Today was the day Aariv was getting married. Vanya had spent the last few days trying to avoid going to his house, even when Mr. Khurana had insisted she attend. But today, the matter was personal—he had called her himself, his voice leaving no room for excuses.

She dressed carefully, draping her mother’s red saree with practiced reverence. Her hair, now grown longer than she remembered, was parted neatly, cascading over her shoulders. She caught her reflection in the mirror and paused. The long hair, the subtle shine, the way it framed her face—she realized, almost reluctantly, that it suited her. She looked… good. Strong, poised, and almost untouchable.