Megha's Pov
Here I am, standing across from the person I hate the most—or at least, that's what I tell myself—with a ring in my hand, ready to get engaged to him.
How did I even get here? I don't know. Everything feels like a blur.
But what's that lub-dub sound I keep hearing? Where is it coming from? Oh. It's my heart, pounding at a hundred miles an hour. But why? I don't like him. I don't.
And yet, he's silent—not even looking at me, as if I don't exist. Meanwhile, my eyes keep drifting toward him, hoping—wishing—he'll look at me. Pathetic, right?
The priest's chants echo like whispers through a fog. My hands feel cold, but my face is warm, flushed with a thousand feelings I don't want to name.
And then it hits me.
This moment—the one I'm standing in—I used to dream about it. We used to talk about it. Laugh about it under the stars, whispering ridiculous wedding themes, arguing over who'd get more emotional, who'd cry first. I used to imagine what it would feel like to wear his ring. To be his fiancée. His wife.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
This was supposed to be a day filled with stolen glances and heartbeats skipping in excitement—not confusion. Not resentment. Not silence and questions that never got answers.
If only those things hadn't happened. If only the past hadn't twisted everything. Maybe… maybe we could've started this chapter with love. With the kind of warmth we once drowned in—not with this cold, forced ritual disguised as celebration.
Arjun moves slightly, and I notice it—the stiffness in his posture, the tension in his shoulders. Not detachment. No, he's not indifferent. If anything, he's too composed, like he's holding back the storm brewing inside.
And suddenly, I wonder if he's thinking the same thing.
If he too remembers that night on my rooftop when he'd looked at me like I was his whole future. If he too regrets that things turned out like this.
The priest signals it's time.
Arjun turns toward me, and finally—finally—our eyes meet. And in that fleeting moment, I see it all. The questions. The ache. The familiarity of a love that never quite died, no matter how buried it got beneath the pain.
He takes my hand. His touch is firm, but not cold. There's a beat of hesitation, like he's remembering too.
The ring slides onto my finger, and I swear the weight of it is more than just metal. It's memories. Promises. Regret.
My turn. I lift my hand and slide his ring into place. My fingers brush his, and a jolt shoots through me.
We did it.
We're engaged.
The applause rises around us like waves crashing against two people stranded on different islands. The smiles are everywhere—beaming parents, clapping relatives, strangers capturing moments on their phones.
But none of them know.
None of them know that this moment was once a dream we shared. That we were supposed to reach it hand in hand, heart to heart—not like this. Not out of obligation.
And as I stand beside him, close enough to touch but galaxies away, a part of me still whispers:
If only.
♡
Arjun's POV
She's standing right across from me, looking like something straight out of a dream. And damn it, that's the problem. Because this—this was our dream once.
And now it's happening, but everything's wrong.
I don't let myself look at her too long. Not because I don't want to—but because if I do, I know I'll falter. I'll crumble. I'll reach for her hand like I used to, hold it like she's still mine. But she's not. Not anymore.
I told myself I wouldn't care. That I'd do what Dadu wants, get this over with, keep it civil. But the moment I saw her walk in, dressed like that, eyes flickering around the room trying to find answers, something shifted.
How can someone still look so familiar after all this time?
My fingers twitch when the priest signals it's time. I hear her breath catch just before I look at her. God, she's nervous. I shouldn't notice that. I shouldn't care. But I do. Of course I do.
Our eyes meet, and I forget what I was supposed to be angry about.
There's pain in her eyes—but there's also something else. Something we used to share. And it guts me to think we've come this far only to stand like strangers under the weight of something that was once beautiful.
I slide the ring on her finger, my hand brushing hers. She doesn't pull away.
For just a second, we're not enemies. We're just two people, caught in a moment that should've been filled with love, not leftover wounds.
When she puts the ring on my finger, her touch lingers. I don't know if it's intentional. But I hold onto it. Just for that heartbeat. Because that's all I have.
♡
I sat on the edge of the bed, back against the headboard, fingers rubbing the ring like it might disappear if I kept doing it long enough.
The room was dark, except for the bedside lamp. Quiet. But my mind wasn't.
Megha.
Megha, in that damn peach lehenga. Looking like a dream I once had… and lost.
She didn't even look at me properly. Or maybe I didn't look at her. I couldn't. If I had… I would've broken.
I told myself I was over it. That I was done with her. But who was I kidding?
It all came rushing back. Everything.
The first time I saw her—how could I ever forget?
It was during orientation week. Seniors pulling dumb pranks, ragging juniors. My friends thought it would be funny to ask one of the new girls to flirt with someone random.
And that "someone random" turned out to be me.
She came stomping down the hallway, eyes blazing, no idea who I was. Looked straight at me and let out the loudest damn whistle I'd ever heard. Then she winked—winked—and said, "Hey handsome, what's your name? Or should I just write it with mine already?"
I choked on my drink. My friends laughed so hard they fell over.
And then someone whispered to her that I was a senior.
The way her face dropped—first shocked, then furious, then embarrassed… God, it was priceless. She didn't speak to me for a week after that.
But I kept showing up. Teasing her. Leaving notes. Buying her the worst coffee from the canteen just so I had an excuse to talk to her.
She eventually smiled.
And once she started, I couldn't get enough.
It wasn't some slow burn. We fell fast. Hard. Loudly. People talked about us like we were fire and gasoline—and they weren't wrong.
We fought, we laughed, we skipped classes just to lie under the sky and talk about where we'd be in five years.
I wanted her in every version of my future.
And then, one day, it all burned down.
She didn't deny it. Didn't explain. Just walked out of my life like she'd never planned to stay.
So yeah, I should hate her.
I should be happy this whole engagement thing is just a formality—some family drama to keep the elders happy. It's not real. It can't be.
But then why does my chest feel like it's caving in?
Why did I look at her tonight and think—we could've had it all?
If things had gone differently… if she hadn't done what she did… maybe we'd be here out of love.
Not obligation.
I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the wall.
Why the hell did she whistle at me that day?
Why the hell can't I stop hearing it, even now?
_______________________