohan chuckled softly.

When it was finally served—

The reaction was immediate.

“This is amazing.”

“Perfect.”

“So good.”

Kiara accepted it quietly, though there was a faint satisfaction in her expression.

Aarav took a bite.

Paused.

Then said, flatly, “It’s average.”

Silence.

Kiara turned slowly. “Excuse me?”

“Too sweet.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Or maybe your taste is just terrible.”

“Or maybe you overdid it.”

“Or maybe you don’t know what good food tastes like.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

A pause.

Then he added, “I make better.”

She let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You can barely decide between basic choices and you think you cook better than me?”

“I don’t think. I know.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“For you?”

“For anyone who has to eat your food.”

Their eyes locked.

Sharp. Familiar. Heated.

Anika sighed quietly from the side. “Ignoring him—this is actually incredible.”

Kiara nodded slightly. “Obviously.”

Lunch followed, and it turned into something she hadn’t expected.

Everyone insisted she eat more.

“Take more.”

“You’ve barely eaten.”

“You’ll faint again.”

Kiara tried to refuse.

It didn’t work.

“I’m fine,” she said.

But more was added to her plate anyway.

Aarav glanced at her.

Smirked faintly.

She kicked his foot under the table.

Hard.

He didn’t react.

But he definitely felt it.

By evening, it was time for the reception.

Back in the room, the tension returned immediately.

Kiara stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her earrings.

Aarav walked in behind her.

They both stopped when their eyes met in the reflection.

A pause.

Then—

“You’re blocking the mirror,” she said.

“You’re using all of it.”

“I need it.”

“So do I.”

“Then wait.”

“No.”

She shifted slightly.

He didn’t move.

“Move.”

“No.”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“You started it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

She turned slightly toward him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

“I’m practical.”

“You’re loud.”

“At least I make sense.”

“That’s debatable.”

They kept adjusting, stepping into each other’s space deliberately, refusing to give in.

Until finally—

She stepped back.

He didn’t say anything.

But he noticed.

—

When they stepped out—

The reactions were immediate.

“You both look amazing.”

“Perfect together.”

“Stunning.”

Kiara glanced at Aarav.

“You look worse.”

He looked at her. “You look even worse.”

A pause.

Then they both looked away.

Because neither of them was going to admit otherwise.