"मैं फनाह हो गया
उसकी एक झलक देखकर,
ना जाने हर रोज़ आइने पर
क्या गुजराती होगी।"
People say that the beauty of the moon lies in its spots.
But I say — the beauty of my moon lies in her mere presence.
She doesn't need imperfections to be admired.
She is my moon — not one that waxes or wanes, but one that radiates light selflessly, constantly.
Her glow… it doesn't just touch my skin, it reaches into the very marrow of my soul.
The innocence in her eyes, the quiet grace in her face — everything about her pulls me in, roots me down, and yet sets me free.
She is the peace to my chaos.
The breath to my storm.
The goddess I wish to worship — not for a moment, not for a lifetime — but for every existence beyond time.
I just want to hold her… forever. No grand declarations, no dramatic promises — just a quiet, lifelong embrace.
I was lost in these very thoughts when I heard a knock on the door.
Snapping back to reality, I opened it to find one of the palace attendants standing there, head bowed respectfully.
“Hukum, Badi Hukum Rani sa ne aapko tayyar hokar neeche aane ko kaha hai. Rani sa aur unka parivaar aa chuke hain,” he informed.
I nodded and dismissed him silently, closing the door gently behind.
The moment it clicked shut, a small smile tugged at my lips.
She’s here.
With a sudden rush of anticipation, I walked to the closet and picked out my outfit — black, sleek, timeless. I don’t usually care about how I look. But today... I had to look my best.
You know, I have to match my Misthi’s standards na?
I dressed quickly, fixed my hair with a swipe of my fingers, slipped on my watch, and gave myself a final look in the mirror.
Alright, Ekaksh. Let’s go.
I descended the stairs...
...and froze.
The world — everything, everything — faded.
My breath caught in my throat, and I swear, for a moment, my heart forgot how to beat.
Because there she stood — Misthi.
Unaware of the havoc she was causing inside me.
She was dressed like poetry.
Like the embodiment of serenity, wrapped in a soft pink Anarkali, her hair braided with care, silver bangles clinking gently with each movement.
She looked like something the stars had stitched together in worship.
And I?
I stood there like a man possessed — or perhaps like a man saved.
I felt like a teenager — blushing, nervous, awestruck — just from looking at her.
God, Misthi... what have you done to me?
I wanted to walk up to her, claim her, hold her — but my feet were glued. My eyes refused to blink. My soul refused to look anywhere else.
She had stolen every breath from me.
And I never wanted it back.
Argh! Snap out of it, Ekaksh!
And yet... how could I?
Because when a storm like her enters your life with the softness of a breeze,
you don’t recover.
You surrender.
He was lost — utterly enchanted — staring at the woman who had unknowingly become the rhythm of his heart… when a sudden ahem! broke the trance.
Ekaksh blinked and turned, realizing everyone was now looking at him — some with confusion, others with knowing mischief.
Shivank and Ruhi were, of course, wearing matching teasing smirks. He rolled his eyes internally but quickly composed himself, then walked with his signature grace and settled next to Shivank.
The moment he sat, Mrs. Kamini, Mr. Rakesh, and a girl — presumably his daughter — immediately stood up, heads bowed in fear as if greeting a deity descending from the skies.
“Hu...ku...m... pra..nam,” they chorused, anxiety dripping from their voices.
Ekaksh liked the fear. He nodded curtly in response — acknowledging their presence but giving no more.
And then, his eyes returned to their rightful place — his Mishti.
Shivank leaned closer and muttered with a smirk,
“Bhai, thoda sabr rakho... aise bhabhi ko dekhoge toh nazar lag jaayegi.”
Ekaksh shot him a glare — just one — and that was enough to shut him up immediately. Shivank raised his hands in surrender, still grinning.
Sumitra ji turned toward the Pandit ji, motioning toward Mishti.
“Pandit ji, ye hai Mishti — hamare Ekaksh ki hone wali patni, aur Rajasthan ki aane wali Rani sa.
