Page 94 of Protect my Heart
Right in front of half the world and the mehendi artist, who now won’t stop giggling like I’m in the middle of some Bollywood scene. Which, honestly, I sort of am. This is Bollywood-level sangeet and not normal, where choreographers start teaching you the dance months ago and you still mess up, but again, this wedding is also weird and planned in just a week, so it makes sense.
I close my eyes for a second, trying to calm the swirl of emotions inside me. Because between the blaring music, the sticky mehendi, and the stupid way he looks at me like I’m everything—my heart is doing somersaults, and it’s getting harder to play it cool.
Why does he always do this? Just when I think I’ve adjusted to his attention—to the weight of his gaze, to the certainty in his affection—he finds a new way to melt me into a puddle. A casual “you're mine,” a spoonful of jhalmuri, a forehead kiss like it’s a reflex.
He’s… sohim.
And he’s mine.
Somewhere inside, that thought roots itself deep and steady.
I glance at the stage. Someone else is performing now—one of Aarav’s younger cousins dancing toLondon Thumakda, the kind of chaotic, high-energy song that makes every auntie join in without warning. I chuckle under my breath as a few of them pull in a reluctant uncle and start copying the steps like backup dancers. The living room has practically transformed into a mini stage, and the sangeet is full-on masaledaar now.
My arms are stiff, the mehendi darkening slowly; the artist moved on to my feet now. I’m stuck here for a while, anddespite the soreness, I don’t mind. I can see everyone from this little throne of mine. And for the first time in days, I feel oddly… still.
Until the music cuts. A confused murmur goes around the room.
And then, the opening lines ofTumse milke Dil ka jo haalfill the air.
“Ishq mein sab kuchh mushkil hai, ishq mein sab aasaan…”
My heart stills.
I look toward the makeshift stage, eyes narrowing—just in time to see Aarav walk out into the center.
What?
He’s not holding a mic. He’s not dressed for a performance. And yet there he is, standing like he’s about to ruin me again—with nothing but his presence.
He doesn’t do choreography. Nothing too polished. Just him, swaying to the music, lips moving with the words, eyes trained on me like I’m the only thing he sees.
“Dil to hai ek raahi, jaana, dil ki tum manzil ho.
Dil to hai ek kashti, jaana, jiska tum saahil ho.”
I don’t even know when I started crying.
It’s not even a sad song. It’s just—us. That song has followed us like a shadow since school. From our first accidental dance at a wedding to the time I played it on loop because I was having my SRK phase like every other girl at that time. And now… he’s dancing to it, like a promise. Like he’s remindingme that no matter how messy things were,this—us—was always meant to happen.
My vision blurs, and I’m laughing-crying and trying not to smudge my mehendi at the same time. Mumma comes to my rescue, a soft and relieved smile on her face. I lean on her shoulder, watching this man steal my heart all over again.
He reaches the last beat of the song, stands still again, bows slightly—and blows me a kiss. I see how aunties are looking so shocked because no one except his family has ever seen him like this—this carefree, smiling, soft being—and I take pride in saying that it’s all because of me. I am so glad he doesn’t have to pretend to be an emotionless robot in front of me.
“Idiot.” I mutter, wiping my cheek with Mumma’s blouse.
The crowd erupts around him—hoots, whistles, and claps. But he doesn’t break his gaze from mine, like the noise doesn’t exist. Like I’m still the only person in this house full of people.
I swear, if he looks at me like that one more time, I might actually combust.
Just then, my phone vibrates on the side table next to me. Aditi, noticing, picks it up carefully and shows me the screen.
Unknown number.
I frown. She helps me swipe to open the message.
Unknown:
I warned you, sweetheart.
