Aradhana & Reyaansh SS : Na Jaane Kyun (last chp + epilogue pg 3) - Page 3

Originally posted by: coderlady

I will catch up on "In Your Memories Book 2" also. It will just take some time.

thanks dear for replying

sure no worries

I will be starting the spin off soon in a few days

CHAPTER 4

It was night, Suzanne looked around the simple but cozy guest room. The faint glow of a bedside lamp cast warm amber light across the walls. She glanced at Mehul, who had just finished folding the extra blanket Asha had given them.

“I’ll take the couch,” she said, pointing to the cushioned seat near the window. “Looks comfy enough. Besides, I used to crash on couches back home in Canada during lazy Sundays. Nostalgic, really.”

Mehul raised an eyebrow. “You’re technically a guest in India. Not just any guest—my client. You should get the bed.”

“But—”

“No arguments.” He pointed toward the bed, then moved toward the couch with mock determination. “Take it. I insist. Consider it part of my political hospitality training.”

Suzanne chuckled. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But effective,” he said, settling onto the couch.

She rolled her eyes but finally slipped under the covers, and for the first time in a long while, sleep came to her without resistance.

*

The next morning, Suzanne stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the soft peach salwar suit she’d chosen from the donated clothes.The mangalsutra rested gently against her collarbone.

As she stepped into the living room with Mehul, Asha, who was setting her handbag down, caught sight of her.

“Well, look at you,” Asha said with a delighted smile. “Your Indian side really suits you. That salwar, the mangalsutra... it’s like you were meant for it.”

Suzanne offered a polite smile, adjusting the dupatta around her shoulders.

“I’m still getting used to it.”

“Well, it’s doing wonders,” Asha replied warmly. “Now, let’s not be late. The morning yoga session’s about to begin.”

*

In a large, airy room lined with floor mats, a few couples were already seated. The fragrance of camphor and lemongrass filled the air.

A tall woman in her late 40s entered, dressed in a saffron yoga tunic with a serene expression. Her salt-and-pepper hair was tied into a tidy braid, and her posture was upright, commanding calm respect.

“Sreelekha,” Asha introduced her warmly. “Or just Sree, as we all call her. She’s the reason I got through my first pregnancy with grace. I had to take a break from practice back then, and Sree took over most of the center’s wellness sessions.”

Sree greeted each couple with a graceful nod and then clapped her hands together. “Welcome, everyone. Let’s begin with the Suryanamaskar (sun salutations). Follow my lead, and listen to your body.”

The session began with slow, mindful movements—stretching upward to the sky, bending down to touch the earth, flowing through a series of poses that connected breath with motion. Suzanne stole a glance at Mehul, who was trying his best to follow but wobbled slightly in one of the lunges.

She suppressed a laugh.

Sree moved gracefully among them, correcting postures gently. As the session progressed, she introduced fertility-focused poses that enhaces the blood flow to the pelvic region—Baddha Konasana, Setu Bandhasana, and Viparita Karani—each one explained by Sree in a gentle, non-clinical way.

“It’s not just the body we’re training,” Sree reminded them softly. “It’s the breath and the bond.”

Mehul and Suzanne exchanged a look.

For now, they were still pretending.

But the breath and the bond? That… was beginning to feel a little real.

After the yoga session ended, the other couples began dispersing, their chatter soft and content as they stepped out of the sun-warmed hall. Suzanne, however, remained seated, her mind circling thoughts like smoke trapped under glass.

Mehul glanced at her, quietly reading the storm beneath her calm exterior. He stepped forward and motioned toward Sreelekha, who was folding up a few mats in the corner of the room.

“Excuse me, Sree?” he said gently.

Sree looked up with a kind, composed expression. “Yes?”

“We were wondering if we could ask you something… personal,” Mehul began, glancing toward Suzanne for reassurance.

Sree raised an eyebrow, sensing the weight behind his words. “Go ahead.”

Suzanne stepped beside Mehul, her voice soft but firm. “We were just thinking… you’ve been with this center for quite a while, right?”

“Since its very early years,” Sree replied, nodding.

“Then maybe… you’d know if any of the Ayurvedic doctors who worked here had… well, experienced a teen pregnancy? Someone who might’ve left her child at an orphanage?”

For a moment, Sree didn’t say anything. Her serene demeanor wavered ever so slightly, eyes narrowing not in suspicion, but in reflection.

“That’s… a very specific question,” she said carefully.

Mehul quickly added, “We’re asking on behalf of someone we know. Someone who’s looking for answers about where they came from. All we know is that their mother might have worked here, and that this happened nearly thirty years ago, just around the time this place began.”

Sree slowly exhaled and looked away, as if weighing the ethics of what she was about to say. Then, with quiet resolve, she turned back to them.

“I believe I know who you're referring to,” she said softly. “But you must understand—this is deeply personal. And painful.”

Suzanne nodded, her heart thudding louder in her chest.

“It was Dr. Asha Patil,” Sree said gently. “She was very young. Still finishing her studies. Her father… and his close friend—Ashwin Shenoy—had just started this Ayurvedic center. Asha used to help around here part-time while pursuing her education.”

There was a pause, thick with memory.

“She got pregnant unexpectedly,” Sree continued. “And for the sake of the family’s reputation and the new venture her father had just started—she was pressured into giving up her child. Her baby daughter.”

