Sunaina's POV

“Miss Vashisht,” someone called me all of a sudden.

“Huh? Who?” I said, turning towards the voice. It was Adhvait Mehra.

“Or koi bhi hai Miss Vashisht iss ghar mei?” he asked sarcastically.

(There's another Miss Vashisht here?)

“You can call me Sunaina,” I said, rolling my eyes at his comment.

“What? Really?” he said, somewhat surprised.

“Uh, I guess Sunaina is my name. You’re not my client, and you’re bhaiya’s friend, so I guess it doesn’t matter?” I said, more like questioned, confused at his reaction.

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat.

“You were calling me for…?” I asked.

“Oh yes, actually Avinash told me you need to reach early for some kind of checking and all. I’m going early too for decoration checking, so he ordered you and me to go together,” he said.

“Oh,” was all I managed to say.

“Yeah, are you ready then?” he asked, still keeping his gaze fixed on my face. His eyes never wandered.

“Aapko kya lagta hai?” I asked sarcastically.

(What do you think?)

“Ki aap ready nahi hai?” he said, more like a question.

(That you are not ready?)

“Ji, I’m not ready yet. Give me 30 minutes and I’ll meet you downstairs,” I said and hurried off to my room.

“Oh hey, madam is here,” Ashu said, smirking at me.

“Shut up and move aside, let me get ready fast,” I said, shoving her and starting to blow-dry my hair.

“Arre madam abhi 2 ghante hai,” she said.

(Arre madam, there are still 2 hours left.)

“Mere pass 30 minute hai, I've to leave early with Adhvait Mehra,” I said, starting my makeup.

(I have 30 minutes, I’ve to leave early with Adhvait Mehra)

“Oooo, You mean your love? Aren’t you too fast?” she said, smirking.

“It is bhai’s order, you kamini,” I said, throwing a makeup brush at her.

(It is bhai’s order, you idiot.)

“idhar udhar checkings karni hai meko, ye mother dearest ka order hai. You come later with Devesh bhai,” I continued, doing my makeup.

(I have to check some stuff. Mother dearest ordered it.)

“Can you help me with my hair, pleaseeeee?” I said with puppy eyes. She rolled her eyes but nodded and started working on my hair.

After 25 minutes, I was all ready in my gorgeous lehenga, hair messily curled to give volume, and minimal jewelry. I was all set to go.

“Ohhoooo, aaj toh Majnu pakka girega,” she said, whistling.

(Damn, today the lover will definitely fall.)

“Shut up, idiot. I’ll go now,” I said, picking up my clutch and phone, then left after putting on my heels. Taking deep breaths because MAN, I WAS NERVOUS.

Taking the last few deep breaths, I descended the stairs and bruh, I was almost knocked out.

He looked like a piece of meat in that tux—PIECE OF MEAT? SUNU, WHAT THE FUCK! GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER.

I thought to myself and diverted my gaze to the stairs. I didn’t want to trip and embarrass myself.

Finally, I reached downstairs and stood in front of him. He was still dazed.

“Oh hello, mister. Chale?” I said, shaking him.

(Oh hello, mister. Shall we go?)

“Huh? Oh yes, let’s go,” he said, snapping out of it.

“Stop daydreaming about your girlfriend in the middle of the day or you’ll fall in the gutter,” I said, walking away with a small smile.

“Aahaa, a jerk can be chivalrous too,” I said as he opened the door for me and helped me settle in with my massive lehenga. He rolled his eyes before closing the door and jogging to his side.

“Shall we, my highness?” he said before starting the car.

“Haa driver bhaiya, chalo,” I said. He gave me his biggest glare but thankfully started the car.

(Yes driver uncle, let's go.)

“Waise,” he began after a few minutes of comfortable silence with soft romantic music in the background.

(You know..)

“Ji, waise?” I said, gesturing for him to continue.

(Yes?)

“About the girlfriend thing… Are you indirectly asking if I have a girlfriend, so that you could hit on me?” he asked. I instantly snapped to attention.

“What the fuck? Why would I care if you have a girlfriend or not?” I said with a glare.

“And please rest assured, I have no intention of hitting on you. My taste is better,” I added.

“Jara dhyan se… kahi woh better choice zameen mei das feet neeche gadi hui na mile,” he said with a straight face and a deep voice that sent a shiver down my spine.

(Beware, that better choice might be buried ten feet underground.)

“Care to elaborate, Mr. Mehra?” I asked.

“Avinash, I meant. Avinash won’t like you having a boyfriend, would he?” he said somewhat nervously.

“Hmmm, you’re right, Mr. Mehra,” I said.

“Stop calling me that,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Stop calling you what? Mr. Mehra?” I asked innocently.

“This… this! Stop it,” he groaned. “Call me Adhvait, just like you asked me to call you Sunaina.”

“I won’t,” I declared.

“Why?” he asked, annoyed.

“Meri marzi. Mai toh Mr. Mehra hi bolungi. Waise bhi aap merese bade ho, bhaiya bhi bol sakti hu,” I said, riling him up more.

