A soft knock echoed through the room, followed by the gentle creak of the door opening. It was Kavya's mother, dressed in a soft lavender saree, her expression warm and affectionate as always. Her eyes flicked between the two of us, tangled in the blankets, still holding onto each other as if trying to store every last moment of this fleeting innocence.

"Okay, baccho," she said, her voice the kind of motherly tender that wrapped around you like a shawl on a cold night, "ab bas. No more emotional drama. Come on, let's have dinner now. And sleep early. Kal subah we're shifting to Udaigarh Palace, remember? Bohot kaam baaki hai. Come fast. I'm waiting downstairs."

Kavya groaned, burying her face once more in the pillow. "Dinner already? Ugh, I’m not even hungry."

I chuckled, pulling at her arm. "Come on, drama queen. If we don’t go now, aunty will personally drag us down by our ears."

She laughed softly, surrendering. We untangled ourselves from the heap of sheets and pillows and made our way downstairs, our feet bare against the cool marble floor. The house, even in its casual state, still held the elegance of wealth and legacy each corner adorned with subtle luxury, family portraits in vintage frames, fresh flowers in ornate vases, and a quiet hum of preparations echoing through the air.

As we entered the dining area, the soft clinking of cutlery and murmured conversation greeted us. Kavya’s father, Mr. Mehra, sat at the head of the table, composed and dignified as always. He gave us both a nod of acknowledgment, the kind that didn’t need words but still carried affection.

Her mother stood behind a chair, gesturing for us to sit. “Come, Mayra beta. Kavya, sit here next to Papa.”

I took the seat beside Kavya, opposite her parents. The table was laid out beautifully a spread of home-cooked dishes, from steaming jeera rice and creamy dal makhani to crispy lachha parathas and a paneer dish that smelled like heaven. There was even kheer in delicate glass bowls, garnished with almonds and saffron.

Despite the occasional clatter of serving spoons and glasses being passed around, the atmosphere was warm and familial. I glanced at Kavya, who was quietly nibbling on a piece of roti, her expression still slightly withdrawn. Her mother noticed too and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Kya hua, beta? Everything okay?”

Kavya looked up, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, Mumma. Just a little tired. You know, wedding stress.”

Her mother nodded, her eyes soft with concern. “I know, sweetheart. It’s a big change. But we’re all here with you. And trust me, everything will go beautifully. You’ll see.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, watching them. Kavya wasn’t just getting married. She was stepping into a whole new life. And as happy as I was for her, I couldn’t help but feel a tiny sting in my chest. Like something precious was slipping away slowly, gently.

I turned to her father, trying to keep the mood light. “Uncle, everything is looking so beautiful here. I can’t wait to see how the palace looks tomorrow. Kavya told me it’s going to be magical.”

He gave a proud smile. “Yes, Mayra. We’ve left no stone unturned. She deserves nothing less. It’s not every day our princess gets married.”

Kavya looked at him then, her eyes shimmering slightly. He rarely expressed emotion, but tonight, there was softness in his gaze reserved only for his daughter. She had always been their only child their pampered princess and watching her like this, I realized just how deeply this marriage was affecting not just her, but all of them.

After dinner, we helped clear the table despite protests from the house staff. I found it grounding doing something normal in the middle of all the sparkle and wedding chaos. Kavya’s mother insisted we take some of the kheer to our room, and we happily obliged, carrying the bowls upstairs like two schoolgirls sneaking snacks.

Back in her room, the energy had shifted. The lights were dimmed now, casting a golden glow across the pastel walls. Kavya changed into her oversized t-shirt and pyjamas, tying her hair into a messy bun, while I slipped into my comfortable night suit.

As we settled back into the bed, spoons clinking softly against glass bowls, she leaned into me.

“You’re going to be here, right? Through all of it?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

I looked at her, placing my hand over hers. “Always. Till the very end. And beyond that too. Who else will stop you from running away?”

She smiled, a real one this time. “You know me too well.”

“That’s my job,” I said, nudging her shoulder.

We didn’t speak much after that. Just lay there, side by side, staring at the ceiling as the city of Udaipur quieted down outside the window. Somewhere iny mind a wedding band was playing a slow shehnai. Firecrackers popped faintly in the night sky.

Tomorrow, the real chaos would begin.But for tonight, it was just the two of us best friends on the edge of change, holding on to what was left of our childhood.

And silently, I prayed it would never slip too far away.

Morning in Rajawat Palace was never quiet but today, it was pure madness.