Suzanne swallowed hard, her lips parting slightly in disbelief, though some part of her had already guessed.

Sree gave a faint, bittersweet smile. “Years later, she married and built her life. When I joined this place, she was expecting her first son. I was still new then, but over time… we became close. And she confided in me. Once. Only once.”

“What did she say?” Suzanne asked, voice almost a whisper.

Sree’s expression softened further, touched by emotion. “She said she would never look for her daughter. Not because she didn’t love her. Quite the opposite. Because she knew that meeting her might awaken a longing neither of them could resolve. She feared it would ruin whatever peace her daughter had found with her adoptive family… and also disrupt her own.”

“She never stopped loving that child. She prays for her. Always. She said she just hopes… wherever her daughter is, she’s safe, loved, and has the life she couldn’t give her.”

The words settled heavily between them.

Sree looked at Suzanne kindly, sensing more than she was told, but not pressing. “I know it may hurt your… friend to hear this. That Asha may never want to meet her. But sometimes… letting go is the hardest form of love. Even if it leaves a scar behind.”

Suzanne stood silently, heart heavy and uncertain, but part of her for the first time felt a bittersweet sense of closure beginning to form.

Suzanne and Mehul stood quietly after Sree’s words had settled. The weight of the truth was still fresh, like the sting of saltwater over an open wound, but it was a truth they had long chased, and now it finally stood before them—both revealing and quietly devastating.

“Thank you,” Suzanne said softly, her voice slightly shaky but sincere. “Thank you for telling us.”

Sree gave a warm nod, then reached into the pocket of her kurta and pulled out a small folded slip of paper.

“There’s something else,” she said. “You asked about the father, right?”

Mehul and Suzanne leaned in, their breath caught.

“I never told Asha,” Sree admitted. “But… years ago, I got curious. I wanted to know who he wasm this man who left such a mark on her life. I did a bit of asking around quietly, just among old staff and through scattered documents. I found a name. And an address.”

She handed the folded paper to Suzanne.

“I never visited. That’s where my loyalty stood—with Asha. But maybe… maybe it’s time someone did. Maybe it’s time some unanswered questions were allowed to breathe.”

Suzanne took the paper in her trembling hand. On it, neatly written, was the name: Jerome Gonsalves. And underneath, an address in Uttan, a village in Mumbai.

“Thank you again, Sree,” Mehul said, with a respectful nod.

Sree smiled gently, touched with both compassion and finality. “Good luck.”

With that, they both stepped out of the hall, walking silently through the lush, tree-lined pathways of the center. Finally, they found a quiet corner near a bench.

Suzanne sat down slowly, her breath caught in her throat. Then it broke.

Tears spilled over, silent and strong.

“She doesn’t want to see me, Mehul,” she whispered, her voice broken. “I came all this way… hoping for some miracle reunion, something I know now is only real in movies. But she… she doesn’t want me. Not in her life.”

Mehul knelt down in front of her, letting her vent it all out, giving her space to grieve, not as a companion or investigator but as a friend.

“But still,” Suzanne said, trying to compose herself through the sobs, “she… she prays for me. She wants me to be happy. That’s… something. That’s everything, actually. Maybe that’s all the love she had to give.”

“And maybe,” Mehul said gently, “that’s the kind of love that doesn't demand anything in return. The hardest kind. But the purest.”

She looked up at him, eyes red but steady now.

“You’re here for a few more days,” Mehul continued, wiping away a single tear from her cheek with the corner of his sleeve. “Spend that time with your mother. Even if she only sees you as a guest. Even if she never knows the truth. You still get to be around her. You get to watch her, listen to her laugh, see how she works, what she believes in. That’s more than many abandoned children get.”

Suzanne nodded, quietly absorbing his words.

“I will,” she said. “I’ll carry that back with me. That love. Even if it’s from afar.”

“And someday,” Mehul said with a small smile, “when you tell your story, you’ll have more than just the pain of not being wanted. You’ll also have the grace of being prayed for.”

They sat there in silence for a while.

*

Following afternoon, Suzanne joined the boys on bicycle rides after the school hours, laughing with them as they zipped down gravel paths. One such evening, Mehul spotted her returning with the boys, their ties askew, school shoes muddy. Suzanne looked carefree and radiant—until they were met by Asha’s stern voice at the villa gate.

“Suzanne! You brought them late? They have a routine, don't hinder their time schedule as they have other things to do throughout the day, their tutions etc.”

“I know, Dr.Asha. But... they needed the break,” she said guiltily, brushing a twig off the younger boy’s hair.

“And what about your session? You skipped that isn't? Your husband at to intend all by himself, when your ayurvedic treatment package includes you as well.If I was money-minded I wouldnt have bothered, but every couple that comes to our center, it's my responsibility as a doctor to provide you the best treatments so that you can have a better future!”

Suzanne murmured an apology, and Asha shook her head, teased her by calling her "Canadian mischief" and disappearing inside.

*

That evening back at the villa, Suzanne, sitting on the balcony swing with a herbal drink,

looked up as Mehul emerged from the dim hallway, a playful glint in his eyes.

