!!Story Time!!
*(Gulafsha's POV)*
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The moment had finally come. The varnmala—the exchange of garlands. My heart fluttered as I stepped forward, deep red lehenga shimmering under the soft fairy lights. Black and white roses bloomed all around us, lining the aisle like silent witnesses to this surreal chapter of my life.
I glanced ahead. There he stood—Dev—wearing that cream sherwani embroidered in crimson. Regal, calm… mine.
As I reached him, our eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the world went still. Music played, but all I could hear was the rush of my breath and the sound of my heartbeat echoing in my ears.
He bent slightly with that teasing glint in his eyes, allowing me to place the garland around his neck. The crowd clapped and hooted. Then, with exaggerated drama, Dev lifted his own garland high above my head, smirking. I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh as he finally brought it down, letting it brush my hair before it settled over my shoulders.
Laughter surrounded us, but in that second, the world felt like just the two of us.
After the garland exchange, everyone rushed onto the stage. My friends were the loudest, of course—Divya, Khushi, Radhika, Ishika and Akansha—pulling me in for pictures and dragging Dev into a hundred poses.
Flash after flash, pose after pose.
"Smile wider!" Ishika, and Radhika chirped, but her grin was a little too mischievous. I narrowed my eyes at her. Even Dev caught it. Something was up.
Then they handed me the gift. A big box wrapped too perfectly in silver paper and tied with a red ribbon that matched my lehenga too well.
Divya handed it to me with an innocent smile.
Khushi stood behind her, failing miserably at hiding her laughter.
Radhika just winked. Same with Ishika and Akansha
This is a trap.
I smiled sweetly, took the gift, and placed it gently on the side table near the backdrop. Nice try, girls… I'll open it when I have backup.
Just as I turned to say something to Dev, I heard the priest's voice call from the mandap, "Bride and groom, please come. The auspicious time is near."
My heart skipped again.
This was it. The moment my name would tie with his, not just by garland or gaze—but by sacred vows.
As we made our way toward the mandap, the black-and-white roses brushed gently against the borders of my lehenga. I clutched Dev's hand just a little tighter.
My eyes fell once more on the silver gift box resting on the stage. I could still hear my friends giggling behind me. Oh, I'll get them back later.
But for now, I walked ahead, toward the fire, toward the promise, toward Dev.
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I had always imagined my wedding day — in dreams, in silence, sometimes with a stolen smile under my pillow at night. But never, not even once, did I imagine it would feel like this.
The mandap was unlike anything I had ever seen before — bold, surreal, and so heartbreakingly beautiful. **Black and white roses**— who decorates a wedding with such stark contrast? But then again, **we** were a contrast. Chaos and calm. Fire and snow. And yet… we belonged.
The black roses spoke of our past — mysterious, intense, unafraid. The white ones whispered our future — soft, honest, and full of hope. Together, they framed the altar where I sat, wrapped in the deepest shade of red I could ever wear — not maroon, not crimson — **a bold, defiant red**, the kind of red you bleed for love.
My lehenga shimmered like a flame in the twilight. Heavy embroidery kissed my skin, and gold jewelry weighed on me like the legacy of generations. Yet, in that moment, **I didn't feel like a princess. I felt like a warrior. A woman who had chosen love, despite the world.**
And then… he arrived.
Dev.
Wearing a sherwani that matched the mandap — white, lined with elegant red embroidery, and confidence that made people turn without even realizing it. His eyes searched for me the moment he stepped under the canopy. And when he saw me… he smiled. Not the public smile he wore at royal gatherings, not the polite curve of a prince's lips.
**It was the smile he gave only me.**
And just like that, my nervous hands relaxed in my lap.
I remembered the first time he had touched my hand — not in romance, but in reassurance. The first time he had said my name, not like it was foreign, but like it belonged in his mouth. The nights we laughed until morning stole our breath. The arguments. The silences. The kisses. The forgiveness.
Every moment we had lived before this… led us here.
The priest began the mantras, and we sat side by side — two souls who had fought to be together. I stole glances at his profile. He looked calm, but I knew the way his thumb tapped slowly on his knee meant he was a little nervous too. That made me want to laugh and cry at the same time.
When he tied the mangalsutra around my neck, his hands trembled for just a second. I felt it — that tremble — like thunder under calm waters. I closed my eyes, feeling the sacred beads rest above my heart. **His heart. My vow. Our bond.**
And then came the sindoor.