(My wish. I’ll call you Mr. Mehra only. Also, you’re older than me; I could call you bhaiya too.)

“No, no, not bhaiya! I already have three sisters—I don’t want more. Fine, call me whatever you’re calling now,” he said, giving up.

“Ab aap itna insist kar hi rahe ho toh sure, why not?” I said, turning sideways to hide the smile threatening to appear. I loved our banters.

(Since you’re insisting, sure, why not?)

“So, I heard you’re staying here?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” I said.

“Not very happy about it?” he asked, glancing at me.

“No, it’s not like that. This place holds more sad memories than happy ones. I don’t even have my ma and pa with me, so I’m not sure how I’m going to survive,” I said.

“Ma and pa? Aunty and uncle are here, right?” he asked.

“Uh, not them. Leave it,” I said.

“No, tell me, please,” he insisted and kept asking.

“Fine... uh, your parents,” I said, and a sweet smile appeared on his face.

“You must’ve loved them so much,” he said.

“I love them the most, just like I love my bhaiya,” I said, smiling at the memory.

“They were and will always be more than any parent could be to me—and to bhaiya as well. The only thing I’m thankful to my mom for is her friendship with ma and pa,” I said.

“You know this necklace? Ma gave it to me the last time I saw her before my board exams. My exam center was in a different city. She said, ‘Sunu beta, this necklace will always remind you that we are proud of you. Kabhi bhi apni ma ki yaad aaye na toh isko pehen lena aur jaldi se wapas aana.’ I was missing her a lot today, you know. She would’ve been the happiest today at bhaiya’s wedding,” I said, blinking away the tears.

(Whenever you miss me, wear this necklace and come back soon.)

“And you know, I don’t know why I’m sharing all this with you. This ring, they gave it to me as a birthday gift. After they... I could never celebrate my birthday the same way. I mean, how could I? Ma’s handmade cake wasn’t there, Pa’s cute jokes weren’t there. Shit, I’m sorry,” I said.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked, handing me a tissue from the dashboard to wipe the tears that had fallen.

“I spoiled your mood, didn’t I? I don’t know but... ugh, I’m sorry,” I said, wiping my eyes.

“I guess now I know why Ma and Dad used to love you more than me,” he said, gesturing to the necklace and ring I was still wearing after all these years. He chuckled, making me laugh.

“A smile suits you more,” he said, and a softer smile appeared on my face.

“Sambhal ke, Mr. Mehra. Kahi aapko mujhse pyaar na ho jaye,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.

(Beware, Mr. Mehra, you might fall in love with me.)

“Hogaya toh? Phir kya karogi?” he asked, glancing at me, making my heart race.

(And if I did? What would you do?)

“Reject,” I said, flipping my hair playfully. We both laughed and continued chatting about random things.

“Stop, stop,” I shouted, and he jerked the car to a halt.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Uh, sorry… actually, can you see that gajra-wale bhaiya?” I asked, pointing. He gave me an “are you kidding me?” look.

“Please, can I go get it? I’ll be back in two minutes,” I pleaded with puppy eyes. He groaned.

“No—” he began to refuse, but I interrupted.

“Please, I’ll be back in one minute,” I said, pouting.

“No—” he started again.

“Pleaseeeeeeeeee,” I whined, grabbing his pinky and batting my eyes.

“I’m saying—”

“Mr. Mehra, pleaseeeeeee—”

“Let—”

“Mr. Mehra, pleaseeeee—”

“Let me—” He slapped his palm over my mouth. “LET ME FINISH. I WAS SAYING: STAY HERE AND I’LL GO GET IT FOR YOU, YOU WOMAN.”

“Mmm mmm mmm,” I tried to say. He raised an eyebrow, and I glared.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, removing his hand.

“It’s okay. Now go get it for me,” I said, shoving him aside with his wallet.

“Woman slo—” he protested, but I shut the door in his face. His infamous glare followed me as he went.

“Thank youuuuu,” I screamed, and he returned moments later, tossing the gajra into my lap.

“Pagal,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Kitne ka tha? I don’t have cash—will GPay work?” I asked, placing the gajra.

(How much was it for? I don't have cash-will GPay work?)

“Shut up. You don’t have to pay,” he said.

“Arre—” I began, but he cut me off.

“No means no. Now shut up before I tape that mouth of yours,” he warned, flooring the accelerator.

“Fine,” I huffed, focusing on my gajra.

“Kaise lag raha hai?” I asked after tucking it into my hair.

(How do I look?)

“Nice,” he replied, glancing at me.

“Not good at compliments, I see,” I teased, rolling my eyes. He was about to retort, but I cranked up the music. He sighed.

“Let’s go—we’ve arrived.” He parked and turned to help me out. I gathered my things and stepped down, and found him standing very, very close.

“Are you planning to take your seatbelt with you?” he murmured, his voice husky.

“Uh, no, I was just—” I stuttered, then heard a click.

“Let’s go,” he said, stepping back after unbuckling me.

