𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐭�...

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Spoiler: next chapter have ahem ahem scene

This chapter is divided into two parts.
Please make sure to read both.
It was getting too long, so I had to split it.
The chapter aesthetic is attached at the end.

The last 2–3 days blurred into one hectic mess.

Lavika was buried in back-to-back shifts at the hospital.
Ishaan had meetings lined up like a never-ending domino trail.

And yet, between late-night calls and 4-minute voice notes, he was planning something.

Not something big. Not something ordinary either.

Something that was her.

✦

11:00 PM.

My phone rang.
I looked at the screen and immediately smiled.

"Sukoon💋 calling..."

I accepted the video call, expecting his face and maybe a soft "happy birthday" in that sleepy raspy voice of his.

But there he was—wearing a white US Polo tee and shorts, hair all messy, sitting on the couch like he owned the universe and my heart in equal parts.

"Finally," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. "You disappeared today."

He chuckled, "Only so I could make tonight unforgettable, meri jaan."

I rolled my eyes. "You say that like you're proposing marriage or something."

"Soon," he said with a wink.

My breath hitched a little.

"Okay now," he continued, pretending to be all serious. "Go to the side drawer of your bed. Left side. Middle one."

"What? Why?"

"Jaan," he warned. "Don't make me come there and open it for you."

I pouted but got up, the phone still on FaceTime, facing my carpet half the time while I walked across the room.

Opened the drawer.
And there it was—
A black box tied with a silk ribbon.

My eyes widened, and I screamed, "ISHAAN?!"

His smirk on the screen was criminal.

"I knew it," he said smugly. "Knew you'd love it."

I tore open the box and gasped.

It was the dress.

"No freaking way," I whispered, tracing the delicate midnight-blue fabric, the butterfly embroidery, the side slit that I thought would look too daring on me but he had said looked "designed just for your body."

"I showed you this two weeks ago..."

"When you were lying on my chest. Cuddled up in your stupid strawberry pajamas," he said, grinning. "You showed me a screenshot and said, 'This is hot, right? But too bold for me.'"

I blushed hard. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything you say when you're in my arms," he said softly.

That shut me up.

"I—" I started, but he cut in.

"Wear it. Tonight. 11:50. Car's picking you up."

"Where are we going?"

He raised a brow. "Did I say you get to ask questions?"

I narrowed my eyes. "I hate you."

"I love you more," he replied instantly.

"Also," he added. "Change while I'm still on the call. Don't cut."

"Ishaan!" I whined, hiding my face with one hand. "I'm not changing in front of you on FaceTime!"

He burst out laughing.

"Fine, fine. I'm hanging up. But I swear, if you're not looking like a freaking dream when I see you..."

"You'll what?" I teased.

"I'll rip the dress off in the car and we won't make it to the venue."

I squeaked and cut the call.
"You menace."

I was smiling like an idiot.

✦

After admiring the dress like it was a sculpture sculpted out of moonlight, I tied my hair up in a loose bun, picked my playlist, and got to my favourite part of pre-glam ritual—

Skincare.

With "Tera Ban Jaunga" playing softly in the background, I started massaging my serum in circular motions.
By the time "Ishq Wala Love" kicked in, I had layered up with moisturiser, eye cream, lip mask—you name it.

Ten minutes later, I looked into the mirror and blinked.

Hold on.

Did I just—get plastic surgery without knowing?

Because my skin was literally glowing.
Like, "I could host the sun" type of glowing.

The kind that comes from love. From feeling cherished. From being cared for even without seeing him.

With a smug little smirk at myself, I strutted to my dressing area and played with my makeup pouch like I was a mini MUA.

I'm not a pro, but today I was determined to give glam girls on Pinterest a run for their money.

I primed, winged, shimmered, contoured—okay maybe over-contoured at one point but fixed it like a queen.

By the end of it?

I looked hot.
Soft smokey eyes, glassy lips, that flushed cheek moment.

Then came the dress.

