Rocky’s POV

Life can never be this beautiful.
I mean… you have the love of your life, you have everything you want.

Is there anything else you could even ask for?

It’s been three years since we got married. Actual marriage. No complications. No misunderstandings. Just us — two idiots in love.

After the wedding, I asked her if she wanted to stay in India or come back to New York with me. She looked at me and said, “Home is where you are, Rocky.”

So here we are. Back in New York.

She has completed her law degree — today is her inauguration day. The day she officially receives her degree and steps into the world she worked so hard for. I’m proud doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Her father… he passed away within a year of our marriage. We went back to India for that. Since then, our visits have become more frequent — every couple of months or so. There’s still a pull there, a part of her roots she can’t let go of.

But right now, I don’t want to talk about all that.

Right now, I just feel happy.

No — more than happy. I feel complete.

Because the most beautiful woman in the world is asleep in my arms.
Peaceful. Safe.

With me.

And every time I look at her, I wonder how I got so lucky.

I gently brush a strand of hair from her face. She stirs softly, murmuring something about how I wore her out last night.

God, she was wild.
Begging me for more and more and more, like I was the only thing keeping her from losing her mind.

My wild baby doll.

And now? Now she’s all soft and warm and mine.

I lean down and whisper, “Shivi baby, wake up, baccha. Otherwise, we’ll be late.”

She groans, snuggling deeper into me. “Sone do na, I’m tired…”
(Let me sleep)

I chuckle, my fingers tracing her arm. “Babydoll, today is your inauguration ceremony. We can’t miss it, baccha. After coming from there, you can sleep all you want.”

She looks up, half-smiling, half pouting, eyes still heavy with sleep. “You won’t let me, I know.”

I grin, brushing her cheek. “I will, I promise.”

She hums, clearly not convinced, and buries her face into my chest. “You say that now... but the moment we’re back home, you’ll look at me with those eyes and I’ll forget sleep exists.”

I laugh, the sound low and warm in the quiet of our room. “Is it my fault you’re weak for me?”

She lifts her head just a little, eyes half-open, a smirk playing on her lips. “You’re not that irresistible, mister.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, leaning closer until my lips brush against her ear. “Should I remind you how you were screaming my name last night?”

She gasps and hits my chest playfully, blushing. “Shut up, Rocky!”

I grin, catching her wrist and placing a kiss on her knuckles. “Nope. Not until you get up. Come on, superstar. The stage is waiting.”

She groans dramatically. “Fineee. But only because I don’t want to walk up there with messy hair and half-asleep eyes.”

“You’d still be the prettiest person in the room,” I mumble as I sit up, pulling her with me.

She rests her head on my shoulder again, her fingers gently brushing against my chest as she whispers, “You always know exactly what to say.”

I turn to her, cupping her face softly, my thumb tracing the edge of her jaw. “That’s because I mean every word, babydoll. Every damn one.”

Her eyes meet mine—sleepy, tender, and sparkling with that familiar warmth that still makes my heart skip a beat. I lean in, brushing my lips against hers, slow and soft, as if time itself had paused just for this moment.

She melts into the kiss, her arms wrapping around my neck, pulling me closer. I tighten my grip around her waist, her heartbeat syncing with mine as we linger in that quiet intimacy. There’s no rush. No world outside this moment.

Just her. Just us.

“I love you, Mr. Singhania,” she murmurs, her voice cracking just a little with the weight of what she feels. “I love you so freaking much.”

And God… if my heart could speak, it would’ve screamed right then.

I press my forehead against hers, eyes closed, trying to steady the storm she’s just stirred inside me. “Say it again,” I whisper, my voice barely holding steady.

She smiles, a teasing glint now flickering in her sleepy eyes. “I love you, Mr. Singhania. I love you like crazy. Happy now?”

I chuckle, overwhelmed, and kiss her again—this time with more urgency, more hunger, like I need to feel every bit of that love she just poured into words.

“I’ll never get tired of hearing that,” I mumble against her lips.

She grins. “Good. Because I’m never going to stop saying it.”

And in that exact moment, with her in my arms, her scent still clinging to my skin, and her love echoing in my ears—I know.

I could live a hundred lifetimes, but nothing will ever top this one…
Because I get to wake up every single day as the man she loves.

