I wake up at 7:00, like always.
A beautiful morning, a beautiful view from the balcony.

Baba is already giving water to the flower plants in our little garden. I can smell Maa making tea with ginger and tulsi. Nidhu is sleeping, maybe because she enjoys my dream life.

A long vacation.
After 12th.

For a moment, I just feel the energy, consume the peaceful energy from slow breathing, just like meditation.
Inhale and exhale.

My eyes are closed.

I feel like I’m sitting in a forest full of trees and grass.
I feel the sound of a waterfall coming from somewhere. I feel a bird’s voice, and then—

Boom.

My phone rings.
My whole meditation is a flop.

“ISHUUUU, tu na meri friend hai hi nahi.”
“Mujhse baat mat karna.”
“Aur aaj shaam ko meri shaadi hai, usme to tu bilkul mat aana.”

“WHATT, main to bhool hi gayi ki teri shaadi haii.”

“Dekha, gadhi kahi ki,” Shreya pouts.

“Are pagli, mujhe yaad hai, aur ye bhi yaad hai ki mujhe aana hai,” I say.

“TO KAB AA RAHI HAIII, PAGALLLL,” she shouts on the call.

“Are are, chill Shreyu. Abhi to meri good morning hui hai, aur shaadi to shaam ko hai na.”

“To tu shaam ko aayegi?” she speaks in a teary voice.

“Are, main to mazak kar rahi hu,” I laugh.
“Ready hokar aati hu,” I give her my word.

She says, “Bye then, come early… I’m busy, call when you come.”

“Ok, dulhan ji,” I laugh and cut the call.

I go downstairs.

“Maa, mujhe Shreya ki shaadi mein jana hai. Main abhi se chali jaati hu.
Aap meri chinta mat karna, raat ko late hoga.”

She speaks nothing at first.

“Haan, abhi to teri umar bhi ho gayi hai shaadi karne ki. Tu bhi ready ho ja.”
“Kya pata tujhe wahan koi ladka mil jaye jo tujhe pasand aa jaye.”

“Ohh, Maa,” I overreact.
“Ye koi movie scene nahi hai.”
“Aur waise bhi ye royal logon se jitna door raho, utna achha hai.”

“Lekin beta, kabhi na kabhi to karni padegi na.”
“Tum 21 ki ho chuki ho, ab kab tak wait karogi?”

I ignore her and go to my room.

I take a shower, change my clothes into a simple kurti, and pack my lehenga for the evening.

“I’m going, Maa.”
She prays when I’m leaving home, for me to stay safe.

Baba is nowhere to be seen, meaning he has gone to work. I pack the bangles Baba makes for me.

I arrive at her house, glistening with marigold and roses.
I pay for my ride and go inside. At the gate, the Rathi parivaar’s group photo is placed. Haldi is already done.

People are painted in turmeric powder, playing with haldi, throwing it at each other. I hide myself from them and go inside.

I go to her room. She has just changed from her haldi outfit.

I hug her. “Oww, my dulhan is glowing today.”

“Why are you late?” she says sadly.

“Shreyu, sorry na. I wanted to come early, but Maa and her lectures.”
“Don’t stay late at night.”
“Don’t wander too much.”
“And especially—”
“Don’t get caught in anyone’s eyes there, warna nazar lag jayegi,” I reply in one breath.

“Ok ok, Rajasthan express. Bas kar abhi.”

“Baraat 5 baje aa jayegi, so I’m going to get ready for it.”
“Tum bhi Vishu ke room mein ready ho jana me bhi abhi ready hone ja rahi hu,” she says.

“Ok ok, I’m gonna get ready, Ishu, thik haii. Tu fatafat ready hoke aa ja, shayad mujhe teri help ki zarurat pade.”

“Ok Shreyu, I’m gonna get ready.”

She replies, “Thik hai.”

Around evening, I’m almost ready.
Maroon lehenga, dupatta, bindi, and my favorite brown pearl bracelet—all done.
Just a little lipstick and perfume, and I’m all set.

Suddenly, people downstairs start chattering.