From the moment I stepped into the main hall with my coffee mug still warm in my hand, I could see staff running in every direction, their slippers slapping against the marble floor, voices overlapping as they called out instructions.

One man rushed past with a tray full of marigold garlands; another was balancing three huge suitcases on a trolley while arguing over the phone about whether the extra chairs had reached the palace or not. In the far corner, I spotted two decorators standing on ladders, fihting over where the fairy lights should go.

I leaned against the railing on the first-floor landing, sipping my coffee slowly, just watching the chaos below. My family thrived in chaos. Weddings in the Rajawat house weren’t events, they were full-blown festivals.

Just then, I heard the familiar voice of my mother, Nayana Singh Rajawat, cutting through the noise like a queen commanding her court.

"Areee… meri bacchi aa rahi hai," she said, half in excitement, half in warning, her bangles clinking as she adjusted her dupatta. "Airport lene chale jaana. Vivaan, bhool mat jaana pni mauj mein."

I hid my smile behind my coffee mug. I knew exactly who she was talking about Vrishti. My little sister. Well, technically not my real sister… she was my father  prakash singh Rajawat 's younger brother Yash Singh Rajawat’s only daughter. But for me, she was blood. She had been away for studies, and now she was finally coming back  just in time for the wedding madness.

"Ji, mummy," I called down lazily. "Main kaise bhool sakta hoon?

Before she could give me another reminder, I heard the sound of light laughter and the click of heels approaching. My chachi, Roshni Rajawat, emerged from the corridor, her lipstick perfect as always.

"Aree Nayana bhabhi," she teased, placing a hand dramatically on my mother’s shoulder. "Don’t worry… Vivaan will never forget about his sister. In fact, he probably has a countdown running somewhere.

I chuckled, lowering my mug. "Exactly, chachi. You really know me."

They both laughed, but the chaos didn’t stop. Servants rushed past with plates, relatives called out for missing phones or misplaced shawls, and somewhere in the kitchen, I could hear the cook yelling about someone stealing gulab jamuns before lunch.

Honestly, it felt like standing in the middle of a tornado a very colorful, very loud tornado

I was halfway through my coffee when the front door opened, and in walked Kartik, suitcase in hand, looking fresher than anyone had the right to look at this hour.

"Finally," I said, heading down the stairs. We clasped each other in a quick hug.

"So?" he asked, grinning. "All set?"

"Yeah," I nodded, running a hand through my hair.

"And Arjun?"

"He already went ahead," I replied. "Said he wanted to make sure the rooms for the guests were ready before the crowd arrives.

Kartik shook his head in mock admiration. "Always the responsible one."

Before I could reply, my chacha, Yash Singh Rajawat, stepped out from the side hallway, looking like he’d been supervising ten things at once  which, knowing him, he probably had.

"Arre, tum dono yahan kya kar rahe ho?" he said, raising an eyebrow at us. "Go enjoy! Don’t stand around like accountants."

Kartik grinned, but I barely had time to react before chacha smirked and added, "And Vivaan… while you’re at it, find a beautiful bride for yourself too." He threw in a wink for good measure

I groaned. "Chachu, not again…"

But before I could even finish, chachi Roshni appeared again and smacked his bicep playfully. "Bas karo, Yash."

Everyone laughed, including me. I shook my head, but my smile betrayed me. Teasing was part of being in this family.

In no time, the last of my coffee was gone, my bag was packed, and Kartik and I were standing in the driveway as the driver loaded our luggage into the car. Five days’ worth of clothes, shoes, and  if my mother had her way enough sherwanis to start a boutique

I knew the next two weeks were going to be insane. There would be music, laughter, sleepless nights, old friends, new faces… and maybe a little chaos that had nothing to do with the wedding.

Kartik clapped me on the shoulder. "Ready?"

I nodded, slipping my sunglasses on. "Let’s go make history."

We got into the car, the driver started the engine, and the gates of Rajawat Palace slowly opened. The city stretched out before us, bathed in the golen glow of early morning.

As the wheels rolled forward, I leaned back in my seat, a grin tugging at my lips. Marriage wasn't my thing. Though I find it funfull.

I had a feeling this wedding was going to be crazy.

The journey from the city to Udaigarh was long, but the road seemed alive this morning ,early sunlight spilling over the Aravalli hills, painting them gold. We had left before the real heat of the day could settle in, so the breeze that slipped in through the half-open car window was still cool, carrying hints of the desert earth, faint traces of marigold garlands from passing wedding processions, and the distant scent of andalwood incense.

