Ira's pov
The Mumbai heat wrapped around me like a heavy scarf.
It was my first time in the city.
Everything felt louder, brighter, and faster than I was used to.
After four years in London, it was overwhelming.
I had come for my cousin Aanya's wedding.
A week had already passed since I arrived.
The house was full of noise—laughter, music, shouting relatives.
Aanya was glowing like a star in the center of it all.
She danced, joked, and teased everyone with ease.
I tried to keep up, but something in me felt distant.
Like I was just watching, not really living.
Smiling, but never fully present.
Today was her haldi and mehendi ceremony.
The courtyard was draped in yellow and orange garlands.
Cushions were laid out on the ground.
The air smelled of turmeric and roses.
Everyone was dressed in yellow.
The dhol beats echoed across the courtyard.
Aanya sat in the center, laughing as haldi was smeared on her cheeks.
Her joy was infectious.
I wore a simple yellow salwar suit.
A cousin had tucked jasmine flowers into my braid.
They said I looked beautiful.
I didn't know what to feel.
A group of girls pulled me forward.
They handed me a bowl of haldi.
I knelt beside Aanya and gently touched her cheek.
She giggled and whispered, "You're next, Ira."
I laughed and looked away.
I didn't want to be next.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
We danced for a while in the sunlight.
The music made my feet move before my mind could stop them.
For a few minutes, I forgot everything.
I felt almost… happy.
Later, I sat for the mehendi ceremony.
The artist gently held my hand.
The henna felt cold at first, then warm.
The smell was earthy and calming.
Lines formed slowly on my skin.
Swirls and curves wrapped around my fingers.
The girls around me giggled, whispering about initials and love.
I smiled but stayed quiet.
Then I felt it.
A shift in the air.
Like something heavy had entered the space.
My eyes lifted on instinct.
He was standing at the gate.
Tall.
Still.
Watching.
My heart dropped.
My hands went cold.
Kabir.
Kabir Sinha.
I hadn't seen him in four years.
And yet, there he was.
Wearing a cream-colored kurta, sleeves rolled up.
Like he belonged here.
His eyes didn't leave mine.
He didn't smile.
He didn't blink.
Just stared.
The mehendi cone slipped slightly in the artist's hand.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't breathe.
Time had stopped.
He was supposed to be gone from my life.
Forever.
That was the promise.
The vow I made.
"If I ever see you again," I had said,
"Take me with you. No questions. No mercy."
A vow spoken in fear.
A vow I thought I'd never break.
But now…
He was here.
And he had seen me.
And I had broken it.