“Baraat aa gayi!!”
“Baraat aa gayi!!”

I go towards Shreya’s room, but her mom hands me a big responsibility.

“Beta, tumhe ek kaam karna hoga. Damad ji ke ek khaas guest aa rahe hai—Rathore saheb.”
“Tumhe unko unke special rooms tak le jana hai.”
“Beta, please dhyaan se. Bahut bade log hai, koi gadbad nahi honi chahiye.”

“You can tension-free, aunty,” I say in full acting mode.
“I can do this.”

She holds my cheek. “Thank you, beta.”
“Ab jao, wo log aate honge.”
“Unki entry doosre gate se hogi. Tum wahan jaakar khadi raho.”

I go towards the second gate. I’m wondering why they are so special. I mean, a separate entrance for them? Are they that special?

I ignore all questions and go towards the entrance.

An elderly woman is standing there, wearing a Rajasthani ghaghra. Beside her are two middle-aged women wearing rajasthani choli with ghoonghat cover their face, two middle-aged men wearing kurtas, and one girl wearing a kurti.

I go towards them. I smile and touch the feet of the elderly woman.
“Khamma ghani, Dadi ji.”

I don’t know why, but I feel I have to touch her feet.

“Ghani khamma, chori.”
“Aapka swagat hai.”
“Aap thak gaye honge. Main aapko aapke rooms tak le chalti hu.”

“Chori, mara pota abhi aaya nahi. Thodi der ruk,” she says.

“Dadi ji, aap khade-khade thak jayengi. Aap log chaliye, main jab wo aayenge unko aapke paas le aungi.”

The woman beside her speaks, “Maa sa, ye thik keh rahi hai.”

The elderly woman agrees. “Thik hai, mare ko to pair mein dard ho raha hai.”

I take them to the guest rooms.

One room for Dadi ji. The nameplate reads: Rukmani Ji.
One room for Yashveer Rathore and his wife.
One for Rajveer Rathore and his wife.
And Vihaan Rathore’s room is empty.

Maybe he is the one Dadi ji is waiting for.

My phone rings. Shreya’s mother.
“Beta, ek guest reh gaye—Collector saheb.”
“Wo abhi aaye. Tu lene ja unko, wo gate par khade hai.”

“Haan, main ja rahi hu,” I say while already walking towards the entrance.

My hair falls over my lehenga’s blouse, covering my back. I walk towards the gate, and it’s empty. No one is there. But aunty says Collector saheb is waiting outside.

I’m about to go back, and my heel twists. My balance loosens, and I’m about to fall.

Before I fall, someone catches me—in his arms.

Strong.
Broad.
Steady.

Cologne smells like shadow.

I’m safe.
Not falling.

My hair covers my face. I can barely see him. he removes the strands of hair from my face, and all I see are his eyes.

Dark grey.
Still.
Bright.

“Aap thik hai?” His voice is too deep, too steady, too sure.

I put one hand on his shoulder to take balance. I stand, but my bracelet gets stuck in his kurta.

“I’m sorry, it got stuck by mistake.”

I remove it.

When I remove my bracelet from his kurta sleeve, I feel his gaze on me.
It makes me feel something awkward, like he is staring to my soul not me.

I look up because he is too tall compared to me. I understand that he is the collector.
From his moves.
From his words.
From his voice.

“Aap is taraf chaliye.”

“Ji.”

He just says “Ji,” nothing more. I don’t know why, but I feel this path is too long. I know I can’t talk to him like a random stranger.

We walk towards the special guest room. His Dadi stands there in the hallway.

“Ye aapka room,” I wave my hand towards the left.

“Sukriya,” he says.

I see his Dadi looking at us and smiling, maybe smiling for him.

He goes inside his room. I’m about to go, but Dadi ji stops me.

“Thara naam ka hai, chori?”

“Ji… Ishika.”

“Poora naam?”

“Ishika Verma.”

“Ghani sundar lage hai tu.”

“Ji, dhanyavaad,” I smile at her and go outside to the garden area.

Nighttime.

