The news came not with drums, but with whispers — weaving between clinking teacups and the distant chime of temple bells.
Hiya had just returned from college that morning, her exam results in hand. First division. Top percentile. A quiet smile touched her lips, tucked beneath lowered lashes as if even pride dared not speak too loud.
In the kitchen, Riddhi shrieked with joy. In the garden, her grandmother folded her palms in silent prayer. But inside Hiya's chest, the softest ache remained — a space between forgiveness and surrender.
She hadn't said the words.
Not yet.
But her heart… had already bent in his direction.
That afternoon, the Basu house filled with golden hush. The drawing room glowed beneath the falling sun, shadows stretching like ancient memories across the marble floor.
Dev's father cleared his throat.
"There's something we wish to announce."
Everyone quieted. Even the wind at the windows paused.
He glanced at Dev, who stood at his side — straight-backed, silent, hands folded, eyes trained only on her.
"Hiya," his father continued, "has grown in this house like light—quietly, steadily. We have seen her laugh. We have seen her break. And today, she is no longer a child."
Hiya's fingers tightened on the ends of her dupatta.
She looked up. Her lips parted in confusion. Her breath uncertain.
"She is to be married," he said.
The world narrowed. Her heart skipped.
"To Dev."
The silence that followed was absolute — not stunned, but sacred. Even the clock on the wall forgot to tick.
Hiya turned her face slowly.
Her eyes met Dev's.
He didn't smile.
But he extended his hand.
"Come," he said. Quiet. Certain.
She hesitated.
Only for a moment.
Then — she placed her hand in his. Small. Trusting. Trembling.
The wedding wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
It was held at the family shrine under the hibiscus tree. No crowd. No noise. Just marigolds, incense, and the hush of leaves turning in the wind.
Hiya wore a soft ivory saree, barely embroidered. Her hair was braided simply, adorned with a single strand of orange blooms. She looked like a monsoon prayer — untouched, eternal.
Dev wore white. No gold. No show.
Only a thin chain, a sacred thread, looped between his shaking fingers.
When he reached forward to tie it around her neck, his hands brushed her skin — and stopped. Just for a second. Just long enough for her to feel the tremble in him.
He tied the knot. One loop. Then two.
And though his lips said nothing, his eyes told her everything:
"This isn't a ritual. It's a vow. You're mine now — not out of pity, not because of guilt, but because I wantyou. Because I always did."
Hiya's lashes fluttered.
And in that moment, without music or ceremony, a silence bloomed between them — vast and filled with everything they hadn't yet said.
Her heart ached with wonder.
His breath hitched with restraint.
But their eyes held the promise:
Even if love was never spoken out loud…
it would be lived, every day, in the quiet ways only they could understand.