He cleared his throat and began softly, with a mischievous grin:
“Woh dekhne mein kaisi seedhi‑saadi lagti,
Hai bolti ki woh toh kuch nahi samajhti…”

Suzanne blinked, cursed his perfect timing—and couldn’t help a laugh. “Really? That song?”

Mehul nodded, voice light, stepping closer:
“Andar se kitni tez hai,
Kabhi ajeeb si, kabhi haseen lagti…”

He extended his hand. “Dance?”

Her surprise melted. She took his hand and joined him in a clumsy, sweet waltz under the warm light.

Kabhi ajeeb si kabhi haseen lagti

Kabhi kisi kitaab ka hai scene lagti

Philosophy ka craze hai

Ho kehti hai yeh ik phase hai

Laughter and the song filled the air, a balm to their aching hearts.

*

The next day during yoga, Mehul hummed the same tune under his breath, as he sang “Woh dekhne mein kaisi seedhi saadi lagti, Hai bolti ki woh toh kuch nahi samajhti" during a downward dog, Sree gave a eye roll and she muttered, “If only singing helped with fertility...”

Suzanne laughed under her breathe

*

That evening, the group gathered around the carrom board, flicking coins, The boys argued over rules, Suzanne flicked coins like a pro, and the boys cheered for her and Mehul was surprisingly terrible at it, which made everyone laugh more.

Mehul teased softly, “Andar se kitni tezz hai.” he began, pausing as Asha raised an eyebrow. Suzanne laughed, the melody weaving itself into their shared evening.

*

The last day of the package, in the treatment hall, Suzanne found Asha kneeling beside a patient, gently bandaging a swollen ankle. The sight struck Suzanne silent—her heart taut with pride. Her mother, in her element.

Tears prickled her eyes, and she stepped away so Asha wouldn’t notice—this time, they were tears of love.

Mehul who was passing by noticed that Suzanne was admiring her mom and he was singing to himself

Kabhi ajeeb si kabhi haseen lagti

Kabhi kisi kitaab ka hai scene lagti

Philosophy ka craze hai

Ho kehti hai yeh ik phase hai

Ho kehti hai yeh ik phase hai

*

That evening, outside the villa, the boys clamored for a photo. Mehul grabbed his phone. “Group photo!” he called.

Suzanne lined up with the kids and their father. Then, turning to Asha, Mehul said softly, “Doctor Asha… can you come too? Together with your Canadian daughter‑in‑law?”

Asha hesitated. “Mehul…”

“For keepsakes,” Suzanne urged, arms reaching. “Just one picture. For me to take home.”

Asha paused, but then smiled gently. She walked over. Suzanne lightly nudged her arm around her shoulder. Mehul adjusted his angle, capturing the moment. As the shutter blinked, he whispered softly,
“Ladki ek full-on chase hai…”

Click.

*

The next morning as it was time for them to bid farewell, Suzanne stood beside Mehul’s jeep, her suitcase which was provided by Asha with the clothes she had given them for the stay already secured at the back. The boys were in their school uniforms with half-zipped bags, stood barefoot on the porch, waving enthusiastically.

“You’ll come back, right Di?” the younger one called out, his face scrunched as though holding back tears.

Suzanne ruffled his hair fondly. “Only if you get my cycle's airpressure fixed,” she teased, making him giggle.

Asha stepped out, wiping her hands on her pallu, holding a small silver box filled with motichoor laddoos.

“For the road,” she smiled. “Shekhar wanted to pack khakhras but I know sweets are your weakness.”

She then looked at Suzanne, her tone shifting from teasing to gentle hope. “Next time, when you come back, hopefully you’ll be here for pre-natal yoga and a proper ayurvedic massage plan for pregnancy. It’ll be good for you and for the little one.”

Suzanne’s heart stuttered.

She looked from Asha’s serene, smiling face then to Mehul’s startled yet unreadable expression… then back at the woman who stood just inches away from the truth of who she was.

Swallowing hard, Suzanne steadied her voice. “If it’s God’s will… I’ll surely visit again. Thank you for the offer.”

Asha nodded, gently placing the box of laddoos in Suzanne’s hands. “Always trust Him. And trust your body—it knows more than we give it credit for.”

As the boys were leaving on their cycles towards their school shouting their goodbyes and waving wildly, Suzanne turned back and took one step toward Asha.

And then… she hugged her.

It wasn’t a polite gesture of thanks. It was deep, intentional. Suzanne wrapped her arms tightly around her, burying her face in Asha’s shoulder for a brief moment.

Asha smiled softly, a little surprised. “Arrey, itna emotional kyun ho rahi ho? You’ll be back before we know it.”

But Suzanne couldn’t say it aloud that this was likely her first and last embrace from the woman who gave her life. She had no right to confess, and yet… every fiber of her being held onto that hug like a lifeline.

Mehul opened the jeep’s door, watching in silence.

As Suzanne climbed in, she gave Asha one last glance.

And then the jeep drove off, leaving behind dust and footprints and a hug that carried the weight of a lifetime.

In the passenger seat, Suzanne whispered just loud enough for Mehul to hear, “That hug… that’s what I came for. And it’s enough.”

Mehul, eyes still on the road, simply nodded.

Ho kehti hai yeh ek phase hai

Because he knew, it was more than enough.