When I wore it, it hugged me like a secret. The glimmer from the celestial beadwork caught the light of my vanity mirror and I swear—it made me look like I belonged on a Vogue birthday edition.

I quickly checked the time—11:45 PM.

Shit.

As part of my ritual, I clicked some mirror selfies (obviously), dropped a picture on Instagram, and just as I was adjusting my heels, my phone lit up with a message from Sukoon.

"Car is downstairs, my love.
Enjoy your night
I love you 😘"

Wait.
"Enjoy your night?"

Excuse me—what?

Was he not coming?

My eyebrow twitched like a whole dramatic saas-bahu camera zoom had hit me.

But fine.
Let's see what His Highness has plotted.

I grabbed my mini clutch, sprayed my favourite perfume on my collarbone and wrists, and locked my apartment door behind me.

The elevator ride down felt longer than usual.
Butterflies in my stomach? More like a whole zoo.

And then I saw it—

A black car with tinted glass parked like it was sent by the mafia. Or a billionaire fiancé. Same thing.

The driver, dressed in a three-piece, stepped out and—held out his hand.

"Happy birthday, soon-to-be Mrs. Agnihotri. Enjoy your night."

Uff.

My cheeks flushed redder than my lipstick.
"Thank you, sir," I whispered, sliding into the car.

And then—boom.

"SURPRISEEEEEE!"

There they were.

Meher. Riva. Shanaya. Aliya. Rose.
My girl gang. My hospital girls. My serotonin.

All dressed in coordinated lavender shimmer mini dresses, full glam, lips glossy, eyes mischievous.

I gasped, "You guys—!! What is this?! Where is Ishaan?!"

Shanaya rolled her eyes, "Sorry Lavs, your pati dev's been hijacked. You're ours for the next three hours."

I blinked. "You what?"

"It took us 68 messages," Riva added.

"Two video calls," Meher chimed in.

"And a series of emotionally manipulative threats," Shanaya smirked, flipping her hair. "But we got him to agree. Aggressively. He just replied with a '👍.'"

I burst out laughing.

Of course he did.

And just then, the girls began singing:

🎵 "Happy birthday, Lavuuu...
Tonight you'll shine, and maybe curse too...
Shot glass in hand, drama in queue—
Now twerk, or we'll disown you!" 🎵

I laughed till I had tears in my eyes.

✦

After non-stop gossiping about exes, world affairs, and whether aliens actually exist or not (don't ask), our car finally came to a halt.

The giant neon sign ahead blinked—

"VOLT // London's Elite Rooftop Club"

We'd reached the most famous club in London.

Before I could even step out, Shanaya leaned in and whispered in my ear,
"Lav... everything tonight is arranged by your hero."

I blushed so hard, I could've lit up the whole car.

Riva caught me smiling and cackled.
"Uff... look at our birthday girl all red and rosy. You are already half drunk on love, babes."

"Shut up," I muttered, trying to hide my grin.

My heels clicked against the pavement as we all stepped out—me and my five girls, in full glam mode, walking like we were the runway itself.

Just as we reached the grand entrance, a tall guy in a black suit approached with a tab in hand.

"Are you... Lavika?" he asked, tilting his head politely.

I blinked. "Uh... yeah?"

He smiled. "Please follow me, Miss. You're expected upstairs."

I looked back at the girls.
Shanaya winked. "Let's go, birthday queen."

We stepped into a private elevator—lit in faint gold and crimson. Music played faintly in the background.

My heart was pounding, no lie.

Ding.

Terrace.

When the elevator doors opened, I gasped.

The rooftop had been completely transformed.

Fairy lights overhead.
Red silk drapes moving softly with the breeze.
An LED sign that said
"LAVIKA'S MIDNIGHT MAYHEM"
glowed in silver.

There were bottles of red wine, stacked in heart shapes.
An entire bar setup of custom cocktails—one of them literally called "RUINED BY ISHAAN" (and yes it was red and fiery af).
Shots were served in lipstick-shaped glasses.
There was even a tiny charcuterie table filled with Indian snacks but labeled in bougie French.

