"Mimi, go serve them the dishes, beta. Your dad is talking to them," Mother said.
I picked up the tray of food and began serving at the table.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on me as if I were some monument or statue. Tej was probably outside the house, maybe walking alone on the street.
I was shocked when he suddenly chuckled. His face looked different—there was a strange brightness there. But why? Because I was getting married? How ruthless he is.
Back in my room, my legs ached from sitting continuously. "Four hours… he behaved like he was enjoying watching me helpless," I murmured.
I thought about Mom and Dad—how they simply cut the cake, how Babu threw flowers on them, and how every guest stared at me like I was some kind of showpiece.
Tej, though, looked upset the entire time.
"Mimi, come, the guests are leaving," Mother called from the doorway.
I quickly put on my dupatta again and followed her to the gate.
"Beta, you and Shaurya didn't talk to each other? You should've exchanged numbers," she said firmly.
I glanced back at Tej. He was silently drinking with Father, his eyes fixed on the half-filled glass. Dad looked completely drunk. It was the first time I'd ever seen him drink so much—it worried me a little.
I handed Mother my phone, went back to my room, and threw myself onto the bed. I was exhausted. That anniversary party felt less like a celebration and more like the day my marriage was being decided.
I fell asleep quickly—it had been a long, tiring day.
***
When I woke up, it was already nine o'clock. The morning shine had faded. I took a shower; the cold water hit my skin sharply. I washed my hair and stared at myself in the mirror before leaving the bathroom.
My mind replayed everything that happened yesterday—the way Papa fed Mumma cake with his hands, the shy hug they shared afterward. It might've made a single person jealous, but somehow, I felt peace watching them.
They've carried so much together. Getting married is easy—but staying together, that's the real challenge. Their relationship has always been my ideal.
Since childhood, I've watched how they express love—not in big gestures, but in small moments. How Papa makes tea for Mumma before she wakes up, how he brings her bangles from the Saturday market. They are my definition of love.
I hunger for that kind of bond.
When will I find it?
Will Shaurya be that person? Or someone else?
Of course, I want to marry someday. But the real question is—with whom?
Will he fill my loneliness or deepen it?
Love isn't built in a day; it's a journey that takes years. I understand that now.
***
I walked into Tej's room. It was a mess—just like him.
Worse than before. Clothes were scattered across the bed, cigarette butts on the floor. He clearly didn't care about his room.
His laptop lay open, a few books spread out on the table.
Tej seemed like a simple guy, but I was sure he was hiding something. What, I didn't know yet.
I started folding his clothes neatly. It felt strange—almost embarrassing—but I behaved as if I were someone close to him. In reality, I wasn't anything to him. Not a friend. Not an enemy. Nothing.
Still, I cleaned. His clothes were soft; I could feel his presence in them. When I picked up his white shirt, a smile unknowingly appeared on my face.
Why did I do that? What was this feeling?
Was it love? Maybe… yes.
***
After cleaning his room, I went out. Mother was busy in the kitchen as usual. I had a headache—the house felt silent and empty. Last night's chaos was gone, leaving only suffocating quiet.
I grabbed my sweater. It was winter, after all.
"Mom, I'm going out for a walk," I said.
"Again? Every time you come here, you go out walking. Sit with me, talk to me at least once, Mimi," she said softly.
"About what, Mom?" I asked quietly. "I don't have anything to share."
"Wait, I'm coming too," she said.
She wrapped a shawl around herself. She was already wearing the long sweater Dad had gifted her yesterday. I chuckled. How can someone be so romantic at this age?
We walked together—it felt good, rare even. It had been a long time since we were this close.
After a few silent steps, she spoke,
"Are you happy?"
"I don't know," I replied.
"You're too young, beta. Your life is just beginning. Don't think too much," she said.
"Are you trying to become my counselor now?" I teased.
"Didn't I play the role well?" she laughed.
We both laughed together.
Then she asked something I didn't expect.
"Do you love someone?"
I froze. I did once—but I failed.
We're not afraid to admit that we loved someone…
We're afraid to admit that we failed in love.
Because failure in love is the greatest one—you can earn money, fame, everything, but without love, you'll never find peace. That's the harsh truth of this world.
"Is it important?" I asked softly.
"Nah," she smiled. "I just want to see you happy. I know you never express your emotions easily—it's hard for us. I understand."
"How did you and Dad meet?" I asked.
She stopped walking for a second. "We met at someone's wedding. It was such a beautiful day. I still remember how your dad looked at me, how he did small things just to get my attention. He did more than he could."
"So that's when you fell for him?" I asked.
She smiled faintly. "No, I didn't fall because he fell. I fell because I saw who he truly was. The way he talked to others, how he behaved, his little gestures. I became a reader of his body language… and I understood him. That's when I knew—I chose a good man."
"I'm happy for you, Mom," I said softly.
"And I hope you find what you're looking for too," she replied.