Married My Enemy (#1 Rajput)

19- Wedding

Typed On - 03/11/2018 - Finished typing on – 05/11/2018

Chapter 19- Wedding

The day has arrived.

Today she is going to leave her father alone. After today she'll be recognized—addressed—as Mrs Kiaan Rajput. Marrying him doesn't bother or irk or make her tensed today. Maybe because the day has come and there's no going back. The only thing—problem—is she's unhappy and undecided about leaving her father behind. She is panicking, not because of her wedding night—which she should be afraid of considering she detests Kiaan—but her father. Leaving him alone living in a house with Juhi is such an edgy feeling.

She has to leave one day but never knew the day can arrive this soon. A month ago she had a regular simple life. Wake up, eat breakfast and out the door she was to her café. Her routine is going to change, she's sure of it, but can Jaanvi blend into it?

Jaanvi wishes to take him with her but it isn't possible, for obvious reasons. Just like cancelling this marriage is.

Taking a deep breath in she walks to her desk, taking out the property papers she places it between her clothes inside her luggage. Jaanvi does the job quickly before anyone can barge into her room and see it. Her heavy luggage is zipped up and ready to be taken away.

Her dark brown, red with a small portion of golden eyeshadow eyes with extra curly long lashes gaze around the room. Taking in every detail, to memorize it, to cherish all the beautiful and precious life lessons she's learnt. Her emotional and friendly and strong pairs of eyes linger thickly on every single teddy her father has brought for her in each New Year for the past fifteen years.

Fifteen teddy bears. Each with different back story. Different sentimental of emotions she felt with each one. From the first teddy bear to the last—from last year—her father's voice—frankly voice—improving his 'Nuu yyar' as the years went by. What's priceless is not the teddy's itself. It's her father's growth and optimistic personality attached to the tradition. (New Year)

She walks over to her desk. Slowly. Like she has all the time, but in reality, she doesn't. In a few minutes, Aditi, or Rashi or her father would call her. But I don't want to leave. Her heart wails. The perfectly fitted red blouse with golden coloured patterns covering her chest rises and falls in sadness.

Her favourite collection of novels and notebooks she brought from a sale held close to her café last year are neatly stacked in her desk. Her desk. Where all the magic happened. (Ps, dirty-minded people, don't. Just don't.)

She loves writing. Not being able to share her thoughts with someone—being able to explain how she feels—Jaanvi has been writing a diary for as long as she can remember. Each year she brought five notebooks to write down all the trauma she was going through—battling with—or how awful she felt, how lonely and long some days were. It's all written in these notebooks.

Her fingers draw towards one specific blue coloured notebook she wrote just before her birthday last month. She picks up the book with her dark henna hands and turns to the last page.

8.00 p.m.

So I'm listening to Shape of You, by Ed.' as always my day was great, ignoring the deadly glares I received from Chachi. Dad dropped me off to the café today. It was quiet at work today, hardly any customers but I don't mind it. Less customer's means, more time for gossip!

All I can say is, life's great. I don't hate it, nor do I love it. But I do, appreciate it. This might change over a few years.

Her fingers touch her handwriting, inhaling the similar delight she felt that day, a small smile in her red rosy lips. Closing her eyes she feels a drop of a tear rolling down her face. Her eyes—tired eyes with a gorgeous makeup—blink. They stay trained on the tear over her handwriting.