Meher gasped, "Bro... this is not a party. This is a Pinterest board on steroids."

Shanaya clinked her glass with mine.
"To the baddest girl we know, who somehow caught the baddest man alive."

She giggled.
"Let's black out respectfully, babes."

Music turned LOUD.
Bass thumped.
We kicked off our heels. And the party really began.

✦

With my assumption it's 1:40AM right.

Someone turned on a club mix of Laila Main Laila and Desi Girl.
I was doing full Bollywood thumkas with Meher while Riva grinded on the DJ booth like it was her last night on Earth.

"Truth or dare?" Shanaya screamed mid-song.

"DARE," I yelled back, still dancing.

She handed me a bottle. "Five-second chug. Then go ask a random guy if his nipples are real."

"What?!" I almost choked.

"Rules are rules, birthday girl!"

I did it.
I asked.
The man was too stunned to speak.

We laughed so hard, I dropped into the nearest lounge chair.

Riva sat next to me, brushing my hair from my face. "You good, baby?"

I nodded, dizzy but glowing.
"I don't even know where Ishaan is right now..."

Shanaya plopped beside me. "Wherever he is? He's watching all of this unfold exactly as he planned."

"And loving every damn second."

I bit my lip.
And maybe it was the wine or just the fact that everything was so me, so him, so us...

But for the first time tonight, I really felt it.

✦

12:03 AM

I texted her "Happy Birthday, wifey" three minutes ago.
Still no reply.

Classic Lavika. Either lost her phone or passed out somewhere with her gang.
But I couldn't wait anymore.

I was already standing outside her apartment door, clutching a key I'd had for 6–7 months.
Never used it. Not even once.
But tonight?

Tonight was different.

It was her first birthday with me.
And I planned to make it unforgettable — from midnight to midnight.

With a deep breath, I slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open.

Click.
Push.

The door creaked open.

And the scene that greeted me?

Freaking warzone.

Makeup sprawled across the hallway floor.
Heels tossed like grenades near the shoe rack.
Uniform? On the dining chair.
Bra? Draped across the fridge handle.
Her T-shirt? Hanging from the fan like a forgotten flag of surrender.

I paused.

"What the hell..."

It looked like a tornado named Lavika had thrown a rage party for one.

I let out a breathy chuckle and shut the door behind me.

"God, I still love this woman," I murmured under my breath, shaking my head.

I picked up the remote and played soft, ambient music on the TV screen. Low volume. Couldn't risk waking the neighbors.

Dropped the bags on the couch—gifts for her scavenger hunt later today.

Then rolled up my sleeves and got to work.

First—clean-up.

I picked up every random piece of clothing and folded them neatly.
Arranged her makeup on the dresser.
Tucked the heels back into the shoe shelves.
Tidy lobby. Dusted shelves.
Wiped the kitchen slab and bathroom sink.

Her apartment didn't just sparkle.
It looked like a Pinterest board now.

And then—
I walked into her tiny kitchen and leaned against the counter.

Cake.

Of course.

It had to be red. Had to be hers.
Something soft, decadent, but dramatic. Just like her.

I opened Pinterest. Yes, Pinterest.
Don't judge me. I use it only for her.

Scrolled until one cake caught my eye.

A deep red cake —
with dramatic ruffled icing along the base,
and tiny black bows tied around the top tier.

"This one," I whispered, saving the image.

Quickly checked the fridge — nope. Not enough ingredients.

I grabbed my phone and ordered every raw material I needed through express delivery.
Waited exactly 22 minutes until the guy arrived, probably wondering why someone was ordering whipping cream and red gel color at 1 in the morning.

✦

By 1:15AM, I tied a kitchen towel around my waist like some cliché husband-in-training.
Preheated the oven. Measured everything precisely — because she notices details.

Mixed the batter with full focus.
Added a little extra vanilla. She likes it that way.

As the cake baked, the entire apartment smelled like sugar and love.

I melted the dark chocolate for ganache.
Prepared the buttercream.
Split the layers. Frosted slowly.