I grin, slowly sitting up in bed as she watches me with narrowed, sleepy eyes—already suspicious of my next move. Without warning, I yank the blanket off her.

She gasps, her eyes going wide. “Rocky! What the hell?! I’m naked!”

I smirk, completely unfazed. “So am I.”

Before she can dive for the blanket again, I scoop her up in my arms. She lets out a tiny squeal, clinging to me instinctively. “Put me down, idiot!”

“Nope,” I say casually, carrying her toward the washroom like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You still get shy like it’s our first time.”

She groans and quickly buries her face in my neck, her cheeks burning. “Shut up, you shameless cockroach.”

I laugh, heart full at how adorable she is even when she’s grumpy. “I’m serious! You’d think after all these years and a thousand nights, you’d be used to seeing me naked.”

“I am used to it,” she mutters, still hiding, “but not when you ambush me like a psycho and carry me around like some horny Tarzan.”

I chuckle as we step into the washroom. “Horny Tarzan? I kinda like that.”

She finally lifts her head and glares at me, lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re mine,” I say, lowering her gently to the bathroom floor and cupping her face. “Now hurry up, superstar. We’ve got a world to impress.”

She rolls her eyes, but the soft smile she gives me says everything.

And yeah, she still blushes like it’s the first time.

And I still fall harder every damn day.

We stood in front of the sink, side by side, brushing our teeth like two completely normal, responsible adults.

Well… trying to.

Because every few seconds, her shoulder would brush mine… or my elbow would ‘accidentally’ nudge her waist… and she’d glare at me through the mirror with foam around her mouth like an angry, adorable dragon.

“Stop touching me,” she mumbled, cheeks puffed up with toothpaste.

“I’m not touching you,” I said innocently, brushing extra slow just to tease her. “It’s the ghost of my desire.”

She elbowed me hard.

Worth it.

After brushing, we stepped into the shower, both of us pretending to act cool. Like this wasn’t a daily battlefield between self-control and temptation.

The warm water hit us, and we stood under the stream, backs almost touching, both trying so hard to behave.

So hard.

But then her wet hair brushed my back… and my hand accidentally skimmed her waist while reaching for the soap.

She froze.

I froze.

Then she turned slowly, eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t do anything!” I defended, hands in the air like I was innocent.

She squinted. “You touched me.”

“Gravity touched you.”

“Rocky.”

“What?”

She stepped closer, chest brushing mine.

And just like that, game over.

My hands found her waist before my brain could stop them, and her arms wrapped around my neck as she whispered, “We suck at keeping our hands to ourselves.”

“Terribly,” I muttered, pressing my forehead to hers.

The water streamed down our bodies, heat pooling between us that had nothing to do with the shower.

“I blame you,” she whispered, lips brushing mine.

“I’ll take the blame. Happily.”

And then I kissed her again—slow, wet, breathless.

We were supposed to be getting ready.

But once again… we got completely, hopelessly distracted.

And honestly?

Wouldn’t have it any other way.

By the time we finally managed to break the kiss and remember we actually had somewhere to be, we were both breathless, grinning like idiots under the spray of the shower.

“Okay—no more distractions,” she said, poking a finger against my chest.

I held up both hands in surrender, smirking. “You’re the one who started it.”

“Oh please,” she huffed. “You exist. That’s the real problem.”

We somehow got through the rest of the shower with a truce in place—barely keeping our hands to ourselves, exchanging one too many stolen glances and cheeky smirks. A few playful splashes. One last sneaky kiss.

And then finally, wrapped in fluffy bathrobes, hair damp and skin warm, we stepped out of the washroom like two people who definitely needed a second shower.

Shivangi padded over to the wardrobe, towel-drying her hair, eyes scanning through her options. “I don’t know what to wear,” she murmured, frowning a little. “It’s my inauguration ceremony, so it has to be classy but comfy but also a little—”

“Sexy,” I filled in, already standing behind her, chin resting on her shoulder.

She gave me a side-eye. “I was going to say elegant, you chimp.”

I grinned. “Same thing, baby.”

She shook her head, biting back a smile as she pulled out a beautiful cream-colored saree with a subtle gold border. “Hmm… this?”

I stared at it for a second, then nodded quickly. “Perfect.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t even look properly.”