So sweet of mehul to let her use the bed as he treats the guests well.asha telling susanne that mangalsuthra and salwar kameez look as if they are meant for her was sweet.Sussanne laughing seeing mehul's postures was cute.Sweta in Sreelekha's character surprised me.I am surprised that Susanne asked her about Asha.sree explaining what made asha abandoned her was emotional. Sree saying that asha didn't want to see Susanne not because she didn't love her but because she didn't want to cause a longing which either of them can't resolve and didn't want to ruin the peace she had with her adoptive parents was emotional. Susanne crying and saying that asha didn't want her but she prays for her and that's the love she can shower on her was emotional. Reyansh saying that this kind of love doesn't demand anything in return..maybe this love is hardest and purest was emotional.

Asha is really sincere.thats why she cares about her patients attending the medical sessions without fail.asha Susanne conversation was nice.Mehul's song was hilarious. Dance was cool.mehul watching Susanne admiring asha was lovely.even though asha doesn't know that Susanne is her daughter she knows that Susanne likes to eat.that's sweet.Asha's son told Susanne to visit them.I wonder whether fate will make them meet again.Susanne knows that this can be their last hug.so the hug was special for her.very emotional. Susanne telling mehul that for this hug only she longed for and that's enough for her was touching.waiting for her to meet her father.perfect pics.

Chapter 5

The late afternoon sun cast a golden, sleepy glow as Mehul’s jeep wound its way into Uttan, a coastal hamlet just beyond the hum of Mumbai. The journey from Pune had been long and weary—almost five hours of winding highways, unpredictable monsoon rain, and brief tea halts. Suzanne had spent most of it gazing out the window in silence, occasionally dozing off against the cool glass.

Now, as they turned into a quiet lane lined with mango trees and red-tiled houses, the jeep slowed before a modest two-storey building. A weathered signboard read:

“Jerome & The Troubadours – Live Band for All Occasions.”

Near the entrance, tucked beneath a blooming frangipani tree, stood a small grotto featuring statues of Jesus, Mother Mary, and St. Joseph. Fresh marigold garlands adorned the figures, and a single candle flickered steadily below. It gave the place a sense of peace—humble, spiritual, lived-in.

As Suzanne stepped out of the jeep, the salty breeze hit her face. She took a long breath and stared at the grotto for a moment longer, letting the moment settle in her bones as she did the sign of the cross and prayed for a brief moment.

Inside the studio, the space was warm with chatter and the soft sounds of instruments being packed away. A middle-aged man—slim, sharp-featured, with a warm, grounded presence—was in discussion with a client, flipping through a simple notebook and gesturing lightly, talking about band availability.

That was him.

Jerome Fernandes.

Suzanne’s steps faltered slightly.

As her eyes rested upon him knowing that he was her father looking at the name plate on the desk, she felt overwhelmed seeing her father, she took some moments just admiring her father effortlessly giving his time and commitment for the event planned.Just stillness. The kind that comes when something long imagined is suddenly real.

Jerome noticed the new visitors waiting patiently and excused himself from the client. He approached with an easy, welcoming smile.

“Yes? Can I help you?” he asked.

Mehul stepped forward, calm and confident. “Good evening, sir. I’m Mehul Shinde, and this is my wife—Suzanne.”

Suzanne nodded, her smile polite but reserved.

“We got court-married last month,” Mehul continued smoothly. “We’ve been meaning to have a proper celebration soon, but something simple and personal. She’s East Indian by birth, but... she lost her parents years ago in an accident. So she doesn’t really know much about her community’s customs.”

Jerome’s expression softened instantly.

“I wanted to make the day special for her,” Mehul added. “A friend of ours spoke very highly of your band—that you bring a real vibe to weddings with live East Indian music. So we thought, why not reach out directly?”

Jerome nodded, visibly moved. “That’s really thoughtful,Mehul. Not many grooms go out of their way like that.”

He turned toward Suzanne, his tone gentle. “And you’re East Indian, you said?”

“Yes,” Suzanne said softly. “But I grew up abroad. I’m originally from a village in Pune.”

Jerome tilted his head, surprised. “I’m from Malewadi. That’s in Pune.”

Suzanne smiled faintly. “Then I suppose we’re from the same land.”

Jerome chuckled. “Then we’re practically neighbors! You know, in our village, anyone from nearby is automatically family. My mother always said, same soil, same heart.”

“I like that,” Suzanne said softly.

She nodded. “I wish I remembered more of it.”

He waved his hand kindly. “No matter. Sometimes memory isn’t needed—your roots remember for you.”

Jerome settled three cups of steaming chai on a low wooden table, his band’s rehearsal having just ended. He looked warmly at Mehul and Suzanne.

“You’re here at the perfect time—not only am I free this week, but my daughter’s wedding is day after tomorrow,” he said, eyes bright with pride. “You must come!”

Suzanne’s breath caught. “Really?”

“Of course! It’ll give you a glimpse of the East Indian life you lost,” Jerome continued.

Mehul glanced at Suzanne, both intrigued and moved.

Suzanne smiled and said “Thank you. I’d be honored.”

Jerome rested a fatherly hand on her forehead. “Then it’s settled. You’ll be family for a few days—and part of the celebration.”

I am surprised to see hiten as Jerome.he is very happy that Susanne belongs to pune like him.But he doesn't know that they are connected.He says that anyone who is from nearby becomes a family member.he doesn't know that she is already his family member...his own blood.I am surprised to know that he is an East Indian musician. He has invited them for his daughter's wedding.I am eager to see his daughter and excited for the wedding celebration.

