The Ruined Rainbow

CHAPTER 95

 A/N: An update of 5k words. (Yay?)
I hope all of you are doing great! 

Sahil

And then, eight days later, we would get married.

In the temple town of Mahabalipuram, in a stone temple overlooking the beach, golden sand and azure waters, whispering winds and murmuring waves, Ayesha and I would marry each other.

We had a Maharashtrian wedding.

I will never forget when Ayesha walked towards me as I waited for her.

As Ayesha walked towards me, radiant in her nine-yard Navari Bright Red saree adorned with intricate golden borders that shimmered in the soft, delicate sunlight, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by her beauty. Her green glass bangles clinked gently as she moved, the Thusi adorning her neck adding an elegant touch to her ensemble. The pearl-adorned golden Nath (she had told it was her mother's wedding Nath) graced her nose, accentuating the graceful curves of her face.

A moon-shaped Bindi adorned her forehead. In contrast, the indispensable Mundavalya framed her face delicately. Her hair was decorated with flowers, parted in the middle and fashioned into a bun.

With lips painted the brightest shade of cherry red, she wore minimal makeup. Her eyes, deeply kohled, met mine with an intensity that stirred my soul.

I felt like the luckiest person in the universe.

And then I cried.

Proper tears-flowing-down-my-face crying.

I could never explain the insane happiness that ricocheted in every vein of my body as I watched her take her steps towards me. To get married to me.

In anticipation, I stood adorned in a beige cotton Kurta with a white, red, and gold-bordered dhoti, complemented by a regal red stole draped over my shoulders. A turban crowned my head, and the Mundavalya graced my forehead. My hands rested over each other, eyes blurry as I waited for the love of my life.

The love of my life.

She seemed to take plodding steps.

With the most beautiful smile I had ever seen gracing her face, she took painfully slow steps, her eyes twinkling, the kohl making her black eyes blacker. When she gestured her approval of my attire, a blush painted my cheeks, mirroring the crimson hues of a bucket filled with red paint.

With each step she took, memories of our journey flashed like scenes from a vivid dream. I remembered the first time our paths crossed in bustling Delhi, the serendipitous meeting that scintillated a connection neither of us could deny.

The serendipitous meeting that would one day define my entire existence. 

Mumbai became the backdrop for countless shared moments, from our first date, filled with nervous excitement, to the quiet evenings spent at my home.

Every milestone, every "first", replayed in my mind like a particular film reel—the first movie we watched together, the first time I confessed my love, the first time she reciprocated those feelings with a smile that could light up the darkest night. The first time, she held my hand. The first hug. The first kiss in the rain. The first kiss without the rain. The first trip to the mountains. The first trip to the beachside. Everything came alive in front of my teary eyes.

And then she was here.

I gently took her hand and pulled her close to me.

And then she was standing very close.