Each swirl, each ruffle, each bow I piped on the top edge — was deliberate.

Every second, I imagined her smile.
How her nose crinkles when she's surprised.
How her eyes water when someone does something personal for her.

God, I missed her.

Even while preparing for her birthday, all I wanted was to see her. To hold her.

And by the time I placed the last tiny black bow on top..

it was 2:10 AM.

I wiped the sweat off my brow.
Took off the kitchen towel.
And stared at the cake like it was a sculpture and I made with my bare hands.

Deep red. Ruffled. A little dramatic.
Very Lavika.

✦

After placing the freshly baked chocolate cake in the fridge, I opened the store bags I had picked up earlier that evening—rolls of satin ribbons, scented candles, red wine-toned balloons, glitter confetti, and every damn thing Pinterest told me was "romantic but elevated."

I started with her bedroom—our place of comfort, chaos, and conversations.

Her room glowed soft under the dim light as I taped red heart balloons around the TV panel and let some float to the ceiling, trailing curled ribbons down like they were reaching for her. A deep red "Happy Birthday" banner went right over the headboard wall

Subtle, satin-finished, nothing too loud.

I was mid-stretch—reaching up to stick one last corner—when my phone buzzed.

IVAAN.

I picked up. "What happened? Emergency? I'm busy."

His voice was too casual. "Nah. Just checking on the guy in love."

I rolled my eyes. "Help me or I'm cutting the call."

"Fine," he groaned. "Drop the address."

Sent.

By the time I started working on the lobby, the bell rang.

He walked in—typical smug expression, one hand holding a cigarette, the other carrying a bouquet of deep red lilies and wildflowers. Trust Ivaan to turn up like he owned the place even when he was crashing a midnight decorating mission.

I stared at him and pointed at the cigarette.

"Out."

He raised a brow, but dropped it outside the door without a word.
Good. He was learning.

"Now help," I said.

We inflated the big red "24" balloon, set it against a wine-red shimmer backdrop in the living room, added fairy lights around the ceiling, and laid out hints for her scavenger hunt.

Each gift would lead her to the next—24 moments of "us" hidden in this apartment.

By 2:50 AM, we were done.

I collapsed on the floor of her living room, exhausted but buzzing.

Ivaan plopped next to me, flicked on a horror thriller on the TV, and said, "If she doesn't marry you after this, I'll marry you."

"Shut up," I muttered, chuckling. "She's mine."

A few more minutes passed.

He stood, stretched, and reached for his phone.

"I'm heading out. Good luck, Romeo."

I got up too. "Thanks, man. For real."

He nodded once—casual, but I knew it meant a lot.

And then I was alone.

After 3-4 minutes..
my phone rang..
The caller ID?

Shanaya🤍

I picked it up on the second ring.

"Your biwi passed out."
Her voice was too casual for what she just said.

I blinked. "What?!"

"Yeah, I mean not dead-dead. Just upside-down-on-a-couch-drunk kind of passed out. You coming to pick her up or should I air-drop her from the roof? Just stand with open arms and catch her mid-flight."

I groaned, but couldn't stop the smile tugging at my lips.

"Coming. Don't let her fly."

Cut the call.
Grabbed my keys. Locked her apartment.
And slid into the car.

Just as I reached the gate, my phone buzzed again.

Caller ID: "Mera Ghar 🏡"

I instantly picked it up.

"Bab...bby..." her voice slurred, sweet and drunk and sleepy, like a toddler learning to speak again.
"How rz youuuu?"

I stifled a laugh. "I'm great, jaan. What about you?"

"I am... tipsyyyy... maybe. I don't know. Bhey... the area is spinning. Or maybe my eyes are. Or my liver. Wait do livers spin?"

"Only when drunk princesses ask stupid questions," I murmured.

She gasped dramatically. "Ishaan! You called me stupid!"

"No. I called the question stupid. You, on the other hand, sound like you belong in an expensive nursery."

She giggled. "You missh me?"

"With every cell of my body."

