Chapter-2

Morning arrived in Krishna Joshi’s home the way it always did—soft light filtering through the cracks in the window, the distant temple bells ringing, and the chirping of birds blending with the early hum of village life.

Krishna moved through her chores with quiet efficiency, starting with milking the cow. The patient animal stood still as Krishna hummed a tune, her hands working in steady rhythm. This was the only part of the day that belonged entirely to her, a moment of peace before the weight of responsibilities settled on her shoulders again.

Once done, she carried the full containers inside, placing them near the kitchen before rolling up her sleeves to prepare breakfast. The warm scent of fresh rotis and brewing tea filled the small space, making the house feel momentarily comforting, almost normal.

Then came the part she dreaded—waking Mohan.

“Mohan! Wake up!” she called, walking into his room. As expected, he was still curled up in his blankets, his face half-buried in the pillow.

“Didi, let me sleep,” he mumbled.

“Too bad.” She yanked the blanket off with a teasing smile. “I have a lot to do today, and you have to go to school.”

Mohan groaned but sat up, rubbing his eyes. Krishna watched him fondly. He was still a child in so many ways, despite the hardships they had endured.

She ruffled his hair. “Hurry up, or I’ll eat your share of the parathas.”

That got him moving.

As he got ready, Krishna prepared another task—the bitter hangover medicine for their father. The smell was foul, but the routine was ingrained in her by now. She placed the steaming mug on the table next to the old, tattered couch where he lay sprawled.

“Where’s my medicine, girl?” he slurred, barely lifting his head.

“Right here,” she said simply. “Drink it. And stay out of trouble today, please.”

He grumbled something unintelligible, taking the cup without looking at her. Krishna didn’t linger—there was no point.

By the time she finished delivering milk to the neighbors, her hands were already aching. But there was no time to slow down. She headed next to the attar production house, where she supplied fresh jasmine buds. The air was thick with the scent of roses, sandalwood, and tuberose. It was one of the few places where Krishna didn’t feel the heavy weight of her struggles pressing down on her.

She quickly handed over the jasmine buds, exchanged polite words with the owner, and was out again.

By late afternoon, she found herself standing outside the grand old Thakur bungalow—the venue for the much-talked-about wedding.

Inside, Pinkesh Uncle was already bustling around, calling out instructions. He spotted her immediately.

“Ah, Krishna! You’re here.” He motioned for her to follow. “Come, come, meet the bride.”

Krishna was led to where Ananya Shah, the bride-to-be, sat surrounded by family members, all deeply engrossed in wedding preparations. Krishna greeted them with a polite nod. She had no real interest in the details—just in doing the job well and getting paid.

“The groom’s side will start arriving soon,” Pinkesh Uncle explained. “Aryaman Mehta—the groom—he’s in a meeting right now.”

Krishna only nodded, listening attentively. She knew how important it was to be aware of her employers' needs.

Meanwhile…

In one of the bungalow’s private rooms, Aryaman Mehta sat before his laptop, his brow furrowed in frustration.

“Postpone the meeting? No,” he snapped into his Bluetooth earpiece. “I need to be in Delhi by tonight. This strike situation can’t wait.”

His assistant’s voice crackled on the other end. “Sir, your mother—”

“I’ll handle my mother,” Aryaman interrupted, rubbing his temples. His mother had already made her displeasure clear, upset that he was leaving just days before the wedding. And then there was Ananya—his fiancée—who had nearly thrown her phone at the wall when she found out.

But he had no choice.

The factory strike was a crisis, and business came first. Always.

As he ended the call, he grabbed his suitcase and strode toward the exit. He was already mentally drafting an email to his team when—

A scent.

Jasmine.

It was faint but distinct—fresh, natural, unlike the synthetic perfumes he was used to. His steps faltered slightly.

And then, she appeared.

Krishna, moving quickly, her attention fixed on something ahead, oblivious to him.

Before Aryaman could even react, she mis-stepped.

Krishna’s eyes squeezed shut, bracing for the inevitable impact.

But it never came.

Aryaman’s reflexes kicked in, and he caught her at the last moment, one hand gripping her waist, steadying her before she could hit the ground.

And that was when he saw her.

Not just as a girl he had randomly bumped into—but as her.

The girl from the river.

The memory surged back, unbidden.

