Seher's POV

I couldn't help but sigh as I stared at my phone screen.

My mother had just informed me about my cousin - four years younger than me, getting married this week.

Mumma didn't hold the tone of taunt in her voice, but I knew. I knew all those toxic relatives had already spoken poison into her ears. But she is a mother, holding poison to herself never letting it spill to her child. Never.

But I have seen enough of this world, I have known, the comparisons, the so called pity for having an unmarried daughter at twenty-seven. Never mind that I'd built a successful law career in London. Never mind that I'd argued cases in courts they couldn't even name.

But this time, Seher Kaur Gill was going to reply to all those toxic relatives in her own way.

I smiled and said firmly, "I'll be there, Mata Shree." (Mother)

Mumma's relief was instant, her voice brightening on the other end of the call. And there began my mission.

After five years, I was returning back to my city. My place. Amritsar, Punjab.

Amritsar, Punjab.

The city vibrant and bright with it's people, it traditions everything. The city where the Golden Temple stood like a beacon, where the aroma of fresh jalebis mixed with the sound of kirtan in the early morning air. The city I'd left behind to chase my dreams.

The flight from London carrying me had just landed on Indian soil.

I walked through the arrival gates dressed in a tailored long coat over black trousers, my luxury suitcase rolling smoothly beside me, a leather tote bag hanging from my shoulder. Five years in London had sharpened not just my legal mind but my appearance too - polished, professional, unshakeable..

Only to find half the airport filled with men in black suits and dark sunglasses.

I paused mid-step. Security detail. Of course.

Just as I crossed through the final security checkpoint, I saw him. My father, Gurmeet Singh Gill, walking toward me with that familiar commanding presence that made crowds part instinctively. His usual white kurta was perfectly ironed just the way he liked, his beard neat, his eyes soft only for me.

He immediately pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. "Mera puttar. Daddy di princess... Kinne dinaan baad dekheya si main tenu, meri rajkumari..."
(My son. Daddy's princess... After how many days I've seen you, my princess...)

I melted into his embrace for a moment, breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with something distinctly him. "Daddy... Daddy... main theek aan. And your princess missed you too..But why so much crowd here?"
(Daddy... Daddy... I'm fine. Let's go home, why so much crowd here?)

He pulled back slightly, his hands still on my shoulders. "It's for your protection, child. Don't forget you are the daughter of Punjab's biggest leader. These are difficult times, elections are approaching."

I sighed, glancing at the security personnel flanking us from every angle. I'd almost forgotten what it was like the constant watchfulness, the bubble of protection that followed my father everywhere.

I walked with him toward the sleek black BMW waiting outside, security forming a perimeter around us. As we drove through Amritsar's streets, I pressed my face against the window, drinking in every familiar sight. The bustling markets, the colorful dupattas hanging in shop fronts, the street vendors selling kulche chole, the auto-rickshaws weaving through traffic with practiced ease.

"London must seem very quiet compared to this," Daddy said, watching me with an amused smile.

"London has its own chaos," I replied. "But this... this is home."

The buildings grew more spacious, the roads wider as we entered our neighborhood. And then, there it was. Our mansion, standing proud behind tall gates and manicured gardens.

The car engine purred to a stop in front of the main entrance.

Before the guards could even open my door, I saw her. My Mumma, Jaswinder Kaur Gill, standing at the doorway in a beautiful salwar kameez, a silver thali in her hands. Her face lit up the moment our eyes met.

The guards opened the door, and I stepped out, my heels clicking against the stone driveway. I started toward her, but she raised her hand gently, stopping me at the gate.

She performed the aarti, the small flame circling before me as she murmured prayers under her breath. Then she applied a tilak on my forehead with her thumb, the red kumkum warm against my skin.

"Baba ji salamat rakhe mere puttar nu..." (May God keep my child safe...)

But I couldn't hold back anymore. I dropped my bags and crashed into her arms, wrapping myself around her like I was five years old again.

"Mumma... main tenu kinna miss kita si... Eh baahawan, tussi di awaaz, sab kuch..."
(Mumma... I missed you so much... These arms, your voice, everything...)

