Backstage ,Final Seconds
The music dipped.
The lights lowered.
Lavanya squeezed Khushi's hand.
> Lavanya (grinning): "Remember—shoulders back, heart forward. And if you faint, at least land gracefully."
Khushi smiled. Just once.
And then—
> Announcer (from the front): "And now… presenting the Diwali Collection by Gupta Boutique—'Resonance.' A journey through light, shadow, and legacy."
The curtain drew open.
Khushi stepped forward.
The spotlight hit.
And somewhere in the crowd, a man who rarely let himself feel...
...felt everything.
A ripple of gasps.
A curtain of golden stars.
Khushi standing alone at center stage—spine straight, eyes burning, saree flowing like moonlight over fire.
She didn't need applause.
Not yet.
She only needed this moment.
To begin.
---
Gupta Boutique Courtyard
Diwali Showcase Eve –
The music began—no beat, no bass—just the soft thrum of a sitar sliding into a flute. A hush fell over the crowd.
Rows of fairy lights blinked like a thousand tiny heartbeats. Diyas framed the runway like fireflies caught mid-prayer. The courtyard of the boutique had transformed into something out of folklore—sacred, spellbound.
And in the glow of it all, Khushi Kumari Gupta stood just beyond the curtain of marigolds. Her breath hitched—
Not from nerves.
From knowing.
This wasn't just a fashion show.
This was a soul laid bare in zari and thread.
A hush settled so deep, even the wind held its breath.
---
The First Look: "Rooted"
A model in a rust-orange saree stepped onto the runway. The blouse was simple, vintage-cut, embroidered with neem leaves. The pallu was dyed in gradients of soil and ash—earth tones that whispered of old rooftops and monsoon afternoons.
Khushi's voice, low and calm, filled the air.
> Khushi (voiceover): "From the soil we rise. From forgotten courtyards and copper thaalis. From the way our mothers draped silence and strength in six yards of memory."
The crowd leaned forward.
Arnav watched from the front row, unmoving.
His hand clenched the armrest.
But his gaze?
Fixed.
Every emotion storming behind his eyes.
---
The Second Look: "Drift"
A sea-blue lehenga with wave-like mirrorwork flowed like poetry. The model twirled, her dupatta shimmering like river foam.
> Khushi (voiceover): "Water remembers. Every goodbye. Every ghat. Every spilled tear. This is for the girl who watched her dreams drift—but never drowned."
Lavanya blinked back tears.
Payal pressed a palm to her heart.
Aman gasped. (And was immediately handed tissues by a very smug Anjali.)
The energy shifted—this wasn't just a showcase, it was a reckoning.
---
The Third Look: "Shadowplay"
The lights dimmed further.
A black anarkali shimmered under soft purple spotlights. Its surface was stitched with charcoal-grey embroidery resembling ancient scripts—hand-dyed, hand-spun, hand-healed.
> Khushi (voiceover): "We carry shadows too. The ones we inherited. The ones we created. But in every one… light waits."
Buaji clutched her dupatta tighter.
Even Arnav sat back. His lips pressed into a thin line. He was unraveling, stitch by stitch, like the very garments she had designed.
---
The Final Look: "Midnight Bloom"
The crowd expected another model.
But it was her.
Khushi herself stepped out.
Not a model.
Not a muse.
But the weaver of it all.
In her indigo saree—the one with stars on the border and fire in the pleats. The one Arnav had secretly sketched weeks ago. The one she thought existed only in dreams.
> Khushi (voiceover): "And sometimes, in the middle of everything—when the world forgets your name—you bloom. Not because they asked you to. But because you must. Because you were always meant to."
The courtyard held its breath.
Arnav stood.
Couldn't help it.
His Khushi.
Walking like poetry written in thunder and silk.
Wearing the very fabric of her journey.
The wind caught her pallu.
She didn't flinch.
She let it fly—like a flag.
Not cheers.
Not at first.
Just silence.
Then—
A single clap.
Another.
Then thunder.
The courtyard filled with applause like the sky filling with stars.
> Aman (sniffing): "I can't believe I doubted this."
> Lavanya (grinning through tears): "She did it. That mad, stubborn genius actually did it."
> Buaji (softly): "Humari bitiya."
---
Backstage –
Khushi stepped off the runway.
Breathing hard. Heart wild.