Susanne pretended to be mehul's wife in front of both his mother and father.indirectly they blessed them.So already this soon to couple got blessings from the parents. Perfect pics.

Chapter 6

The following Morning, Jerome invites Suzanne and Mehul to his residence and he introduces them to his wife Clarissa

and his daughter Jennifer and his younger son Jason.While meeting her father's new fond family, she feels a sense of belonging on how warm her dad's family is just like her mom's.

After exchanging hellos and names.Clarissa takes her to her bedroom where the women of the household had helped her drape it the traditional way.Suzanne adjusted the soft lugra around her shoulders—a deep green silk bordered in gold, loaned by Clarissa herself. She had never worn anything like it before.

Clarissa teases her playfully as they pinned her pallu in place.

“You look like you were born for it,” Clarissa had said with a proud smile.

Now, standing beside Clarissa and the bride’s aunt, Suzanne held a brass tray laden with sweets and betel leaves, her bangles jingling softly as they walked through the sunlit lanes of Uttan. The Avtan ceremony had begun.

With every home they visited, neighbors emerged to greet them, showering the invite bearers with blessings and cheerful laughter. The aunt, her voice rich with years of tradition, led the group in East Indian song verses that echoed through the narrow bylanes.

Clarissa introduced Suzanne as “Mehul’s wife, visiting from Pune, helping us with the wedding,” and Suzanne bowed her head respectfully at each doorway. Some women complimented her look. Others asked her where she was from.

“Uttan must feel like home,” one elder woman remarked kindly.

If only you knew, Suzanne thought, smiling softly.

Walking beside Clarissa,her stepmother dressed in the lugra of the community she’d been searching for all her life, Suzanne felt both a quiet ache and an unexpected peace.

*

It was Dalan day—another significant East Indian wedding tradition which Suzanne had never heard of before as she arrived with Mehul in a easy to drape 5 min traditional lugra.

Clarissa made Mehul to accompany Jerome while she made Suzanne to accompany the ladies who were dressed in vibrant lugras, gathered large steel utensils filled with rice, wheat, chana dal, and urad dal.

On top, they placed fresh marigolds and sprigs of tulsi, symbolizing purity and blessings. Suzanne, once again dressed traditionally, joined them as they prepared to take the grains to the local flour mill for grinding.

Clarissa, bustling around with youthful energy, handed Suzanne a smaller vessel to carry. “You’ll carry this one, okay? It’s blessed. We’ll use the rice flour for papris and the wheat for wadas and fugyas. All homemade.”

As they walked through the village, laughter and teasing followed. Some women hummed old east indian songs, and others explained each custom to Suzanne, who listened with the awe of someone soaking up the past she had always longed for.

By the time they reached the mill, a small queue had already formed. As the grains were poured out, the sound of grinding began, rhythmic and steady, like the heartbeat of tradition passed down generations.

Suzanne stole a glance at Clarissa then down at the bowl in her hands.

Clarissa then put the garland of marigold of flowers on the mill and then placed her turmeric smeared hands as a imprint on the mill.

Following that she started to apply the leftover turmeric paste on other married woman as a fun tradition of starting the wedding preps.

*

Back at the bridal house, Mehul helped Jerome with the Mandav, a ceremonial tent which began taking shape.

The first bamboo post was planted into the earth with quiet reverence, adorned with garlands of marigolds and strings of mango leaves. It was more than just a structure—it marked the heart of the home where sacred pre-wedding rituals would unfold in the coming days.

Villagers gathered with anticipation, lending hands and stories as they tied cloth canopies and arranged mats beneath the tent. The wedding was no longer a distant event.

*

The following day the woman of the village gather in and around the Mandav where the house own grotto is of Mother Mary (or their house altar) and they pray to her so that she can interceed and make her son Lord Jesus bless their wedding preparations .

and then they start to prepare huge vessels of vadas, fugyas and papris out of the flours that they brought from the flower mill.Suzanne helps the village woman and her step mom in preparing the items.

*

The third day marked Hirvya Bangrya, a significant East Indian wedding ritual symbolizing a bride’s transition into married life. As per custom, the bride’s maternal uncle was to be the first to place the light green glass bangles on her wrists, followed by other married women joining in. Since everyone believed Suzanne and Mehul were newlyweds, she too was asked to participate.

Seated beside the bangle seller, Suzanne felt a quiet unease—a guilt tugging at her conscience. This was a rite reserved for a married woman, and in truth, she wasn’t one—not to Mehul. As the soft chime of bangles echoed around her, she looked toward Mehul with hesitant eyes.

Sensing her turmoil, Mehul gently placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and then surprised everyone by turning to the bangle vendor.

“Let me do the honours,” he said, “She’s my wife, after all.”

The moment stood still.

Everyone watched in silent awe as he carefully slid the green bangles onto her wrist. The glass shimmered in the sunlight, but it was the emotion that shimmered brighter. Suzanne’s breath caught. Mehul, too, felt a strange thrum beneath the gesture.

They had agreed to act like a couple.

But in that moment—something shifted. Something that couldn’t be un-worn like bangles after a ceremony.