“I don’t need to. You’ll look like a goddess in anything.”

She rolled her eyes, grabbing matching bangles and jewelry. I followed her from wardrobe to dresser like a lovesick puppy, still in my robe, arms folded, silently watching.

She turned to look at me. “What?”

I blinked. “I wanna twin with you.”

She laughed. “You want to twin with a saree?”

“No,” I scoffed. “With the colors! Cream and gold. I’ll find something, just tell me if I match.”

She placed her hands on her hips, amused. “Okay, Mr. Puppy. Go find your cream kurta.”

“On it!” I said, rushing to my side of the wardrobe like it was a mission from heaven.

She just shook her head again, muttering, “Hopeless man.”

But I saw the little smile playing on her lips.

And I knew… if she let me follow her around forever like this, I’d do it with no complaints.

I came back triumphantly holding a cream kurta with golden embroidery on the collar and sleeves. “Ta-da! Twinning level: unlocked.”

Shivangi turned from the mirror and looked me up and down with an approving nod. “Not bad, Mr. Singhania. You might just be worthy of standing next to me today.”

“Oh? Might be?” I smirked, stepping closer. “Excuse you, ma’am. I’m the one making this couple look good.”

She snorted. “Sure. Now get dressed and stop distracting me.”

But of course, I didn’t listen.

Instead, I walked over and took the saree from her hands. “Let me help.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Rocky, do you even know how to pleat a saree?”

“No. But I know how to wrap you in love,” I said dramatically, and she burst out laughing.

“Shut up, cheesy Bollywood hero.”

Still, she let me help. I stood behind her, gently draping the fabric around her, pretending like I was an expert. Half the time I just whispered nonsense against her ear—“Left loop, right loop, magic twist!”—and she kept slapping my hands away, laughing.

“Rocky! It’s a saree, not origami!”

“I’m adding my personal touch.”

“Yeah, it’s called chaos.”

Eventually, she fixed what I’d messed up, and I stood there watching as she adjusted the pleats, tucked in the pallu, and transformed into literal royalty right before my eyes.

“You’re staring,” she said without turning around.

“Can you blame me?” I said, voice low, stepping closer behind her. “You’re dangerously pretty, you know that?”

She smiled, cheeks warming, but quickly turned the tables. “Now your turn. Take off your robe, Mr. Showoff.”

I raised a brow. “Why? Feeling tempted?”

“Shut up and lift your arms.”

“Yes, boss.”

She helped me into the kurta, buttoning the collar with slow fingers, and I, of course, used every second of that moment to stare at her face from inches away.

“You're taking too long,” I murmured.

“You're breathing too loud.”

“You’re too close.”

“You like it.”

I grinned. “Damn right, I do.”

As she straightened the fabric and stepped back to look at me, she gave a little nod of approval. “You clean up well, Mr. Singhania.”

I took her hand and twirled her gently, watching the golden border of her saree flare out with the movement. “And you… look like the dream I never knew I needed.”

She softened, her smile turning sweet. “Ready to go?”

I leaned in, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “Only if I get to hold your hand the whole time.”

She slid her fingers between mine.

“Deal.”

As Shivangi stepped out of our room, her hand still curled in mine, a loud—

POP!

—shattered the calm.

She gasped, freezing mid-step as colorful confetti exploded in the air. Laughter and cheers echoed from the living room.

“SURPRISE!!”
“Congratulations, Shivangi!!”

I looked at her face — wide-eyed, stunned, mouth slightly open.

There they were.

Vani, Ravi, Jenny, Adi, Mihir, Shanaya… and right in the middle, wobbling a bit as he tried to clap with his tiny palms — little Shaurya, Shanaya and Mihir’s baby boy, grinning toothlessly at Shivangi.

She blinked, like her mind was still catching up, and then:

“WHAT THE—” she gasped, covering her mouth in disbelief.

Vani ran up first, throwing her arms around her. “You really thought we wouldn’t be here for your big day?”

“Vani—” Shivangi blinked, hugging her tightly. “You’re married now, you're supposed to be on your honeymoon!”

Ravi grinned from behind Vani. “And miss watching your law queen moment live? Not a chance.”

“Besides,” Vani added with a wink, “we’ll honeymoon when we’re old and boring. Today is about you.”

