Rohit's friend amendra's sister is 37 years old. finnally she was going to get married. that's why he was there.
this lady was supposed to get married 9 years ago. but got cancelled due to the death of his fiance.
then another relationship came 5 years ago. but the fiancee ran away with another girl.
this is third relationship. the girl's name is Divya. a truly beautiful milf. the boy is sumon. a computer engineer.
You're building an intriguing mix of realism, emotion, and irony here—Rohit seems drawn again into fate's strange timing. Below is **Scene 2: Why Is He in This Marriage?** written in a natural, cinematic tone continuing from Scene 1.
***
### Scene 2: Why Is He in This Marriage?
The invitation came on a humid Thursday afternoon. Rohit was halfway through a bowl of instant noodles when his phone buzzed. It was Aman—or rather, Amendra, as everyone else called him now. Years had passed since their carefree school days, but some friendships, like old songs, never completely fade. Aman's voice crackled through the speaker, full of excitement.
"Bhai, guess what? My sister's finally getting married! You have to come this time."
Rohit laughed softly. The last time he'd met Divya was years ago, back when she still lived in her parents' house on the street behind the old temple. She had been older, sharper, someone who belonged to a different world of maturity. To him, she was "Divya Didi," the lady who sometimes scolded Aman, sometimes teased Rohit for eating too much. She had a calm face, eyes that could silence a room, and a strictness that always scared younger boys.
"Finally?" Rohit said. "I thought your sister gave up on marriage."
"Almost did," Aman replied with a laugh. "But this time it's real. The groom's a solid guy. A computer engineer—stable job, good family, everything by the book. No drama this time."
Rohit smiled, remembering how the town used to whisper about Divya's misfortunes. Her first engagement nine years ago had been a tragedy. The groom, a quiet man who worked as a bank officer, died in an accident just two weeks before the wedding. People called it bad luck. Some said it was fate's cruelty; others said Divya's horoscope was cursed. She had locked herself in her room for weeks, coming out thinner, quieter, with eyes that had already learned how to hold pain without showing it.
Then, five years ago, hope returned in the shape of another man—a businessman from Delhi who had promised her a new beginning. The city even held its breath for her comeback. But he vanished the night before the engagement, running away with another woman. That time, no one had words. The whispers became sharper, and Divya stopped showing her face outside for months.
So when Aman said, "This time it's real," Rohit wanted to believe him.
"She deserves peace," Rohit said quietly.
"That's why you better be here," Aman replied. "She likes you, you know. Always said you were the polite one among my dumb friends."
Rohit chuckled. "That's because I was afraid of her."
He didn't have much going on those days. After years of struggling between small jobs, he'd settled into a dull but steady position in a courier office. It paid the bills, nothing more. Life had flattened into a routine of repetitive days, quiet nights, and a growing sense of invisibility. The wedding invitation appeared like a brief break in the endless sameness. Maybe, he thought, it would be good to see old faces again—to pretend, at least for a weekend, that life was moving.
When he arrived at Aman's house, the atmosphere was a swirl of colors, noise, and incense. Guests moved in and out carrying trays of sweets. The walls were draped with marigold garlands. Someone was shouting for decorations, another for music. The air buzzed with nervous excitement.
Then he saw her. Divya walked out of her room dressed in a simple blue saree, her hair tied neatly, eyes lined but tired. She looked older, yes, but not old—more like someone who had lived two lives already. There was a quiet dignity around her now, the kind that comes from surviving heartbreak more than once.
"Rohit?" she said, smiling faintly. "You've gained weight again."
He laughed, embarrassed. "Or maybe you've just gotten thinner."
For a moment, it felt like time folded back to their old teasing exchanges. But under that light banter lay an unspoken heaviness. She looked at him with eyes that had seen too much and said, "Still single?"
"Sort of a habit now," he replied with an awkward grin.
The ceremonies unfolded over the following days. The groom, Sumon, arrived from Bangalore—a lean, well-groomed man in his late thirties, confident in every movement. He worked as a software engineer, calm and polite, with the faint smugness of someone who had his life organized into neat folders. People liked him instantly. Rohit, observing quietly, felt an odd sense of distance. It wasn't jealousy—more like disbelief that stories could still turn out right for some people.
"Good guy, huh?" Aman said beside him. "Divya finally found someone who'll stay."
Rohit nodded. "Let's hope fate takes a break this time."
The rituals continued. He helped decorate, fetched things for the pandit, managed guests, and served tea. Everyone seemed to be moving around him faster, their joy rehearsed and natural. Rohit moved inside it like a ghost pretending to belong.
On the evening before the wedding, Divya called him to the terrace. The light was soft, the air filled with distant drum beats from the preparations below. She stood with her arms folded, watching the horizon.
"You know," she said without looking at him, "people keep saying I'm lucky this time. Funny word—lucky."
Rohit didn't answer. He sensed she wasn't looking for comfort.
"I don't believe in luck anymore," she continued. "I think we just run out of choices, and then call it destiny."
He smiled weakly. "That's a dark way to describe your wedding."
Divya turned toward him, a faint smirk on her lips. "You don't know what darkness means until you've waited nine years for a life that never returns."
There was silence. The sounds from below suddenly felt very far away. Her face softened a little. "Sorry. You didn't come here to hear that."
Rohit shook his head. "It's fine. Maybe I understand more than you think."
When she looked at him again, something flickered behind her eyes—a quiet, sad recognition. But it passed quickly, replaced by the calm of responsibility.
The next day, the marriage began under bright daylight. The priest chanted, the guests cheered, and everyone smiled for the cameras. Rohit stood among the crowd, clapping when told to, laughing on cue. Aman was radiant with sibling pride, their parents teary and busy blessing everyone they could reach.
Sumon sat beside Divya, adjusting his glasses, answering the rituals with precision. Rohit found himself studying him closely, as though trying to decipher whether this was truly the man who would finally break Divya's streak of tragedy. She seemed serene, maybe even relieved—as if her war with fate was finally ending.
Later, during the evening dinner, Aman pulled Rohit aside. "Hey, stay a bit after the ceremony tomorrow. Divya wanted to talk to you. Something about a favor."
Rohit frowned. "What kind of favor?"
"I don't know. Just... sister things, I guess."
He didn't think much of it then. Maybe she wanted to thank him, or ask him to manage some post-wedding arrangement. But something about her expression earlier on the terrace lingered in his mind—the way her voice had trembled just slightly when she said she no longer believed in luck.
That night, unable to sleep, Rohit stared at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above him. He thought about how, in his own life, things always arrived late: chances, affection, purpose. Now he was part of someone else's ending—or perhaps, someone else's new beginning. He wondered whether fate played favorites or just enjoyed its cruel timing.
Downstairs, faint music played as family members celebrated through the night. Rohit closed his eyes and let the sound fade, unaware that by the next evening, everything around this marriage would shift again—and that destiny, having ignored him for years, was finally about to notice him in the strangest possible way.