Sunlight filtering through water. Her delicate fingers reaching out. The way her hair had floated in slow motion, ink spilling into a golden world. The startled look in her eyes beneath the surface.

His grip on her tightened for just a second.

The scent of jasmine lingered between them.

For an instant, something flickered in Aryaman’s chest, something unspoken, something unfamiliar.

Then she opened her eyes—realization very slowly dawned in her eyes. She recognized him from somewhere.

“Oh!” she gasped, her face flushing slightly. “It’s… you.”

Aryaman’s grip loosened, but he didn’t step back immediately. She got on her feet, her mind trying to remember.

Krishna stared at him, still piecing it together. She had barely gotten a look at him that day in the river, more focused on not drowning, but now that she saw him up close, she knew for sure—this was the same man.

“You—” she hesitated, her brows furrowing. “You’re the one from the river.”

Aryaman exhaled through his nose, stepping back as if shaking off a stray thought.

“Yeah.”

Krishna straightened, clearing her throat. The flustered look on her face made something flicker in Aryaman’s gaze, but just as quickly, his indifference returned.

“Thank you for saving me. Are you from the bride’s side or the groom’s?” she asked, still slightly dazed.

Aryaman blinked at her, then flicked his gaze toward the massive wedding banner beside them—the one with his face on it.

“I’m the groom.”

Krishna’s face turned a deeper shade of red. She looked at the banner, back at him, and stammered, “Oh—I… I should have known. I—”

But Aryaman had already lost interest.

His phone buzzed with an incoming email, and just like that, whatever momentary intrigue he had felt vanished. He barely heard Krishna’s nervous apologies as he checked his screen, scrolling through the urgent message.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, brushing past her without another glance.

Krishna stood there for a few seconds, watching him disappear through the bungalow’s grand entrance.

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head at herself.

How careless of her. How unprofessional.

She couldn’t afford to make mistakes like this—not when she was working in a place like this, among people like them.

Straightening her posture, she turned back to her duties, a silent promise forming in her heart.

She would work harder. She would be more professional.

She wouldn’t allow herself to get distracted again.

**********

And so, she became a part of the house, unnoticed but unforgettable. In just three days, Krishna had become an indispensable part of the wedding preparations. She wasn’t just efficient—she was exceptional. Whether it was ensuring the bridal party had everything they needed, managing the smallest of details, or solving issues before they even became problems, Krishna was always a step ahead.

Her presence was a calm within the chaos, a quiet yet unshakable force that kept everything running smoothly. She wasn’t loud or commanding, but her ability to anticipate and handle situations made her presence impossible to ignore.

The household had warmed to her quickly.

Ananya, the bride, appreciated Krishna’s no-nonsense attitude. Unlike the overenthusiastic wedding planners who tried too hard to please her, Krishna was direct, efficient, and never fawned over her. That made her useful. And Ananya liked useful people.

The groom’s family, meanwhile, found Krishna utterly charming. Her sincerity, her tireless work ethic, her soft yet determined presence—it all drew them in.

But no one had taken a more personal interest in Krishna than Leela Mehta.

The moment Leela had laid eyes on Krishna, something in her heart stirred. It wasn’t pity, nor was it simple admiration. It was deeper, instinctual—like she had found something precious she hadn’t even realized she was missing.

The girl moved with such effortless grace, her hands always busy, her voice soft yet filled with purpose. And when Krishna sang bhajans in the small temple inside the mansion—her voice pure, unwavering, soaked in devotion—Leela felt something she hadn’t in years.

A daughter.

The thought had settled in Leela’s heart before she could stop it.

And Krishna, though oblivious to the depth of Leela’s emotions, found comfort in her warmth. She had lost her mother at eight years old—too young to remember everything but old enough to ache for the absence. Leela’s gentle inquiries about her well-being, the way she insisted Krishna take breaks, the quiet smiles they exchanged—it was a kind of softness Krishna hadn’t known in years.

She didn’t realize it, but she had become Leela’s favorite.

And that was noticed.

There were two powerful women in the Thakur Mansion—Leela and Ananya.

Both poised. Both intelligent. Both too clever and sophisticated to ever let their cold war show.

It wasn’t open hostility—no, that would be crass. It was something far more refined. A subtle game of moves and countermoves, of soft barbs hidden under polite words, of power plays wrapped in smiles.

