Author's POV:

 Wedding Day

 As the wedding day dawned, anticipation filled the air. Arjun arrived in royal splendour on a white horse, surrounded by a jubilant baraat dancing to the beat of dhols. He looked every bit the regal groom, his sherwani glinting with embroidery that caught the sunlight. Inside the palace, Ayesha made her entrance like a queen. Dressed in deep red and gold, her confidence matched her beauty—poised, radiant, and very much in love. As they exchanged glances during the rituals, their shared smiles reflected not only love, but certainty—a vision of a future already taking shape.

 And through it all, Jhanvi stood by. Draped in a muted gold saree that shimmered gently under the lights, she was grace personified. Her smile never wavered, her gestures warm and composed. She played her part flawlessly—guiding guests, helping with last-minute arrangements, even soothing her mother when emotions ran high. But behind the smile was a quiet ache she had trained herself to carry with dignity.

 In the fleeting silences between rituals, when no one was looking, Jhanvi would retreat to corners of the palace or the flower-laden garden where she once dreamed. There, she let herself breathe. Sometimes she wrote in her journal, scribbling down pieces of herself too fragile to share. Other times, she closed her eyes and reminded herself why she was doing this—not out of weakness, but out of love. Letting go, she realized, wasn’t just about walking away. It was about holding space for new beginnings, even when the heart wasn’t ready yet.

The wedding concluded with a grand reception that shimmered with elegance. Speeches were given, laughter echoed, and the couple stood radiant beneath a canopy of roses and lights. Toasts were raised to love, unity, and the joining of two powerful legacies. Guests danced late into the night, their spirits lifted high on joy and celebration.

As the last firework faded into the night sky, Jhanvi stepped outside into the quiet. The starlight fell over her softly as she looked up, the hum of celebration now a distant murmur. Her heart still carried a wound, but no longer a bleeding one—it had begun to scar. She knew healing wouldn’t be instant. But in the stillness of that moment, she promised herself this: she would rise again. She would write her own story, even if the first chapter had ended in silence.

 The wedding of Arjun and Ayesha marked the beginning of a new chapter for both families. For Jhanvi, it marked an end—and a beginning. While everyone rejoiced, unaware of the quiet storm inside her, she stood rooted in grace, whispering strength into her soul, preparing to face the dawn of her own unknown tomorrow.

Arjun's POV:

 The wedding is over now.

The noise, the lights, the rituals, the countless faces offering congratulations—it’s all a blur in my mind, like a dream I lived with open eyes. And yet, amidst it all, I remember the exact moment Ayesha walked toward me, dressed in red and gold, her eyes steady, confident, shining with everything we had promised to build together. That moment felt right. Certain. Like life had finally aligned with the picture I had carried in my heart for years.

 I love her. I truly do. Ayesha’s strength, her clarity, the way she challenges me and matches me—it draws me in every time. With her, there is no need for explanation. She understands the language of ambition, of dreams, of building something bigger than ourselves. And now that we’re married, there’s a sense of shared direction, a roadmap that feels both thrilling and grounding. We talk about travel, about expanding the business, maybe even starting something new of our own. She has vision, fire—and I see myself beside her in every plan.

But even as I walk into this new chapter with her, there’s a shadow that keeps trailing behind—a soft, quiet presence I can’t shake off.

 Jhanvi.

She was there at every moment of the wedding. Composed, smiling, graceful. Helping, hosting, dancing. But I could see through it. I could see the tiredness in her eyes, the tightness behind her smile. She never said a word, never let the mask slip, but I knew. And I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.

The night she confessed her feelings to me—God, I still remember the tremble in her voice. The way she looked at me like I was her whole world, and I had no idea I’d been holding it in my hands for so long. That memory has lived quietly in the corner of my heart since, resurfacing every time our eyes meet and she quickly looks away.

I didn’t choose her. I couldn’t.

Because love, for me, came wrapped in confidence and fire. It came as Ayesha. But that doesn’t make Jhanvi’s pain any easier to witness.

 I hate that I hurt her. I hate that I was blind for so long. And even now, after everything, I catch myself wondering what would’ve happened if my heart had leaned the other way. If I had seen her sooner, really seen her. But wondering doesn’t change reality.

I made my choice—and it was the right one for me.

Still, there’s a guilt I carry. Not for choosing Ayesha, but for breaking something so pure in Jhanvi. I wish I could go back and hold her hand just for a moment, not as a lover, but as the friend she always saw in me. I wish I could tell her how much I admire her strength, how deeply I respect the way she carried her heartbreak with grace.

 But I don’t. Because some things, once broken, can’t be fixed with words. They just fade, slowly, into silence.

Now, as I look ahead—toward a life with Ayesha, toward dreams we’ll chase together—I carry both joy and regret. Joy for what I’ve gained. Regret for what I didn’t have the heart to nurture.

I can only hope Jhanvi finds her own path. One that doesn’t walk beside mine, but runs freely in its own direction. She deserves that. A love that sees her first. A love that chooses her without doubt.

As for me—I’ve chosen. And I will live this life fully, with Ayesha by my side.

But some memories, I think, will always linger like the last note of a song—soft, haunting, and unforgettable.

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