Her arms tightened around me instantly, and she kissed my forehead repeatedly, her hand caressing my hair the way she'd done since I was a child. "Meri bachi... meri sohni bachi..."

We stood there for a long moment, and I felt something inside me finally settle. This. This was what I'd been missing.

She pulled back slightly, cupping my face in both hands, studying me with a mother's careful eyes. "Tu thaki thaki lagdi ae. Ja, naha ke aa ja. Tere liye garam garam aalu ke paranthe bana ke laundi aan."
(You look tired. Go, freshen up. I'll make hot aloo parathas for you.)

I laughed, tears pricking my eyes. "With extra butter?"

"Jo mera puttar kahe" She smiled. "Ab ja, teri Biji aa rahi hai kal. Sab nu milna hai tenu." (Whatever my child says..Now go, your grandmother is coming tomorrow. Everyone wants to meet you.)

I nodded, grabbing my bags as the house staff rushed forward to help. As I climbed the familiar stairs to my childhood room, I could smell the familiar scent, that felt everybit like home.

I pushed open the door to my room, and everything rushed back at once.

The walls were still painted in that soft cream color I'd chosen when I was sixteen. My old bookshelf stood against the wall, lined with law books, novels, and framed photographs. The window overlooked the garden where Mumma's rose bushes bloomed in shades of pink and red.

I dropped my bags and walked slowly to my study table, running my fingers over the familiar wood. Everything was exactly as I'd left it, Mumma had kept it like a shrine.

My eyes fell on the corkboard above the desk, still covered with photographs pinned haphazardly.

There I was at five years old, sitting on Daddy's shoulders during a political rally, my tiny hands gripping his turban while I laughed at something. Another photo showed Mumma braiding my hair before school, her face concentrated, my gap-toothed smile bright. There was one from my tenth birthday..just the three of us cutting a cake shaped like a law book because even then, I'd declared I wanted to be a lawyer.

I picked up a frame from the desk. My law school graduation in London. Daddy had flown out despite his crazy schedule, Mumma crying happy tears as I received my degree. They'd been so proud.

Being the only daughter, the only child, came with its own weight. All their hopes, all their love, all their expectations. Everything centered on me. They'd never pressured me about marriage, never made me feel less than, but I knew Mumma faced it. The taunts from relatives, the pointed questions at family gatherings. That goes like..

Seher is still unmarried? Unmarried after mid twenties sounds so bad..We have this or that specific person. Get her married to him.

As if finding a husband was the sole purpose of my existence. As if not married till mid twenties was written as a curse in holy books.

I traced the edge of another photograph. Me at seven, dressed as a lawyer for a school fancy dress competition, holding a toy gavel. Mumma had stitched a tiny black coat for me. Just then-

A knock on my door pulled me from my thoughts. "Puttar, naha le. Breakfast taiyar hai." (Child, freshen up. Breakfast is ready.) Mumma's voice called from outside.

"Haan Mumma, bas das minute!" (Yes Mumma, just ten minutes!) I called back.
.
.
.

I descended the grand staircase, freshly showered and dressed in comfortable t shirt and shorts. My wet hair hung down my back.

The dining room was bathed in morning sunlight streaming through the large windows. The long teakwood table was set with an elaborate Punjabi breakfast that made my mouth water instantly.

Daddy sat at the head of the table reading the newspaper, his reading glasses perched on his nose. Mumma was overseeing the staff as they brought out more dishes.

"Arre wah, meri rani aa gayi!" (Oh wow, my queen has arrived!) Daddy looked up with a broad smile, folding his newspaper.

I blushed, taking my usual seat beside him.

Mumma personally served me, piling my plate high despite my protests. "Mumma, itna sara? Main kha nahi paungi." (Mumma, so much? I won't be able to eat it all.)

"Tu bilkul patli ho gayi hai London mein. Khana theek se khati bhi hai?" (You've become so thin in London. Do you even eat properly?) She frowned, adding another paratha to my plate.

There was piping hot aloo parathas dripping with white butter, chole that smelled of perfect spices, fresh yogurt, achaar that could wake the dead, and sweet lassi in a tall steel glass.

I took my first bite and actually moaned. "Jannat!"

