Arav elbowed Ranav again. "See? I told you!"
Ranav laughed softly. "Don't poke him too much, he's already caught."
Arnav straightened, shaking his head to regain composure. "Enough. She's just a friend delivering sweets. That's it. Now, leave it," he said, though his gaze lingered a second longer on Pranati than he'd like to admit.
Pranati, oblivious to the effect she had on him, beamed as she bowed slightly, the lehenga swaying around her. The celebration of Maha Shivratri continued, the music mingling with laughter and the faint scent of marigold and incense, but for Arnav, every drumbeat still seemed to echo with her presence.
Night had gently settled over the villa, wrapping the celebration in a calm, sacred hush. The courtyard glowed under rows of diyas, their flames steady, as the fragrance of incense and fresh bilva leaves filled the air. The Shivlingam stood at the center, adorned with white flowers and rudraksha malas, bathed in a divine stillness.
As the music faded and the applause softened, Dadi stepped forward, her presence commanding yet serene.
"The time for the pooja has come , so come everyone," she said, her voice firm but reverent.
One by one, the families gathered.
First, Suman and Sanjeev knelt before the Shivlingam. Dadi guided their hands as they poured milk over the stone, the liquid cascading slowly, catching the light of the flames. Both bowed their heads, palms joined, their voices steady as they chanted together:
"Om trayambakam yajaamahe
Sugandhim pushti vardhanam
Urvaarukamiva bandhanaan
Mrityor muksheeya maaamrtaat."
Next came Vedshree and Vanraj. Vedshree's eyes shimmered with devotion as she performed the abhishek, Vanraj standing firmly beside her, their prayer carrying years of faith, hope, and unanswered questions.
Again, the mantra echoed through the courtyard, deeper now, layered with belief:
"Om trayambakam yajaamahe
Sugandhim pushti vardhanam
Urvaarukamiva bandhanaan
Mrityor muksheeya maaamrtaat."
Then Dadi turned slightly.
"Arnav."
Arnav stepped forward. For a brief second, his gaze flickered—uncertain, burdened. Ruby moved beside him naturally, slipping her hand into his as if it were already decided. Cameras flashed, whispers stirred, but Arnav heard none of it.
As they poured the milk together, Arnav's expression remained composed, yet distant—his lips reciting the mantra, his mind somewhere else.
"Om trayambakam yajaamahe
Sugandhim pushti vardhanam
Urvaarukamiva bandhanaan
Mrityor muksheeya maaamrtaat."
Not far away, Pranati stood quietly, hands folded, her eyes closed in sincere prayer. She wasn't part of any pair, yet her devotion felt untouched, pure. The diya beside her flickered brighter for a moment, unnoticed by all.
Finally, the three brothers stepped forward together.
Arnav in the center.
Arav and Ranav on either side.
No rituals of marriage here—only blood, bond, and belief.
They bathed the Shivlingam together, three streams of milk merging into one, their voices rising in unison, stronger, rawer:
"Om trayambakam yajaamahe
Sugandhim pushti vardhanam
Urvaarukamiva bandhanaan
Mrityor muksheeya maaamrtaat."
For a fleeting moment, the air felt heavier—charged, ancient—as if Shiva himself was listening more closely than before.
From afar, unseen eyes burned with resentment.
And somewhere within Arnav, something stirred… restless, conflicted, waiting.
Pranati glanced at the time on her phone, a soft chime reminding her of the hour. The pooja's energy still hummed in the air, but practicality called.
She made her way to Dadi, who stood near the mandir, her gaze serene and observant.
"Dadi," Pranati said softly, folding her hands in a gentle namaste. "It's getting late. I should leave now."
Dadi turned, her eyes warm with affection. She placed a hand on Pranati's head, her touch light and blessing. "Go safely, beta. May Shiva's protection always be with you. And thank you… for everything."
Pranati smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. "Thank you for having me, Dadi. It was… special."
With a final glance at the glowing diyas and the quiet devotion of the gathering, Pranati turned and walked toward the gate. Her lehenga whispered against the marble one last time, and then she stepped out into the night, the villa's light fading behind her like a closing chapter.
Yet unseen, the diya near where she had stood flared once more—a silent, sacred farewell.
To be continued…