There was a pause, then she whispered, "Even the dirty ones?"

I choked on my own laugh. "Lavika."

"What? I'm just... expressing myself... sexually... responsibly... with consent."

"Where are you, jaan?"

"I'm at the cluuuub... or on top of it? Maybe inside of it? Wait... am I a drink? ISHAAN AM I THE DRINK?"

"I'm ending this call in 3... 2..."

"Waitttttttt!! Don't hang up. Stayyyy with me. You're my soulmatey thing."

I sighed. Softened.
Died a little at her nonsense.

"Okay. I'll be there in three minutes. Keep talking so I know you're okay."

"I saw a glitter wall. I licked it. It tasted like dreams. I danced with Riva's shoe. Her left one. The right one was busy flirting with Shanaya's bra strap—"

I hung up just as I reached the club.

Stepped out. Walked into that dimly lit, post-party mess.

And there she was.

On the rooftop lounge couch. Upside down.
Her feet were on the headrest. Hair touching the ground. Arms flopped out.
Looking like some modern art piece that screamed "DRUNK GODDESS"

Riva was half-asleep on the stairs.
Meher was singing a lullaby to a wine bottle.
Only Shanaya was sitting cross-legged, scrolling through Instagram, completely calm.

"What the hell happened here?"

Shanaya looked up. "Chaos. Also, don't yell. Your wife thinks she's a lemon tart."

I marched up, scooped Lavika into my arms. She blinked up at me, still upside-down.

"OH MY GOD. ARE YOU GOD?" she gasped.

Then whispered in a raspy voice:
"No wait... you're hotter."

I chuckled. "Thank you. I'll take that."

"Ishaaaaan," she whined, poking my nose with her finger.
"You smell like... commitment."

"I'll take that too."

I nodded at Shanaya. "Thanks for babysitting. I'll drop everyone off tomorrow."

She waved. "She's your circus now."

✦

The car ride had gone... unusually calm.

Except for my jaan's random tipsy murmurs, which had officially become my newest addiction.

She rested her head on my shoulder, the dress under the faint dashboard light.
Then suddenly—

"Heyyyy..." she blinked up at me.
"Ishuuu... my buttercup..."

I chuckled. "Buttercup?"

She poked my cheek. "Do... you know that... I'm a rabbit?"

I smirked, amused. "A rabbit?"

"Yessss," she slurred, eyes dramatically wide. "Because I'm soft, I'm fast, I get scared easily... and I can multiply problems if not handled with love."

I burst out laughing. "Multiply problems? You mean emotions?"

"Shh," she placed her finger on my lips, missing the center completely. "I meant magic. I'm a magical rabbit. From Russia. Don't argue but made in india"

"Yes, meri magical Russian rabbit," I said, kissing her hand.

She snuggled into me, mumbling something about "carrot kisses" and "coffee-flavored hugs," then dozed off mid-sentence.
Like literally.

Her last coherent words were: "If you ever leave me, I'll come back as your shadow... and ruin all your socks."

✦

By the time we reached the apartment, it was nearing 3:45 AM.

I parked the car, stepped out quietly, and opened her door.

"Lavs?" I tapped her cheek gently.

She blinked her heavy eyes open, smiled sleepily, and suddenly leaned in, placing a soft kiss on my lips.

"Surprise, my hottie," she whispered.

I froze.

Then smiled, touched. "You're full of surprises, baby."

I picked her up gently, bridal-style, and she rested her head against my chest like it belonged there.

Which it did.

✦

Back at the apartment, I slowly unlocked the door and walked in, careful not to wake her fully.

I laid her softly on her bed, pulled the sheets over her body, and placed a kiss on her forehead.

She was so still. So delicate in that moment.
Like my chaos had melted into quiet.

Then I walked into the kitchen to fetch her water and prep a quick hangover soup—something light, homemade, a mix of ginger, lemon, a little veggie broth.

As I stirred the pot...

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"

I dropped the spoon.

Rushed out of the kitchen.