The lights dimmed. The applause faded. But the echo inside her remained.
Then—
He was there.
Arnav.
No words. Just... presence.
He reached for her hand.
She didn't stop him.
> Arnav (low, hoarse): "You didn't walk that runway." "You owned it."
She looked up.
> Khushi (whispering): "It was always mine. I just had to believe it."
He brushed a thumb across her knuckles. Her fingers gripped his tighter.
> Arnav: "Let me walk beside you. From now on."
Her eyes burned.
She smiled.
> Khushi: "Then keep up, Raizada."
And for once, he didn't have a comeback.
Only a look that said:
Finally.
Always.
Her.
A final spotlight fading into a field of
flickering diyas.
---
The boutique had fallen into hush—the kind that follows thunder and triumph. Lights dimmed, applause faded, and the last diya flickered like a sleepy star.
Khushi stood alone backstage, her heartbeat the only drum in the silence. Her saree still shimmered with stardust and stage lights, but her hands trembled now—for a very different reason.
In her palm lay a small, square box. Velvet black. No ribbon. No fuss.
Arnav had handed it to her before the show. With that maddening smirk and that maddening voice:
> "Open it after the final walk. If you still like me by then."
She had scoffed.
> "I never said I like you."
And he had only raised a brow.
Now, her fingers moved slowly. Like the box might disappear if rushed.
The lid lifted with a whisper.
Inside: a tiny silver pendant, delicate as breath, shaped like a thimble. Polished, simple… and yet—
Etched across its side, in impossibly tiny, precise letters:
> "Thread by thread."
Beneath it, a folded note.
His handwriting, sharp as his jawline:
> "For the girl who stitches the world together. One design. One heart. One disaster at a time. You stitched me too—before I even realized I was fraying.
This is a reminder. That even if I break… you'll know how to put me back together."
– A.S.R."
Her throat closed.
She clutched the pendant like it might vanish into dreams.
Then gently, silently, she pinned it to the inside of her blouse.
Hidden. Safe.
Just like him.
---
The models were still walking the runway.
The lights still shimmered.
Khushi was just beginning to recover from the emotion storming Arnav's gift …
When another kind of chaos arrived. This one… wrapped in pearls, politics, and powdered sugar.
Enter: Sushila Raizada.
Arnav's Nani's cousin.
Chairwoman of a charitable trust.
Known to silence boardrooms with one eyebrow.
Clad in a Banarasi saree that probably cost more than Payal's car, she swept into the boutique like she owned the deeds to heaven and earth.
Behind her were two silent bodyguards, a reluctant Aman, and a photographer she insisted follow her "to capture divine blessings in real time."
She beelined toward the family seating row—and spotted Khushi immediately.
> Sushila (beaming):
"Arey wah! So this is the dulhan material I keep hearing about!"
Khushi, frozen in place, did a mental backflip.
> Khushi (confused smile):
"I—I'm sorry?"
> Sushila (loudly, like a foghorn):
"Beta, you're the designer AND the one stitching up my Arnav bitwa's heart? Wah! Full package."
Lavanya dropped her muffin.
Buaji straightened like a soldier.
Arnav… looked like he wanted to vanish into a box of lehengas.
> Buaji (puffed up):
"HUMARI BITIYA, haan! Talent bhi hai, sanskaar bhi hai!"
> Sushila (pulling Khushi in for a tight, overly perfumed hug):
"And cheeks like gulab jamuns! Arnav always said he didn't want marriage, but I told him—just wait till a girl makes him halwa."
> Khushi (muffled, panicked):
"I-I don't even make halwa! I mean, not well!"
> Sushila (winking at Arnav):
"Doesn't matter. She's already sweet enough."
> Arnav (deadpan):
"Nani warned me this would happen."
> Aman (whispering behind him):
"Should've let me fake a broken leg, sir."
> Lavanya (to Payal, grinning):
"Rs. 200 says the rishta aunty tries to check her kundli before the grand finale."
> Payal:
"Double it if she brings out a coconut."
> Buaji (glowing):
"Khushi can make all kinds of sweets! Laddoo, jalebi, gulab jamun from scratch!"
> Khushi (panicking):
"I used store-bought syrup last time!"
> Sushila (clasping her hands, misty-eyed):
"A modern girl with honesty! Hai Ram, what a find. My nephew has finally been gherao-ed by fate!"
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