*

The fourth day began with a sacred and emotional milestone in the East Indian wedding festivities—the trip to the bride’s godparents’ home, a tradition known for its warmth and ceremonial intimacy.

That morning, Suzanne and Mehul joined the family for a special church mass. After the service, the bride’s godparents warmly welcomed the bride into their home, a symbolic gesture of love and blessing. Suzanne watched with gentle awe as the bride was pampered with a lavish East Indian-style breakfast with the traditional fugiyas which was all handmade with the help of the neighbours, food and sweet treats prepared by the godparents,

Suzanne sat quietly beside Mehul, observing the deep-rooted rituals. She was dressed in a soft cotton easy to drape lugra, her green bangles glinting in the sunlight that streamed through the large windows of the ancestral home. She felt like an honorary member of this close-knit world—both part of it and on the outside.

Later that evening, the bride’s entire family, Suzanne and Mehul included, returned to the godparents’ house—this time in a joyful procession. A brass band led the way, their beats echoing through the narrow village lanes, drawing curious onlookers and children who skipped beside them.

As they arrived, laughter and cheers filled the air. The godparents stepped out, placing garlands around the bride and blessing her. Suzanne couldn’t help but smile—it was all so deeply rooted, so sincere. And somewhere inside her, that growing ache to belong started to quiet… just a little.

*

On the fifth day of the East Indian wedding festivities, Suzanne had the unique opportunity to witness and take part in a beautiful tradition—the honoring of the bride’s mother. Clarissa, the bride’s mother , was the center of this heartfelt ritual. As per custom, she was taken to her maika (maternal home), where she was honored with sugar and dates—a gesture symbolizing sweetness and blessings as she prepared to give her daughter away in marriage.

Suzanne, draped once again in her vibrant easy to drape lugra, walked alongside Clarissa in the colorful procession through the village. The satir—a traditional East Indian umbrella—was held over Clarissa as she was led under its ceremonial shade, accompanied by a lively brass band that played joyful tunes. Villagers stepped out of their homes to join or watch the celebration, clapping along to the beat, and showering the bride’s mother with flower petals and good wishes.

Clarissa, regal yet emotional, greeted neighbors and family with folded hands. Suzanne walked beside her, quietly observing this momentous celebration. The deeper she got into these rituals, the more she felt connected.

*

The following day marked Moya, a cherished East Indian pre-wedding tradition held beneath the mandav (wedding canopy).

In this intimate grooming ceremony, the bride’s maternal uncle lovingly clipped her nails symbolizing her final moments as a maiden before marriage. Jennifer, the bride, sat serenely, dressed in a traditional lugra, as her uncle performed the ritual before a small gathering of women singing folk songs.

Suzanne, seated nearby with Mehul rested her head on Mehul's shoulders, quietly absorbed the emotions in the air. Though only as a guest, the weight of the tradition, and her own hidden identity, was growing deeper within her.

*

The final pre-wedding ritual was the Umbracha Pani the ceremonial fetching of water from the village well. In the evening, the bride’s relatives and bridesmaids where Suzanne being one of them accompanied them,

dressed in colorful lugras while Suzanne sticked to the easy to qear 5 min one since she was staying at a hotel which is closeby to her father's residence, formed a cheerful procession.

Traditional East Indian brass band music echoed through the narrow lanes as they carried gleaming brass pots on their heads, dancing rhythmically with joy.

The villagers respectfully paused near every cross shrine along the path, bowing their heads in prayer. The water was taken to bathe the bride a blessing before her sacred union and the ladies danced inside the Mandav along with the men.

*

On the Waarad, the wedding day, the celebration began with Jennifer, the bride, taking blessings from her parents in front of a small altar at home adorned with images of Mother Mary and Jesus which was adorned with garlands.

In a moment of warmth and spontaneity, she also took blessings from Suzanne and Mehul, unaware of their deeper connection to the family. As the brass band led the procession from the mandav to the church, the community followed with joy.

At the parish church, after the mass Jennifer and her groom exchanged vows and rings, and the groom tied the mangalsutra around her neck

—a touching moment blending sacred tradition with personal love. A kiss sealed their union before the priest guided them to sign the marriage register, witnessed by a family member from each side, marking the sacred and civil acknowledgment of their lifelong commitment.

*

At the wedding reception, the air was festive with laughter, music, and dancing.

As a special gesture for the bride and groom, Suzanne and Mehul performed together, surprising everyone with their lighthearted yet heartfelt performance that brought the crowd to its feet.

Urat hoti Dhad Dhad Lali Galavar Aali

My heart is beating My cheeks are blushing

Ana Angat Bharla Vaara he Preetichi Badha Jhali

And the body was getting crazy when I was poisoned with the disease of love

Ara Urat hoti Dhad Dhad Lali Galavar Aali

My heart is beating, my cheeks blushing

Ana Angat Bharla Vaara he Preetichi Badha Jhali

And the body was getting crazy when I was poisoned with the disease love

Aata Adhir Jhaloya. bagh Badhir Jhaloya

I've lost my senses, see I've become deaf

Ana Tujhyachsathi banun Majnu Maghe Aaloya.

And I've come here for you being a Majnu

Ana Udtoya Bungat Paltoya Chingat Rangat Aaloya

Running like bewildered with excitement!