Only to find her standing barefoot in the middle of the living room, holding onto a giant red heart-shaped balloon that floated above her head.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"You... YOU did this?" she sniffled.

I smiled, walking over slowly. "Yeah, jaan. I wanted you to wake up to it tomorrow, but you beat me to it."

"You decorated it... for me? For ME?!"

"Yes, meri jaan."

She dropped the balloon, ran to me, and flung her arms around my neck.

"My sweet heart... my sugar... my chai... my coffee... my favourite double chocolate muffin," she sobbed dramatically.

"You're mixing metaphors," I chuckled, hugging her tighter.

"You're my WHOLE DAMN BREAKFAST, ISHAAN AGNIHOTRI!"

I laughed into her hair.

"I love you," she whispered, hugging me tighter. "I really... really love you. No one's ever done all this for me."

"I'd do this again," I murmured, brushing her hair back. "Every single year. Every single day if I could."

She looked up at me, eyes glassy but glowing.

"Even when I'm clingy?"

"Especially when you're clingy."

"Even when I'm a rabbit?"

"I'll build you a magical burrow."

She giggled.

✦

I sat beside her and gently fed her spoon by spoon while she barely opened her eyes.

"Why are you so perfect?" she whispered in a daze, her voice sleepy-sweet.

"Because you're always tired and someone has to carry this relationship," I smirked, feeding her the last spoon.

She giggled sleepily and reached out, wrapping her arms around my neck. "Cuddle me."

I obliged.

We curled up together in her bed, her body warm against mine, breaths syncing like they always did.

She knocked out in minutes. I didn't.

I lay there, brushing soft circles along her back, her hair fanned across my chest like silk.

8:13 AM

I checked the time on my phone and sighed.
Time to get up.

I gently pulled away and stretched, placing a soft kiss on her temple.

"Wake up, baby girl."

She groaned into the pillow. "Noooo... sleep is my religion."

I pulled the blanket off her in one swift move. "God is calling. Get up."

"God can wait. Let me nap for two more hours."

"Nope," I replied, dragging her upright like she weighed nothing.

She gave me a look of betrayal.

"I swear you're evil," she muttered.

"Put that in my vows, jaan," I smirked. "Now, go wear something traditional. Red, preferably. We're going to the temple."

Her eyes opened, surprised. "Really?"

I nodded. "It's your birthday wish trip. We're gonna pray for our forever—and maybe thank God in advance for your patience to deal with me."

She shook her head, lips curved in a smile as she walked to the bathroom.

✦

8:52 AM

She walked out in a deep red suit, her dupatta pinned delicately, hair slightly damp, tiny jhumkas dancing with each step.

I swear—for a second—I forgot to breathe.

"Lavs," I said, walking closer, cupping her face, "you look like every prayer I've ever messed up, answered perfectly."

She looked down, shy. "It's just a suit, Ishaan..."

"No," I whispered. "It's you in red. And that's never just anything."

✦

This guy...

This guy really compliments me like I'm the goddess of this galaxy.

Ugh. This man!

He walked into the kitchen while still teasing me with those soft smiles, and a few minutes later, returned...

...with a cake.

Not just any cake.

A deep red velvet cake, all Pinteresty and aesthetic, like it belonged in a boujee cooking video.

I blinked.

"You got this made?" I asked, smiling like a fool.

He shrugged, smirking. "Made? I baked it."

Pause.

"YOU baked it?" My jaw dropped.

He nodded, annoyingly casual. "Why? You think I can't bake?"

"I— Excuse me, Mr. Wall Street, when did you become the Pinterest husband?"

He chuckled. "When I fell for a girl who deserves everything. Even a cake made by my own hands."

Dead. Buried.
Floating somewhere in the stratosphere.

"Now blow the candles, jaan," he said, lighting them up with such care, his hand cupped around the flames like he was protecting something sacred.

But instead of going for the candles, I pulled him in and kissed him—slowly..

"For our us," I whispered.

"For our future. For love. And no negative aura in between."

I closed my eyes and made my wish. Something about forever.
Something about being his peace.