Even Krishna, sharp as she was, never noticed.

***********************

The evening of the third day arrived, casting a warm golden hue over the sprawling mansion.

Aryaman stepped inside, his mind heavy with the aftermath of his trip to Delhi. The factory strike had been a mess, but he had negotiated his way through it, emerging victorious. The meetings had been exhausting, and the constant stress had left him with a persistent headache.

He just needed peace.

And then—

A sound.

Soft. Melodic. Familiar.

A bhajan.

His steps slowed.

The voice…

It pulled at something in his memory, something he hadn’t even realized was lingering in the fringes of his thoughts.

Unconsciously, Aryaman followed the sound, the ache in his head easing with every step.

And then, as he rounded the corner—

He saw her.

Krishna stood in the small temple, eyes closed, hands folded in prayer.

The golden light of the lamps flickered against her face, illuminating the serene devotion in her expression. The bhajan wasn’t just sung—it was felt, woven into the air itself.

Beside her, his mother stood, hands clasped, but her gaze was not on the idols.

She was looking at Krishna.

Softly. Fondly. Like she was looking at something irreplaceable.

Aryaman stilled.

His mother wasn’t one for grand displays of affection. Her love was strong, yes, but it was measured, deliberate.

Yet here she was, watching Krishna with something close to longing.

The bhajan ended.

Before Krishna could even step away, Leela pulled her into a warm embrace.

Krishna stiffened, startled, but only for a moment. Then, hesitantly, she leaned into it.

It was a simple gesture.

But to Aryaman, it was telling.

His mother—who was reserved, controlled, precise in everything—had just pulled a girl into a hug like she had belonged there all along.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“Bro…”

Aryaman turned to see his younger brother, Anshuman, standing beside him, munching on roasted peanuts.

“What’s the deal with Mom and her?” Anshuman asked, extending his hand toward Aryaman. “You think she’s finally found the daughter she always wanted?”

Aryaman grabbed a handful of peanuts, popping one into his mouth.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, watching the scene before him with quiet curiosity. “But she’s definitely taken a liking to her.”

Anshuman grinned. “Dude, at this rate, I swear Mom’s gonna kidnap her.”

Aryaman let out a rare chuckle. “Knowing her, she’s probably already making plans.”

Anshuman snorted. “Should we warn Krishna? Or just let her figure it out when Mom starts sending out adoption papers?”

Aryaman smirked. “Let’s see how long it takes her to notice.”

The two brothers shared a quiet moment, watching the growing attachment between their mother and Krishna.

It was oddly amusing.

***************

Krishna had been so lost in the hug that she hadn’t even noticed Aryaman watching.

But then—

She saw him.

Standing just outside the temple.

Watching.

Oh no.

Her stomach dropped.

Had she… messed up? Again?

She had worked so hard these past three days, making sure she was perfectly professional. No mistakes. No distractions. Nothing that could make her look like she was anything but a competent, dedicated worker.

And now, here she was, standing in front of her employer—again—in a completely unprofessional setting.

She quickly stepped back from Leela’s embrace, her heart pounding slightly.

Just then, Aryaman walked into the temple.

They exchanged polite greetings.

“Good evening, Aryaman-sir,” Krishna said with a smile, trying not to sound nervous.

Aryaman gave a short nod in acknowledgment.

Leela, still glowing with warmth from the bhajan, turned to her son and immediately pulled him into a hug.

Krishna took that as her cue to quietly exit the temple.

As she stepped away, she let out a silent sigh of relief.

Hopefully, her moment of unprofessionalism had gone unnoticed.

As she pulled Aryaman into a hug, Leela smiled.

“So?” she asked. “Your trip was stressful?”

Aryaman sighed. “Very. But I handled it.”

Leela beamed. “Good. And now… promise me you won’t leave again until after the wedding.”

Aryaman rolled his eyes. “I promise. Happy?”

Leela teased, her eyes twinkling. “You promised in the temple. That makes it divine.”

Aryaman scoffed. “Mom. It’s just a promise, not divine intervention.”

Leela only smiled.

Her eyes, however, were still lingering on Krishna.

As she absentmindedly reached for a garland of flowers beside the deity, a single flower fell into her hand.

She stared at it.

A strange feeling settled in her heart.

Something about this moment felt… significant.

She didn’t know why.

But she would think about it later.