I sat in the backseat, elbow against the window frame, watching the landscape slowly shift from busy roads to open lakes and grand, whitewashed havelis dotting the distance. The royal chaos of the past few days replayed in my mind  the phone calls, the packing, the elders shouting instructions as if the wedding was happening tomorrow.

But now… now we were here.

The moment we turned into the private road leading to Udaigarh Palace, I felt my chest expand. The cobblestone path stretched forward like something out of an old Rajasthani folktale, flanked on both sides by perfectly pruned hedges and rows of bougainvillea in shades of pink and orange. Beyond them, the palace walls rose ivory white, their carved jharokhas and scalloped archways catching the sun in soft glimmers. The domes, topped with golden kalash finials, curvedupward like crowns touching the sky.

It wasn’t just grand; it was art. The kind of beauty that made you slow your steps without even realising it.

Our driver slowed to a crawl as we passed under the arched gateway tall enough to let an elephant through, its ceiling painted in intricate blue-and-gold frescoes of peacocks, lotus blooms, and scenes from old Mewar history. The thick wooden doors were reinforced with iron studs, standing open in a silent welcome. Guards in traditional angarkha uniforms stood at either side, turbans a bright saffron, holding cereonial spears.

The moment the tyres rolled into the inner courtyard, my gaze couldn’t decide where to settle. The facade of Udaigarh curved around us, each balcony edged with stone latticework so delicate it looked like lace. Marble steps swept up from the courtyard to a grand entrance flanked by brass oil lamps, their flames dancing despite the still air. Above the entrance hung strings of fresh marigolds and jasmine, their fragrance catching in the wind

From the upper terraces, red and gold silk drapes fluttered lazily in the morning breeze, hinting at the rooms and verandas where more preparations were underway. Somewhere, faint music played the mellow notes of a sarangi blending with the beat of a dholak, the sound echoing through the open arcades.

For a second, I just sat there, staring like a tourist instead of someone who had attended more than a few royal events in his life

Kartik elbowed me lightly. “Wooo, shake your head, man. You’re gawking like a kid at a fair.”

I smirked, but yeah —I was gawking.

We got out of the car, the sunlight falling warm on my shoulders. The stone beneath my feet was cool marble, inlaid with geometric patterns of black and white that seemed to stretch endlessly. A fountain in the middle of the courtyard sent up silver sprays of water, catching light like shards of crystal.
“Bhai!”

I turned just in time to see Arjun striding towards me, his smile as wide as always. He was in a cream-colored kurta, sleeves rolled up, looking like he had been running all morning. I met him halfway, pulling him into a quick hug.

“Finally!” he said. “You guys made it.”

“Yeah, after dodging about six camel carts and a bullock race,” I replied.

Arjun laughed, then lowered his voice slightly. “Listen, after some time, come to the back garden. We have a singing performance happening ,proper Rajasthani folk, you’ll love it. All the guests will be tere. Don’t miss it.”

“Back garden?” I raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll see,” he said with a mysterious smile before jogging off toward a group of men carrying trays of flowers.

I barely had time to process that when Kartik clapped his hands. “Hey, my friend is waiting at the entrance. I’ll go pick him up. Wanna come?”

I shook my head. “Nah. I’m thirsty. I’ll get some juice first. You go.”

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug, heading off toward the massive main gate again

Left alone, I glanced around, scanning the open verandas for a waiter. My eyes kept catching on the details the pillars carved with lotus motifs, the mirror-inlaid alcoves that threw back tiny fragments of sunlight, the painted ceilings in soft blues and golds that made you want to tilt your head back and just stare. Even the corners of the palace were alive potted palms swayed gently, their leaves brushing against whitewashed walls where parrots perched, their bright green feathers a contrast against the pale stone

And beneath it all, there was this constant hum the heartbeat of a royal wedding. The shuffle of hurried footsteps. The rustle of silk saris brushing past. The low murmur of servants receiving instructions. Somewhere in the distance, the sharp crack of a whip signaled the arrival of more carriages.

I took a slow breath, letting it sink in.… the grandeur, the sounds, the smell of fresh marigold. My throat felt dry, so I decided to find a drink. But after searching around the ground floor and spotting no waiter in sight, I headed for the staircase.

Halfway up, my phone buzzed with a message. I glanced down at the screen, thumb ready to unlock it and that’s when it happened.

Crash!

Thank you for reading!!!