I blew out the candles.

A tear slipped out without my permission.

He immediately brushed it away with his thumb, his voice low. "We're not crying on your day, Lavs."

"You made me emotional, idiot."

He grinned. "Good. That was the plan."

I cut the cake and he fed me the first bite like it was a ritual.

It was soft. Delicious.
Fluffy inside, moist, and not overly sweet—like love, if love had a texture.

"You sure you baked this?" I mumbled with my mouth full.

"Don't disrespect the chef," he laughed, licking some cream off my lip.

Ugh. Help.

Then, just when I thought he couldn't do anything else...

He said, "Now. You have a mission."

"Mission?"

He walked to the living room and picked up a small card with shiny red wax pressed into it.

"There are 24 gifts hidden around this house. One for every year of your madness."

My jaw literally dropped.

"You're joking."

"Not even a little," he said, handing me the first clue.

"Start with the place where you whine the most about how late your hospital shifts are."

I gasped.

He really made a scavenger hunt of his love.

This man—my man—is a fever dream I never want to wake up from.

✦

"This hunt might take a year," I huffed, standing barefoot on the cool wooden floor, holding the third gift in my hand—a doodled softcover book titled "Our Maybes, Our Forevers."
I flipped through it.
Drawings of us.
Our future dog. (Yes, he's buying me a puppy)

What the hell.

He printed this?

I turned to Ishaan who was leaning casually by the kitchen counter, watching me like he was unwrapping me instead.
"Did you draw this?"

He sipped his coffee. "No. But I described our entire life to a professional illustrator last month. Told her to capture our life in it."

"I hate how much you know me," I whispered, heart bursting.

His voice dropped, teasing. "Then hurry up, jaan. You've got 21 gifts left, and I'm getting dangerously close to unwrapping one too."

My face heated.

Here i go in fast speed unwrapping his love in the form of gifts

Gift 5 – Under the bathroom sink.
A box of rare French perfume oils with handwritten labels like "Ruined by Ishaan," "Post-Makeout Mornings,".
I didn't know whether to blush or faint.

Gift 6 – Behind the headboard of my bed.
A red lace robe from a luxury Paris brand I once window-shopped on Pinterest.

"I didn't even tell you I liked this one," I gasped. "You don't have to tell me. I just know," he said, his voice thick.

Gift 7 – Inside my favourite old hoodie.
A custom necklace with both our initials in tiny diamonds. "Subtle. Sexy. Says 'taken,'" he said, looping it around my neck. I turned and kissed his jaw, already overwhelmed.

Gift 8 – Inside the washing machine.
A black velvet box with a pair of ruby red heels I'd tried in Milan and didn't buy.

"I thought they were overpriced," I whispered.
He leaned closer. "You're allowed to be expensive. You're mine."

Gift 9 – In the bookshelf, between my old medical journals.

A handwritten letter titled "For the days you doubt yourself."
Two pages. In his handwriting.
Tears spilled before I could even finish reading the first paragraph.

"You make it really hard to stay mad at you," I sniffled.

"Good. Now go find the next one."

Gift 10 – In the oven (that we never use).

A black silk blindfold and satin cuffs.

I looked at him with wide eyes. "Umm..." "Put them in your private drawer. You'll thank me on our wedding night," he whispered against my ear.
I almost dropped the box.

Gift 11 – Hidden under the living room rug.

A limited edition coffee table book titled "The Art of Kisses." With bookmarks and highlighted notes from Ishaan.
He winked. "Educational content. I'm investing in us."

Gift 12 – Inside my pillowcase.

A vintage silver locket with my baby photo on one side and his teenage photo on the other. "Did you steal this from my mom's WhatsApp group?"
"Yup. And made your dad send mine."

Gift 13 – In the wardrobe drawer.
A red box containing a seductive red satin slip dress.
"You're insane."

Gift 14 – Inside his drawer, with a note:

"Try these heels with no clothes..just an experiment"
Inside?

Red Louboutin stilettos.
I almost choked.

"Ishaan!!!"