Jhalya Jhing Jhing Jhing Jhing Jhing Jhing Jhingat

Jhing Jhing Jhing Jhing Jhing Jhing Jhingat

Jhing jhing jhing jhing jhing jhing jhingat Jhing Jhing Jhing Jhing jhing jhing

Jhalya Jhing Jhing Jhing Jhing Jhing Jhing Jhingat

*

While dancing on a fast paced number Suzanne and Mehul suddenly their eyes were locked upon each other and they both imagined dancing on a slow paced song

*

Alguz waja nabhaat,

bhalatacha zalay aaja

The flute echoes in the skies,

something wonderful

has happened today.

Algad ali manaat

pahilach tarani hi laaja

The first blush of youth

has tiptoed gently in my heart

Aga zananala kalaja mandi

Ana haatha mandi haath ala ji

A stringed quartet played in my heart
as your hands found mine

Sairat zala ji
Wildness spread, the heart has become wild.

Sairat zala ji
Wildness spread, the heart has become wild.

Sairat zala ji
Wildness spread, the heart has become wild.

With the loud music echoing it broke their dream sequence that they imagined with each other being away from the crowd and the noise in their own bubble where they were expressing their unsaid desires.

*

Later in the evening, the groom’s family presented the “Saara Chi Peti”—the traditional East Indian wedding trousseau—a large suitcase filled with gifts for the bride. It included clothes, jewelry, cosmetics, and household items, symbolizing the family’s love and support as the bride entered her new home.

*

The next morning, the celebrations continued with a vibrant village procession. The newlyweds, Jennifer and her husband, were led around the village under the satir (traditional East Indian umbrella), accompanied by the brass band playing festive East Indian tunes. This marked their formal introduction as a married couple to the community.

*

Later that day, Jennifer’s family, along with Mehul and Suzanne, visited the groom’s home. As part of tradition, they were warmly welcomed with refreshments.

Jennifer, who is dressed in the red saaranchi saree gifted in the Saara Chi Peti, glowed with grace and joy.

As the joyful visit to the groom’s home began to wind down, Mehul turned to Jerome with a warm smile.

“Jerome Sir, if you don’t mind... could I take a few solo photos of you? And maybe one or two with all of us together? Just for keepsake. This whole experience has been... unforgettable.”

Jerome chuckled, clearly touched. “Of course, son! Take as many as you want. These moments are meant to be captured.”

He gets up from his chair and clicks pictures for Jerome.

Suzanne stood nearby, her heart full.

Epilogue

As Mehul’s jeep rolled along the coastal road under a blanket of stars, Suzanne suddenly said, “Stop here, please.”

He pulled over near the beach, the waves whispering softly against the shore.

Without hesitation, Suzanne bolted toward the water’s edge, her footsteps quick and uneven on the sand. The ocean breeze caught her hair as she let herself collapse to her knees, tears flowing freely.

She cried out to the vast, endless sea—the sorrow of never truly being able to see her parents again, to be part of the family she had glimpsed but could never join.

Mehul stayed back, giving her the space she needed, the silence between them filled only by the rhythmic lull of the waves.

*

As the night faded into a soft morning glow, Suzanne sat beside him on the jeep’s hood, staring quietly at the sunrise painting the sky in hues of gold and pink.

She exhaled slowly, breaking the silence. “I guess this is it—the facade of being a married woman ends here. But I take with me the memories... of seeing my parents happy, content. That’s my real gift before I leave for Canada".

Abhi na jao chhod kar

Ke dil abhi bhara nahi

…

Mehul was surprised by her thinking about leaving for Canada , "You have booked your tickets back? And when is your flight scheduled?

Abhi na jao chhod kar

Ke dil abhi bhara nahi

"Yes I had booked it for tomorrow the day the Umbracha pani ritual happenned but why are you asking? Your job as a tour guide for the "said" (she does the action of quote , unquote) documentary had already ended the day I had told you about why I decided to travel to India."

Abhi Abhi to aai ho Abhi Abhi toh..

"No I was just inquiring so that I can make myself free to drop you and where the case of tour guide lies, didn't I make a promise with you that I would help you find your birth parents come what may? and when the work is done suddenly your forgot that its my duty to see you off as well?"

Abhi abhi to Aai ho

Bahar banake chhaai ho

"Ahh not like that, it's just that I thought maybe because I used up too many of your days when you could have actually used those days to better your skills in being a leader".Suzanne says trying to realize that what he took of, of what she meant to say.

Hawa zara mahak to le

Nazar zara bahak to le

Ye shaam dhal to le zara…

"But after all this, I wouldnt leave the opportunity of seeing you off myself". Mehul looked over, his voice gentle but curious and adds in. “During all this — the pretending — did you feel anything? Anything real?”

Suzanne paused, then shrugged. “Wasn’t it all supposed to be fake? but tell me even if so happens that one of us did actually caught feelings, does that even count?”

Mehul says , "Doesn't have to be".

Ye shaam dhal to le zara

Ye dil sambhal to le zara

She stares at mangalsutra and bangles which she had removed while driving off from the wedding venue.

"Now atleast these symbols of being married which carries my parents blesssings will be worn by me when I actually get married !"

"Yes, hopefully you will marry someone soon".

"Yes and I hope one day I get to see you as successful leader".