Daddy chuckled. "Eat properly baccha, Eating London's bland food must have ruined your taste buds..."

My parents watched me eat with such open affection and joy that I felt my chest tighten. Mumma's eyes were soft, almost emotional, as she served me more lassi. Daddy kept passing me different dishes, asking if I wanted more of this or that.

I was eating while talking to both of them, when Daddy's phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen and his expression shifted.

"Sorry baccha, I have to take this call. It's important. Madam ji, feed her properly"
He stood, kissing the top of my head before walking toward his study, already speaking in clipped Punjabi.

An comfortable silence settled as Mumma sat down beside me with her own chai.

"Nivedita kaisi hai? London mein toh wo bhi hai na tere saath?" (How is Nivedita? She's also in London with you, right?) Mumma asked, sipping her tea.

Nivedita. My best friend since childhood, my partner in crime, my sister from another mother..and father.

"Wo theek hai Mumma, par abhi bahut busy hai. Us ke patients hi nahi khatam hote." (She's fine Mumma, but she's very busy right now. Her patients queue never ends.)

"Achha..." Mumma nodded, then set down her cup with deliberate care. "Seher, you know your cousin Mehak has her engagement this evening, right?"

I nodded, swallowing my bite of paratha.
"I'm here for her marriage only."

Mumma smiled. She caressed my head and said,

"Main tere liye ek suit bhijwa dungi. Wo pehen lena. Kuch heavy jewellery bhi bhej rahi hoon." (I'll send a suit for you. Wear that. I'm also sending some heavy jewelry.)

Her tone hesitant. Already calculating that I'll deny. But I smiled.

"Okay Mumma, whatever you send, I'll wear it." I agreed, squeezing her hand.

She looked relieved, grateful even. And kissed on my forehead.

That evening.

I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror and wanted to scream.

The suit Mumma had sent was absolutely gorgeous. A deep emerald green sharara with intricate golden embroidery, the dupatta so finely worked it looked like liquid gold. But the problem wasn't the outfit.

It was me trying to drape this dupatta properly.

"How does this... oh man..." I muttered, attempting for the fourth time to pin the dupatta so it sat gracefully on my shoulder. It kept sliding off.

And the jewelry. Oh God, the jewelry.

Heavy jhumkas that my earlobes were already protesting against. A elaborate necklace that I couldn't figure out how to clasp. Bangles that refused to slide over my hands.

"London felt better, just wear suit of gown man.." I grumbled, wrestling with a particularly stubborn bangle.

A soft knock, and then Mumma entered, already dressed in a beautiful maroon suit, looking effortlessly elegant.

"Puttar..I knew, tu problem mein hi hogi.."
(I knew you must be in trouble.)

"Mumma, this dupatta is not cooperating at all..."

She laughed softly and took over with practiced hands. "Aa, khadi reh. Main kar deti hoon." (Come, stand still. I'll do it.)

Her fingers moved expertly, draping the dupatta perfectly, pinning it securely but gracefully. Then she clasped the necklace around my neck, adjusted the jhumkas, and stepped back to look at me.

Moving her hands over me, she cast off evil eyes. And taking a little kajal from her eyes, she applied on the back of my ear.
"May Mata Rani protect my Jaan.."

I just smiled. Taking her hands on mine, and kissing it.

The same evening. Engagement Hall.

The venue was exactly what I'd expected over the top, dripping with fairy lights, flowers everywhere, a stage that looked fit for royalty. Clearly, no expense had been spared.

Our family car pulled up to the entrance where photographers were already assembled. The moment Daddy stepped out, cameras started flashing. Then Mumma, poised and graceful. And then me.

I could feel eyes on me immediately. The whispers started like wildfire.

Look, Seher has come...After how many years...She's come from London, still a lawyer...But marriage...

I kept my head high, my expression pleasant but professional. Years of arguing in courtrooms had taught me how to wear confidence like armor.

We entered the main hall where already, relatives were gathered in clusters. The moment we walked in, a group of aunties descended upon us.

"Oh! Look at Seher! How grown up she's become!" One particular aunt Pammi bua,the one who is getting her daughter engaged today. She grabbed my hand with enthusiasm that felt more like a vice grip.