He leaned close. His breath was warm. He paused, just for a heartbeat, before placing the vermillion in the parting of my hair. I opened my eyes, and his gaze was already locked into mine.
In that instant, I didn't care about traditions or chants or flowers raining from above.
**I was his. And he… was mine.**
When we rose for the pheras, my heart beat louder than the conch shells. We walked around the fire with steps firm, steady — each vow wrapping tighter around my soul. Not just promises of loyalty, but of **belonging**.
At the final phera, he whispered softly — too low for anyone else — "You're safe now. Forever."
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I held them back. Because I didn't want to blur the view in front of me. Not tonight.
As the ceremony ended and the world clapped, I realized something strange.
We weren't stepping into a new chapter.
**We had built our own book.**
From the first stolen glance… to this final sacred fire.
And now — we were sealing it with forever.
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Writer P.O.V
The door clicked shut behind him.
The soft chiming of her bangles was the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Candlelight flickered gently across the walls, casting golden shadows that danced like whispers. The scent of jasmine and rose petals hung in the air — a heady mix of romance and temptation.
Gulafsha sat on the edge of the bed, her red bridal lehenga glowing under the lamplight like embers waiting to ignite. Her veil still covered half her face, but her eyes — dark, kohled, and nervous — peeked through, stealing glances at him. She looked like poetry sculpted into flesh.
Dev stood still for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. There was something so mesmerizing about seeing her — his wife — waiting for him like a dream summoned into reality.
He walked closer, slowly. Each step echoed like a heartbeat.
"Are you nervous?" he asked gently.
She looked down and whispered, "A little."
"Me too," he confessed, with a half-smile. That made her smile, just faintly — but enough to melt a layer of hesitation between them.
He knelt before her, taking her hands in his. "We're not strangers anymore, Gulafsha. You're mine now… and I'm yours. Let tonight be just about us. No rules, no fear… just truth."
She looked at him — really looked — and finally lifted her veil off her face.
Her beauty, up close, was disarming. Her cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted, eyes full of questions and unspoken wants.
Dev raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers one by one. His touch was gentle but electric. Gulafsha's breath hitched.
"You have no idea," he murmured, "how many nights I've imagined this moment."
She smiled, eyes twinkling. "Then make it count, husband."
His lips crashed onto hers — not violently, but with a hunger restrained for far too long. Gulafsha responded, slowly at first, then with a matching fire. Their kiss deepened, bodies pulling closer until there was no space left between them.
Dev's fingers moved to her earrings, unclasping them with reverence. One by one, he undressed her of her ornaments — the necklace, the bangles, the maang tikka — each piece falling away like a layer of hesitation. Her breath grew quicker with each touch, each caress.
"Lie back," he whispered, voice low and thick.
She did — eyes locked onto his, daring and vulnerable. He hovered over her, tracing the curve of her jaw with his thumb.
"You're so beautiful, Gulafsha… too beautiful to be real."
"And you…" she whispered, pulling him closer by the collar, "talk too much."
They laughed — soft, breathless laughter — the kind that lovers share just before the world fades away.
Their bodies explored, learned, memorized. Fingers brushed across bare skin, mouths traced stories on collarbones, spines arched in pleasure and gasps echoed off the silk pillows.
Time became a blur of moans and murmurs, whispered names and quiet promises.
Dev held her close afterward, their heartbeats syncing. Gulafsha's head rested on his chest, tracing invisible circles with her fingers.
"Was it what you imagined?" she asked playfully.
"No," he said, kissing the top of her head, "it was better. You're not just my wife, Gulafsha… you're my fire."
She smiled into his skin and whispered, "And tonight, you lit me completely."
They undressed each other like unwrapping a gift long awaited—delicate, deliberate, sacred.
As the night deepened, so did their connection. The world outside ceased to exist. All that remained was the rustle of silk, the warmth of breath against skin, and the soft, unspoken words only lovers understand.
They moved like music—slow, sensual, electric.
It wasn't just about bodies—it was about memory, about love, about finally belonging.
And when the moon dipped low into the horizon, and they lay tangled in each other's arms, Gulafsha whispered against his shoulder:
"This… this is home."
Dev smiled, sleep heavy in his eyes, and replied, "And you… are forever."
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Thank you.....