The morning of haldi dawned bright and merciless.
Yellow everywhere.
Marigolds strung across the lawn like garlands of hope. Guests in bright kurtas and lehengas laughing, smearing turmeric paste on each other's faces, the air thick with the smell of sandalwood, rose water, and fresh besan.
Naira stood at the edge of the chaos, arms crossed, watching.
She wore a simple yellow cotton anarkali that Priya had forced her into. "You can't wear black today, idiot. It's haldi. Smile."
She was trying.
Aarav was across the lawn, in a white kurta smeared with yellow streaks already. He looked ridiculous and beautiful at the same time. Someone had drawn a fake mustache on him with haldi. He was laughing—real, deep laughter—while Shanaya's little cousin tried to put more on his nose.
For a second, Naira's chest loosened.
Maybe this could work.
Maybe they could be normal again.
Then Rhea walked in.
Not dramatically. Not with tears or accusations.
Just quietly.
She wore a pale peach saree, hair in a low bun, sunglasses hiding her eyes. She carried a small gift bag—probably for Shanaya.
The entire lawn seemed to pause for half a heartbeat.
Then conversation resumed, louder, forced.
Rhea spotted Aarav first.
Their eyes met.
She gave a small, tight smile.
He froze.
Naira felt it like a punch.
She walked over before she could think.
Stood beside Aarav.
Rhea's gaze shifted to her.
"Hi, Naira."
"Hi."
No warmth. No hate. Just… exhaustion.
Rhea looked back at Aarav.
"I came to give Shanaya her gift. And to say congratulations in person. That's all."
Aarav nodded. Voice low.
"Thank you."
Rhea's eyes flicked to their hands—how close they were standing. How natural it looked.
She exhaled.
"I'm not here to make a scene. I just… needed to see it for myself. To make it real."
Aarav swallowed.
"I'm sorry, Rhea."
"I know." She looked at him for a long moment. "I hope she's worth it."
Then she turned and walked toward Shanaya.
Naira felt sick.
Aarav reached for her hand.
She pulled away.
"Not here."
She walked off. Fast.
Past the lawn. Past the guests. Into the hotel corridor.
She didn't stop until she reached the staircase landing—empty, shadowed, quiet.
She leaned against the wall. Breathed.
A minute later, Aarav found her.
"Naira—"
"Don't."
He stopped.
She looked up. Eyes bright.
"She looked at me like I stole something."
"You didn't steal anything."
"Didn't I?" Her voice cracked. "She loved you. For two years. And I come back for one weekend and suddenly it's over?"
"It was over before you came back. I just didn't have the courage to admit it."
"That doesn't make it hurt less for her."
"I know."
Naira pressed her palms to her eyes.
"I feel like the villain."
"You're not."
"Then why does it feel like this?"
He stepped closer. Carefully.
"Because we hurt people when we choose ourselves."
She laughed without humor.
"Poetic."
"True."
She dropped her hands.
"Look at me."
He did.
"I don't want to be the girl who ruins lives."
"You're not ruining mine."
"But hers."
"She'll heal. She's strong. Stronger than me."
Naira studied his face.
"Do you miss her?"
A pause.
"Parts of her. The comfort. The routine. But not the way I miss you when you're in the next room."
She exhaled shakily.
"I hate this feeling."
"Me too."
They stood there.
Turmeric scent drifting in from the lawn.
Distant music.
Life moving on outside.
Aarav spoke softly.
"I can't undo yesterday. I can't un-hurt Rhea. But I can promise you this: from this second, it's only us. No more running. No more hiding. If we fall, we fall together."
Naira looked at him.
Really looked.
And something inside her cracked open—not breaking, just… softening.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
She nodded.
"But we go slow. Really slow. No grand promises. No moving in tomorrow. Just… us. Figuring it out. Day by day."
He smiled. Small. Relieved.
"Day by day."
She stepped forward.
Wrapped her arms around his waist.
Buried her face in his chest.
He held her tight.
They stayed like that until the music changed—something slower, romantic.
Then Aarav pulled back just enough.
"Come back out there with me?"
She hesitated.
"I don't want people staring."
"Let them stare."
She thought about it.
Then nodded.
They walked back hand in hand.
Not hiding.
Not flaunting.
Just… together.
The haldi ceremony continued.
Shanaya spotted them. Grinned wide.
Pulled them both into the circle.
Smeared yellow on their cheeks.
Laughed.
"Finally," she whispered to Naira. "Took you idiots long enough."
Naira smiled.
"Yeah."
Later, when the sun was lower and the crowd had thinned, Aarav tugged her toward the quiet side of the garden.
There was a small fountain. Water trickling softly.
They sat on the edge.
Feet dangling in the cool water.
He took her hand again.
"Dance with me?"
"Here?"
"Here."
There was no music now. Just birds. Wind. Water.
But he pulled her up anyway.
Wrapped an arm around her waist.
She put her hands on his shoulders.
They swayed slowly.
Barefoot on grass.
Yellow stains on their clothes.
His forehead rested against hers.
"I remember the first time we danced," he murmured.
"School farewell. You stepped on my foot three times."
"And you still kissed me after."
She smiled into his neck.
"I was drunk on thandai."
"Liar."
They swayed.
The sun dipped lower.
Shadows lengthened.
Then he stopped moving.
Just held her.
"I'm going to fuck this up sometimes," he said quietly.
"I know."
"I'm going to say the wrong thing. Get scared. Pull away."
"I know."
"But I'll come back. Every time."
She lifted her head.
"You better."
He kissed her then.
Soft.
Slow.
Tasting of turmeric and promises.
When they broke apart, she whispered,
"I love you."
His eyes softened.
"I love you more."
They sat back down.
Feet in the water again.
Watching the sky turn pink and gold.
No words for a while.
Just breathing.
Together.
Flashback crept in uninvited.
Monsoon. His tiny rooftop room in Kamla Nagar.
They'd been caught in the rain. Soaked. Laughing.
He'd pulled her inside. Kissed her against the door.
Clothes peeled off wet and heavy.
They'd made love on the thin mattress on the floor.
Rain pounding the tin roof.
Thunder rolling.
Her nails in his shoulders.
His name on her lips like a chant.
After, they lay listening to the storm.
She'd said, "I want this forever."
He'd kissed her knuckles.
"You'll have it."
They'd believed it then.
Now, sitting by the fountain, Naira looked at him.
"Do you still believe in forever?"
He thought about it.
"I believe in right now. And tomorrow. And the day after."
She nodded.
"That's enough."
He squeezed her hand.
"It has to be."
They stayed until the sky turned indigo.
Then they walked back inside.
Hand in hand.
No more secrets.
The heartbreak was still coming.
They both felt it—like a storm on the horizon.
But for this moment—
This golden, turmeric-stained moment—
Love was still simple.
And they clung to it.
Because the complex part?
It could wait one more day.