He smiled softly, but before they could dwell any longer.

Suzanne glanced at her watch. “I have a flight to catch soon. We should head to the airport.”

Mehul nodded. “I just need to run a few errands first, then I’ll escort you.”

Together, they watched the sun climb higher, the day beginning as a quiet promise of what lies ahead of them.

*

At the airport, Suzanne paused just before stepping through the entrance. Mehul stood nearby, waiting silently. She hesitated, a swirl of feelings tightening her throat.

He smiled gently and bid her farewell. Then, with a small smile, Suzanne handed him a book — a thoughtful gift about Indian politics, something she hoped would help his career.

Abhi to kuchh kaha nahi

Abhi to kuchh suna nahi

Abhi na jao chhodakar

Ke dil abhi bhara nahi

Mehul, in turn, reached into his bag and pulled out a carefully wrapped photo frame. Inside, a beautiful merge of two pictures: one of Suzanne’s mother and one of her father, blended seamlessly as if it were a real family portrait.

Suzanne’s eyes welled up. Overwhelmed, she hugged him tightly. “Thank you… this is the best gift ever. I will miss you.”

Sitare jhilamilaa uthe

Sitare jhilamilaa uthe

Charag jagamagaa uthe

Bas ab na mujhko tok na…

She broke the hug, cheeks flushing. “I will miss your sensible talks, your bewajah ki attitude, and everything in between.”

Bas ab na mujhko tok na

Na badhake raah rok na

Mehul chuckled warmly. “Likewise—your bak bak, your silliness, and everything in between.”

Agar mai ruk gai abhi

toh Jaa na paaungi kabhi

Yahi kahoge tum sadaa

Ke dil abhi nahi bhara

Jo khatm ho kisi jagah

Ye aisaa sil silaa nahi

As she turned to walk away, her voice barely a whisper, she murmured to herself:

“Na jaane kyun? Par nahi bol paayi. Bas nahi bol paayi. Mujhe usse jitna pyaar tha, usse kahin zyada usse apne career se tha. Isiliye usne Sarika se rishta todwaya. Takleef hui, lekin iss baat ki khushi bhi thi, kyunki main apne saath yaadon ka ek bada sa suitcase le jaa rahi thi — jinhe main kabhi bhi nahi bhool paungi. Woh din, woh raatein, woh hansi, woh masti, woh dosti... Mehul.”

Abhi nahi abhi nahi

Mehul watched her go, his heart heavy.

Nahi nahi nahi nahi

Quietly to himself, he admitted:

Abhi na jao chhodakar

Ke dil abhi bhara nahi

“Na jaane kyun, bas nahi keh paaya… ki pehli baar mujhe apne kaam se zyada kisi rishte ko ahmiyat dena chahta tha. Abh bas yaadein hai ek firang ki.”

*

AFTER 2 YEARS

Mehul, now a rising star in the political arena, had just delivered a powerful speech with his words resonating with hope and determination.The campaign rally had ended and the crowd was slowly thinning, and the party members were exchanging hearty congratulations.

As the hall emptied, Mehul scanned the space. His eyes landed on a familiar figure leaning against a pillar, looking quietly tired but radiant.

Suzanne, with her suitcase and bag by her side.

A gentle smile curved on Mehul’s lips. Without a word, he walked over to her, his steps sure and steady.

She met his gaze briefly, and in that silent moment, years of unsaid feelings flickered between them like a shared secret.

Mehul reached down, lifted her bag and suitcase effortlessly, and said simply, “Come.”

Suzanne nodded, her heart pounding, and they began to walk away together.

From across the room, Milind watched in surprise, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. "What was going on between these two?"

The truth was clear, but unspoken: over the past two years, neither Suzanne nor Mehul had known how to voice the feelings growing quietly but strongly between them. Yet they understood one another perfectly without words, without explanations. They just did.

And now, at last, they were ready to take the next step.

THE END

I am surprised to see gauri as Jerome's wife clarissa. Clarissa making Susanne wearing the traditional dress was cute.All the rituals were described well.i think years back you had told me about the green bangles custom.When Susanne felt guilty mehul placing his hand on her shoulder was sweet.the bangles scene of mehul Susanne was romantic.The last moment of the bride as the maiden...that ritual was interesting.Jennifer and her husband seeking blessings from susanne and mehul without knowing the actual relationship jennifer shares with Susanne was lovely.I wish i could see the picture of jennifer and her husband.mehul taking pics of Jerome was lovely.I am sure that he is doing that for Susanne. Grand pics.

Originally posted by: jasminerahul

I am surprised to see gauri as Jerome's wife clarissa. Clarissa making Susanne wearing the traditional dress was cute.All the rituals were described well.i think years back you had told me about the green bangles custom.When Susanne felt guilty mehul placing his hand on her shoulder was sweet.the bangles scene of mehul Susanne was romantic.The last moment of the bride as the maiden...that ritual was interesting.Jennifer and her husband seeking blessings from susanne and mehul without knowing the actual relationship jennifer shares with Susanne was lovely.I wish i could see the picture of jennifer and her husband.mehul taking pics of Jerome was lovely.I am sure that he is doing that for Susanne. Grand pics.

Suzanne and Mehul just give blessings to Jennifer only and not her husband (this is before Jennifier steps out of her house to wed in the church).