I go towards the mandap. Varmala is done.
Shaadi done.

I give my friend blessings and gifts.

I’m about to go back home when I see my favorite bracelet is gone.

I suddenly remember him.
His grey eyes.
Dark eyebrows.
Heavy lashes.

I go home.

Only one thought in my mind—that I got caught in his eyes, and that’s for sure.

 I hate.
When all things are not done in time.

I have pending papers to sign, pending to manage land records, approve the permissions, and visit the construction site of the hospital. I’m sitting across in a chair of a government department office.
Name place reading: Collector. V.R. RATHORE.

I’m working in this position for one and a half years, and I never intend corruption to damage my post. I stand only on the side of truth. Lies and liars have no space around me to stand.

I got a message from Papa that we have to attend a wedding tonight at Rathi’s place; we are going with the groom’s side. I didn’t like to attend weddings, parties, functions.
I like quiet places only—my personal garden area in Rathore Haveli, my study room, my library.
Only quiet.
No noise.

Quiet places make me peaceful and polite, and if someday I get angry, I lose all control, I lose all sense of understanding, all manners to behave. I don’t get angry too much, but when I do, no one can handle me—even myself.

That’s why I choose silence over noise.
Peace over temper.
And especially,
Truth over lie.

Around evening, I go to Rathore Haveli, my home.
The only royal haveli in whole Rajasthan, famous for their reputation, work for humanity, and especially for following our riti-rivaz from the first century.

I believe in Rivaz.
Cause they represent us.

I cross the main gate. Car parked, and I walk towards the haveli. Dadi sa is sitting across her favourite jula and reading Bhagavad Gita, already ready for the wedding we are about to go to.

“Aa gayo chora, fatafat teyyar ho ja,” she says after putting the Geeta in the mandir.

“Ji, Dadi sa,” I say.

“Vihaan beta, tumhare kapde maine ready rakhe hai,” my Maa comes from the kitchen, ghoonghat on her forehead.

“Ji Maa, thank you,” I reply and go to my room.

“Abhi tumhara Vihaan kono beta nahi, byah ke layak ho chukka hai.”
“Ghani sunder aur sushil chori dundh ni padegi mare Vihaan ke khatir,” I hear when I climb the stairs. Dadi sa is always concerned for my marriage.

I go and change the clothes we are going to wear to the wedding.

I go in my car after my family leaves.
Papa, Maa, Dadi sa, Ruhi, Yashveer Chachu and Nandini Chichi—all go before me.

I go there. They say a different entrance for us; I go to the second entrance. Baraat is already welcomed through the other gate.
The second gate is empty. No one there. I make a phone call to handle the pending work from today and I’m about to go inside.

A girl.
Waiting for someone—or for me, I say. I go inside. She was done waiting and about to go inside. She twists her ankle and is about to fall, but I catch her before she falls.

Her weight is nothing. Her smell is like vanilla and fruit. Her long, dark hair is covering her face. I remove the strands of hair from her face, and her eyes come into view.

Brown.
Too alert.
Too soft.
And, more importantly,
Too innocent for a man like me.

She tries to steady herself, and her bracelet is stuck in my kurta’s sleeve. She speaks in panic:
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

When she removes her bracelet, all I see are her eyes.
I don’t know why.

Her lips painted maroon. I again see her brown eyes. She looks uncomfortable.

“Is taraf chaliye, main aapko aapke room tak le jati hu,” she says.

“Ji, chaliye,” I walk past her.

I notice her height is too small compared to mine. Her hair is long and dark, covering her back from revealing. I see the faint view of her waist. Her steps are not steady, meaning she is panicked or uncomfortable with me.

I have never seen a girl for that much time before. I ignore it all the time, but I don’t know what happens to me today.

She shows me my room. I thank her and go inside, closing the door.

“Ji… Ishika,” I hear her name when Dadi sa asks her name, after I go inside the room.

“Ishika.”

I say it again like a vow.
I smirk, not because I feel like it, but she doesn’t know.

That little soul caught the eyes of my Dadi sa.
And her vivid eyes caught in—
Mine too.