"Try them. I dare you."

Gift 15 – In the microwave.

A small velvet box containing a gold anklet with a tiny dangling charm shaped like a heartbeat line.

"Because your heartbeat is mine now," he said softly.

Gift 16 – Taped behind the bedroom door.

A huge polaroid collage of our firsts—first dinner, first forehead kiss, first morning after...

He whispered, "I printed all these. Even the blurry ones. They're perfect because they have you."

Gift 17 – Hidden behind the couch.

A box of handwritten notes labeled "Open when..."

-Open when you feel insecure
-Open when you need to be ruined
-Open when you miss me and I'm just in the next room

I melted.

Gift 20 – Under the bed.

A pair of matching bracelets with our coordinates engraved — of the cafe we met at first.

"Because everything changed after that spilled coffee," he said.

My heart clutched.

Gift 22 – In my closet.

A red satin corset from a brand that looked like it belonged to Bond girls.

"You said you'll try new styles in private..."

"You scare me."

"You excite me."

Gift 23 – The one that shook me.

On the nightstand.
A plain envelope.

Inside: A letter from his late mother, addressed:

TO THE WOMAN WHO FINALLY HOLDS MY SON'S HEART THE WAY I PRAYED SOMEONE WOULD..

And a legal deed.
A house in Mumbai.

"She left this for the girl I'd be sure of one day. You're the only one I've ever been sure of, jaan."

I was crying, fully sobbing now.

He kissed the tears. "This was always yours."

Gift 24: He handed this one personally.

A silver box. Inside it?
Keys of his apartment.

And he said "move in with me"

I nodded in tears..

✦

The sky above London looked... calmer today. The clouds had softened, the wind gentle, like even nature knew something sacred was happening.

I stepped out of the car, adjusting the red dupatta over my head.
The soft cotton suit hugged my figure.

Ishaan stood beside me, dressed in a crisp white kurta-pajama.
Minimal, elegant, traditional. Just him.

He held my hand. "Ready, Jaan?"

I nodded.

The temple was nestled in a quieter part of the city — stone-carved deities, soft chants echoing from within, the smell of incense mingling with rose petals that lined the pathway. And yet, walking into that marble-floored sanctum with him, I felt like a bride.

Not officially.

But in every way that mattered.

Ishaan bowed his head first, folded his hands, eyes closed in devotion.
I watched his lips move silently — a prayer, maybe.

Then I followed.

My knees touched the floor as I sat beside him on the white sheet laid out in the darbar. The priest walked up with tilak and prasad, but for a moment, the only thing I could focus on was the stillness between us.

A kind of stillness that said:

This is it. He's your forever.

He leaned a little toward me and whispered, "Ask something from them."

I looked at the deity.
And for once, I didn't ask for success or happiness.

I asked for time.
Time with Ishaan. Time in his arms. Time to build a life that was soft and loud and everything in between. Time to be his, completely.

I turned to him and whispered, "Did you ask for something?"

He gave me a faint smile. "I asked them to never let you go far from me. Even if you're angry. Even if I'm wrong."

I blinked.

I placed my hand over his and whispered, "You know, I never really believed in destiny until you."

He didn't speak. Just squeezed my hand tighter.

A part of me wanted to fall at his feet and say thank you.
Thank you for making this day feel like a homecoming — not just to a temple, but to us.

The priest handed us a garland of red and white roses. Without thinking, Ishaan placed one end around my neck and smiled.
"I know we're not married yet, but this—" he tapped the garland, "this is practice."

We both laughed softly, almost like we were afraid to disturb the peace around us.

As we stepped out, I looked over my shoulder once more — at the temple dome glowing in the morning light.

In that moment, I realized...

Birthdays were never this spiritual, this whole, this quietly healing.

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! To be continued-

Chapter Aesthetic ~

-him while facetime.

-her midnight blue dress

~ the club chaos

~ the cake baked by ishaan

~ room decoration

~ lobby decoration

— bouquet ivaan bought

~ the red suit.

- him in kurta pajama..

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