"Namaste Bua ji." I smiled politely, touching her feet in respect.

"London mein kya kar rahi hai, puttar? Lawyer hai tu?" (What are you doing in London, child? You're a lawyer?)

"Haan Masi ji, criminal defense attorney." (Yes Masi ji, criminal defense attorney.)

"Arre wah! Par beta, shaadi ke baare mein socha hai? Mehak toh tujhse chhoti hai aur dekh, uski engagement ho rahi hai!" (Oh wow! But child, have you thought about marriage? Mehak is younger than you and look, she's getting engaged!)

And there it was. Five minutes in, and the interrogation had begun.

Before I could respond, Daddy's commanding voice cut through. "Pammi, Seher ka career bahut achha chal raha hai. Usko apni life ke decisions khud lene ka haq hai." (Pammi ji, Seher's career is going very well. She has the right to make her own life decisions.)

Pammi bua looked slightly taken aback but recovered quickly with a tight smile. "Haan haan, bilkul... main toh bas puch rahi thi...Ab Jawan kudi hai Veer ji, fikr to sabko hoti hai." (Yes yes, of course... I was just asking...Now she is young brother, evryone is concerned about her.)

I smiled and spoke dramatically, my voice carrying just enough to ensure nearby relatives could hear every word.

"Bua Ji... Tuhanu meri kinni fikr hai... main shukriya kiven karun? Achha chalo... Tusi chahunde ho na main shaadi kar lawan, hun tusi hi labb ke deo minu karoraan vich ikk munda... Bilkul Heera..."
(Bua Ji... You're so worried about me... how can I thank you? Okay fine... You want me to get married, right? Now you find me a one-in-a-million boy... An absolute gem...)

My parents gave me a weird expression, their eyes widening slightly as they tried to read what was in my mind.

With a smile spreading on her face, Pammi Bua spoke, clearly thinking she'd won. "Bahut sare munde ne puttar..." (There are many boys, child...)

"Par... kujh shartan ne meriyan Bua." (But... I have some conditions, Bua.) I let the pause hang in the air, watching the curiosity bloom across her face and the faces of the aunties clustered around us.

"Pehli shart...Main apne Mummy Daddy nu bahut pyaar kardi aan. Hun main taan reh ni sakdi apni law firm de karan, taan main chahundi aan oh mere ghar te reh ke mere Mummy Daddy di sewa kare."

(First condition..I love my Mummy and Daddy very much. Now I can't stay here because of my law firm, so I want him to stay at my house and serve my Mummy and Daddy.)

Every eye immediately turned toward me. The chatter around us began to fade, replaced by shocked whispers. A few aunties exchanged glances. But I was just getting started.

"Dusri shart...Maine din raat mehnat kiti hai, career banaan layi. Main na career vich break le sakdi aan na kise layi chhad sakdi aan apna kaam. Taan oh munda bachche paida kare, te bas paal le ohna nu."

(Second condition..I've worked day and night to build my career. I can neither take a break in my career nor can I leave my work for anyone. So that boy should have the children and just raise them.)

I could feel the temperature in the room shift. Some mouths literally fell open.

"Akhir din bhar ghar te taan rahega, yehi kaam kar leve. Hun Bua ji, inni mehnat naal mere Daddy ji ne naam banaya, maine inna vadda firm khada kita... koi meri aulad vi taan hove na eh sab sambhalan wali. Te teesri shart meri..."

(After all, he'll be home all day, let him do this work. Now Bua ji, my Daddy ji built his name with so much hard work, I've built such a big firm... there should be someone from my lineage to handle all this. And my third condition...)

"Bas, bas puttar... Tusi taan serious hi ho gayi. Aaram naal zindagi jiyo. Jado mann kare shaadi bachche karo, assi kaun haan ji kehne wale..."

(Enough, enough child... You've become so serious. Live life peacefully. Whenever you feel like it, get married and have children, who are we to say anything...)

Pammi Bua backtracked rapidly, her face slightly flushed, her smile now strained and uncomfortable.

I smirked, satisfaction warming my chest.