“Uh, ye—yeah, let’s go,” I managed, leaning on him as we walked.

“Aap jaa sakte ho. Aapko jo bhi kaam hai, main gifts dekh lungi,” I told him as we stepped into the mansion.

(You can go finish your work; I’ll check the gifts.)

“Sure. Make yourself comfortable—there are servants if you need help. I’ll head to my work,” he said, nodding and walking away.

“Also, if you want to freshen up, the last room down the hall is yours,” he added over his shoulder.

“Okay,” I called after him.

I approached an elderly lady decorating the hall. “Uh, excuse me aunty—jo gifts groom ki side se aaye hai, woh kaha rakhe hai?”

(Uh, excuse me aunty, where are the gifts from the groom’s side?)

“Ji madam, woh room mei hai,” she pointed.

(Yes madam, they’re in that room.)

“Thank you, aunty—and please don’t call me madam. Mera naam Sunaina hai,” I smiled.

(Thank you aunty, and please call me Sunaina.)

“Koi baat nahi, Sunaina,” she returned the smile. I nodded and headed to the gift room.

(No problem Sunaina)

I dialed Devesh bhaiya on my phone. “Hello bhaiya—tell Mrs. Vashisht envelopes aren’t here, and bhabhi’s pheron jewellery is missing,” I said, sorting through boxes.

“Sure, Sunu. Anything else? Check the varmala—pink roses, right?” he replied.

“Ek minute, bhaiya,” I said, stepping out to find the garlands.

(One minute bhaiya)

“Excuse me, bhaisahab—woh varmala kaha hai?” I asked a worker.

Excuse me, where are the garlands?)

“There they are, madam,” he pointed.

“Bhaiya, these pink roses look too dull,” I examined them critically.

“Arre yaar, tera kamina bhai meri jaan le lega,” he cursed, and I laughed.

(Oh god, your bastard brother will kill me.)

“Bhabhi ka lehenga pink color ka hai na?” I asked to confirm.

(Wait, bhabhi’s lehanga is of pink color right?)

“Haaa, pastel-ish pink hai. Ruk—NISHU BABY, PRIYU KA LEHENGA KONSE COLOR KA HAI?” he shouted down the hall, asking nishu bhabhi which I couldn't hear of course.

“Okay, Sunu, it’s blush pink,” he answered.

“Order white rose garlands—they’ll suit the theme,” I instructed.

“Sunu, you’re a saviour. I’ll get fresh ones myself and send them with Ashu,” he said.

“Okay, but don’t forget to inform Mrs. Vashisht,” I reminded him.

“Sure,” he said, hanging up.

“Thank god I checked—otherwise, it would've been a huge disaster,” I muttered.

A voice startled me: “Uh, hey.”

“Oh, sorry! I’m Nivedh, Priyu di’s cousin. I was looking for Adi—do you know where he is?” he asked.

“It’s okay. Hi, I’m Sunaina, your to-be jiju’s sister. He’s probably near the garden,” I replied.

“Thanks,” he smiled, stepping aside as I walked away with a smile.

Our driver uncle approached: “sunu beta, ye badi malkin ne bhijwaya hai.”

(Sunu, Mrs. Vashisht sent this.)

“Thank you, uncle,” I said, opening the bag. Jewellery, envelopes, rings—rings? What for? Shrugging, I added them to the pile. I should freshen up—the guests would arrive soon. I headed toward my assigned room.

Inside, pastel décor and a huge family portrait greeted me, along with his cologne lingering in the air.

IT IS HIS ROOM!!!!!!!!!!!! WHY WOULD HE DO THAT??????????

I double-checked outside—yes, this was my room. Whatever, fuck it—I decided to freshen up here. I locked the bathroom door and got ready.

Five minutes later, I stepped out to find him entering.

“Uh—you said this was my room, right? I hope I’m not mistaken,” I asked, still unsure.

“Right. You’re where you should be,” he said. WHAT THE HELL.

“Sorry?” I repeated.

“Nothing. It’s just the easiest to access,” he explained.

“Oh, okay—thank you. I’m done now,” I said, grabbing my bag.

“Sure. Leave it on the coffee table—you won’t need it, would you?” he said looking at my huge tote bag, I thanked him for the same, nodding he disappeared for freshening up maybe.

I turned to leave but heard: “Don’t go. Wait for me.”

“Okay,” I replied, settling onto the sofa to scroll my phone. Five minutes later, the washroom door clicked, and he emerged in kurta-pajama. My heart almost stopped. I immediately averted my gaze back to my phone as he turned.

“Ahem, ahem,” he fake-coughed. “Let’s go if you’re ready.”

“I was ready 15 minutes ago. You told me to wait,” I shot back.

“Ji, maaf kijiye, maharani ji. Ab hum chale?” he said with a sarcastic bow.

(Yes, sorry my highness. Shall we go?)

I nodded, and as we reached downstairs, the sight waiting for me sent shivers through my entire body—so much so, I nearly puked.

Because…