Shivangi’s eyes were already glassy when Jenny waddled up next, her baby bump leading the way. “We had to come, Shivu. You didn’t really think I’d let pregnancy stop me from being here, did you?”

“Jenny…” Shivangi wrapped her arms carefully around her, mindful of the bump. “You’re seven months pregnant!”

“Exactly,” Jenny said proudly, “The baby is already a fan of courtroom drama. Kicks every time there's a law show on TV.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

Adi gave her a thumbs-up from behind the couch. “I handled all the bookings and secret planning. Be impressed.”

Mihir and Shanaya strolled over next, Mihir holding Shaurya. “Someone wanted to give his favorite maasi a hug,” Shanaya said, smiling.

“Come here, champ!” Shivangi took the baby in her arms and kissed his chubby cheek. Shaurya giggled and tried to pull her earring.

I couldn’t stop smiling, watching her move from friend to friend, hugging, laughing, tears threatening to spill but never quite falling.

She turned to me, whispering just loud enough for me to hear, “You planned this?”

I leaned in. “Maybe.”

She kissed my cheek right there, whispering, “You’re unreal.”

“Nope,” I whispered back. “Just madly in love with you.”

And as the room filled with laughter, chatter, and the sound of Shaurya babbling in baby talk, Shivangi stood at the heart of it all — glowing, loved, celebrated.

It was her day.

And damn, she deserved every second of it.

The living room slowly turned into a delightful mess — balloons everywhere, half-popped poppers stuck in corners, and our friends sprawled on couches and bean bags like they owned the place. The next thing I knew, Vani clapped her hands like a school principal.

“Alright, everyone! Breakfast time before our madam faints in the courtroom!”

We all laughed as the gang headed to the dining area, where trays of hot parathas, croissants, fruit bowls, and pancakes were laid out. The kitchen counter was a beautiful chaos in itself — Jenny barking orders like a general, Mihir flipping pancakes, and Shanaya trying to feed Shaurya while he tried to steal the butter knife.

In the middle of it all, I was happily passing plates when I suddenly heard a very familiar voice behind me.

“Oye hero!”

I turned. Slowly. Dramatically.
And there stood Adi — arms wide open, one eyebrow cocked, full-on Bollywood pose.

I gasped. Loudly. “Tuuuu!”

And then we ran toward each other.
In slow motion.
I’m not even kidding — actual slow motion. Because Jenny and Vani started singing the background music.

“🎵 Tujh mein rab dikhta hai… yaara main kya karoon… 🎵”

Adi and I collided mid-room, hugging like long-lost lovers meeting after a Karan Johar interval.

Everyone burst out laughing.

“You idiot,” I muttered, ruffling his hair. “You didn’t tell me you were coming!”

He sniffled dramatically. “How could I not be here? Tum jaise ladke har roz law queens ke pati nahi bante, yaar.”

Shivangi laughed, “Can you both stop acting like you’re married to each other?”

I winked. “We are, emotionally.”

Adi smirked, draping an arm around my shoulder. “Exactly. You’re just the legal wife.”

Shivangi shook her head, hiding her smile behind her glass of juice. “I regret everything.”

“Liar,” I said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “You love us both.”

As we all sat down to eat — paratha in one hand, coffee in the other — stories began to fly around the table.
Old college memories.
Shanaya spilling juice on her first date.
Ravi proposing to Vani on a Ferris wheel (and crying more than her).
Jenny swearing she was gonna name her baby “Tandoori” if the kicks didn’t calm down.

And in that messy, noisy, beautiful moment — full of laughter, teasing, food and love — I looked at Shivangi.

And she looked at me.

And I knew.

This is home.

Shaurya suddenly squealed, flinging a piece of pancake across the table, which landed smack on Mihir’s shirt.

“Shaurya beta!” Shanaya scolded half-heartedly, already laughing as Mihir stared at his syrup-stained chest in horror.

“Bro! This is limited edition!” Mihir wailed dramatically, holding out his arms like he was the main character in a tragic opera.

Ravi snorted into his coffee. “Relax, Shah Rukh. We’ll bury it with honors.”

Everyone cracked up again. Adi nearly choked on his juice. Jenny sighed, rubbing her belly. “My son isn’t even born yet, and I can already tell this entire group will spoil him rotten.”