Behind me, Mumma pressed her lips together to hide her smile. Daddy's chest shook with suppressed laughter, his hand coming up to stroke his beard..
Their gesture speaking loud.
They are damn proud of their daughter..

The surrounding aunties had gone quiet, some looking away awkwardly, others whispering furiously to each other. The younger cousins at the edge of the group were trying not to laugh openly.

Mumma stepped forward gracefully, diffusing the tension with maternal warmth. "Mehak nu mil le puttar?" (Go meet Mehak, child?)

I nodded, grateful for the exit. We three stepped toward the stage together, a united front.

Mehak immediately stood and hugged me tightly, her bangles clinking against mine. "Thank you Di, you are here..."

I kissed the top of her head affectionately, breathing in the jasmine fragrance of her hair. "Kinni sohni lag rahi hai, aur ye?" (You're looking so beautiful, and this one?)

I looked at her fiancé with an assessing gaze that was equal parts protective older cousin and cross-examining lawyer.

He stepped forward to touch my feet in respect.

"Arey! It's not needed, don't make me feel old..." I laughed, stopping him mid-motion. We all laughed, the warmth genuine this time.

Mehak smiled and gestured toward him with shy pride. "This is my Seher Di, Rohan."

"Seher Kaur Gill. I definitely know her..." he spoke with respectful recognition, his eyes holding genuine admiration rather than judgment.

We all smiled. Mumma and Daddy ji spoke to them for a few moments, their voices soft with blessings. Mehak and Rohan together touched their feet, and I watched my parents bless them with such genuine warmth.

After a few minutes, my phone vibrated against my clutch. I pulled it out discreetly and looked at the screen. Nivi.

I excused myself with a small smile and picked up her call, walking out of the crowded hall into the quieter corridor. The cool evening air hit my face as I stepped toward the outdoor garden area, the sounds of the engagement party muffled behind me.

"Aur Madam, bhul gayi Punjab jaate hi na..." (So Madam, you forgot me the moment you reached Punjab...) Nivi's voice came through, mock-offended.

"Na. I sent you my pictures... Did you check?" I smiled, walking out on the grass.

"Keher dha rahi hai meri jaan tu toh. Main toh chahungi... vo tera 8 saal pehle wala takra jaaye tujhse aaj hi..." (You're looking absolutely stunning, my love. I wish... that guy from 8 years ago runs into you today...)

"Chup pagal kahin ki..." (Shut up, you crazy girl...) I laughed, shaking my head.

Just as I said this, one of my heels suddenly broke. The sharp crack echoed in the quiet space. I gasped, my body tilting sideways, completely losing my balance. My phone flew up into the air. My mouth parted in shock, my arms flailing uselessly.

Oh no, Shit-

But before I touched the ground with a thud, my waist was wrapped firmly by someone's arm. Strong. Steady. Secure.

My arms immediately wrapping around his neck, to hold on something. Before i even realized.

I opened my half-closed eyes slowly.
There was this man.

Sharp jawline. Deep black eyes that seemed to hold entire universes in them. Looking directly at me with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.

My breath hitched.

Time seemed to slow down, the world narrowing to just this moment, just his face, just the feel of his arm around my waist holding me suspended in mid-air.

Just then, I heard Nivi's voice from my phone lying a few feet away, still on speaker.

"Tu usse takra jaaye, uski baahon mein gir jaaye, aur bas uski aankhein tujhme kho jaaye, tujhe dekh... vo bas jam jaaye, tere pyaar mein pad jaaye..."
(You should run into him, fall into his arms, and his eyes should just get lost in you, seeing you... he should just freeze, fall in love with you...)

I turned my eyes back to the man, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He was still looking at me, his gaze unwavering. Dark. Deep. As if consuming my face.

And listening to Nivedita's words, a weird smile appeared on his face. Something reserved, almost knowing. A hint of amusement mixed with something deeper, something I couldn't quite name.

My throat felt dry. His cologne was intoxicating, something that felt achingly familiar but I couldn't place it.

His smell was something I knew. But couldn't really remember.

Who is this man?
And why universe suddenly made me fall in his arms? Were we destined to meet? Like this??

Hope you enjoyed this chapter everyone.
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B-bye!!