Aap se anurodh hai ki in dono ke liye ek shubh sagai aur vivah ka muhurat nikaaliye.”
“Ji, pranam,” Mishti greeted respectfully with folded hands and lowered eyes.
Pandit ji was momentarily surprised. He hadn’t expected such humility from the future queen of Rajasthan. Her manners, her calmness — they touched him deeply.
“Jeete raho, beta,” he blessed her sincerely.
After inspecting the horoscopes, he spoke:
“Sumitra ji, yog ke hisaab se toh sagai ka muhurat 4 din baad ka hai, aur vivah ka muhurat 1 mahine baad.
Uske baad sidha ek saal tak koi shubh yog nahi ban raha.”
Hearing this, everyone exchanged smiles — joy blooming in the hall like spring.
Sumitra ji couldn’t hide her happiness. Her once-cold, detached son had agreed to marry. She looked toward Ekaksh, silently asking what he wanted.
He understood.
But before saying anything, he wanted to ask Mishti.
“Mishti, aaye... hum aapko rajmahal dikhaate hain,” he said softly, yet clearly.
Some eyebrows raised — but Sumitra ji instantly caught her son’s intent.
She smiled knowingly and added playfully,
“Bilkul beta ji, chaliye... dekhiye apne hone wale sasuraal ki jhalak.”
Mishti simply looked up at him, then lowered her eyes and nodded gently.
“Ji.”
Just as the two were about to leave, Sneha — not one to give up so easily — stepped forward, batting her lashes and forcing a sugar-coated voice:
“Um... Hukum sa, agar aap bura na maane toh main bhi chalu?
I mean, aap dono ke saath.
Ye rajmahal itna enchanting hai... mujhe bhi dekhne ki excitement ho rahi hai.”
Shivank, Akshat, and Ruhi nearly groaned in unison.
Akshat rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. Shivank gave Ekaksh a look — the “shall I handle her?” kind of look — and Ekaksh subtly nodded.
And then Shivank dropped the axe — in his signature devilishly polite style.
“Miss Sneha,” he said coldly,
“Apko sayad realize na ho, par ye rajmahal hai koi tourist spot nahi. Aur aapke mata pita ne itne manners ti shikhaye hi honge ki jab couples sath rahe to beeche mai interfere nahi karna chahiye. Right?”
The room went silent.
Sneha’s mouth opened, then closed. Her cheeks flushed red — not from blush, but from humiliation.
So, he knows.
She realized now: Shivank Rathore wasn’t just the naughty younger brother.
He was another version of Ekaksh’s peace.
Sneha stepped back silently, deciding it was better to be invisible than embarrassed again.
____________________________________
The long corridor echoed slightly with each footstep.
Ancient portraits of kings past, swords, and old relics lined the marble walls — whispering centuries of legacy.
Ekaksh walked beside Mishti, describing everything with quiet pride.
Mishti, soft-spoken and attentive, listened to every word like it was poetry.
They paused near an old window carved with peacocks.
“Mishti,” he began gently,
“Pandit ji ne kaha sagai 4 din baad aur vivah 1 mahine baad ka yog bana hai.
Hum chahte hai ki aap jald se jald humari patni banein...
par faisla aapka hai. Aapka kya kehna hai?”
She slowly raised her eyes and found his gaze already on her — patient, hopeful.
There was a moment of silence.
Then, her soft voice answered.
“Ji... hum tayyar hai.”
And that was all it took.
Ekaksh’s heart burst like fireworks in silence. Internally, he was dancing. Externally, he gave a restrained smile, but his eyes betrayed the childlike happiness brewing within.
He stepped slightly closer, voice low and sincere.
“Aap tayyari ki chinta mat kijiye, Mishti.
Bas humari jaan ka khayal rakhiye… aur khush rahiye.”
Her breath hitched slightly at the tenderness in his voice.
He smiled once more, eyes deep with warmth and reverence.
“Hamari duniya mein swagat hai aapka...
meri jaan.”
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