“Correction,” Vani smirked. “We’re going to spoil her rotten. It’s a girl. I can feel it.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow. “You also felt that pizza had pineapple on it last night, and look how that turned out.”

Ravi and Vani both fake gagged at the memory, while Shaurya gave a victorious baby roar like he had started the pineapple war.

In the middle of all this chaos, Shivangi was quietly buttering a toast, her smile so soft, so content, that it made something swell in my chest.

I leaned over and whispered, “Overwhelmed yet, Mrs. Singhania?”

She looked at me, eyes gleaming. “More like… over-blessed.”

I kissed her temple. “That’s because you deserve it.”

She chuckled, resting her head on my shoulder for a moment, before muttering, “Also because you told them to come, didn’t you?”

I grinned. “Maybe.”

“Rockyyy!” she gasped, swatting my arm. “You planned all this?!”

“I just sent a little message,” I shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Told them today’s a big day for the biggest woman in my life. They handled the rest.”

Her eyes softened again, and this time, she leaned in and kissed my cheek. “You’re going to ruin me for other men, you know that?”

“Too late,” I smirked, feeding her a bite of toast. “You’re already mine.”

Shaurya picked that exact moment to launch another syrup-coated piece of paratha into the air like a mini missile.

And as it hit Adi’s head with a perfect splatt, we all lost it.

The laughter echoed through the apartment — loud, real, full of love.

A morning like no other.
A day none of us would forget.
And for me — the luckiest man alive — it was just the beginning of another memory with the woman I’d spend forever with.

Because when you’ve got a life this full, this chaotic, this beautiful…
Why would you want anything else?

The chaos finally simmered down after a round of hugs, a hundred selfies, and one last pancake flung across the table by Shaurya—who, by then, had been declared the "official troublemaker of the day."

All of us squeezed into two cars and headed out.

Shivangi sat beside me in the passenger seat, her hands nervously fidgeting with her saree’s pallu.

“Hey,” I whispered, one hand still on the wheel, the other sliding over hers. “You look like you're about to argue a courtroom full of criminals.”

She gave a shaky smile. “I don’t know… I just… I’ve dreamed of this moment for so long. Now that it's here, it feels surreal.”

“You’ve earned this moment, Shivi,” I said softly, pulling the car to a stop at a red light. “Every late night, every breakdown, every win — you fought for this. And now the world is finally going to know what I’ve known from day one.”

She looked at me, her eyes wide and glassy. “What’s that?”

I leaned in and whispered, “That you’re unstoppable.”

She blinked rapidly, the corners of her lips lifting into a smile that made me fall for her all over again.

The ceremony venue came into view — a grand auditorium decorated with fresh flowers, banners, and a huge crowd gathered outside. As we stepped out, a burst of camera flashes and clapping echoed through the air.

“Look at that,” Adi grinned, nudging me as we walked in behind her. “Mrs. Singhania’s got fans already.”

“I had to wait three years for her autograph,” I shot back, and we both chuckled.

Inside, everything was polished, formal, and elegant — a perfect contrast to our wild morning.

As Shivangi walked across the stage to accept her certificate, the applause was polite and formal—until our gang made their presence known.

A loud whistle cut through the air.
Followed by another.
And another.

“WOOHOOO! THAT’S OUR GIRL!” Adi shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth like a total Bollywood extra.

Mihir stood up and waved both arms like he was hailing a helicopter. “SHAANDAAR SHIVANGI!” he yelled, completely unfazed by the horrified look the event organizer gave him.

Vani and Ravi clapped dramatically, chanting, “Bhabhi! Bhabhi! Bhabhi!” like we were at a cricket match, not a dignified ceremony.

Even Shaurya, sitting on Ravi’s lap, joined in with a high-pitched squeal that made half the audience turn around.

Shivangi stopped mid-stage, clearly trying not to burst into laughter. She covered her mouth, her eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on us—her chaos, her support system.

I stood up slowly, gave her a small, proud clap—then casually joined the madness with a signature two-finger whistle.

She rolled her eyes at me fondly from the stage and mouthed, Shut up, Rocky.

I mouthed back, Never.

And right then, amidst all the whistles, cheers, and totally inappropriate slogans being shouted from our row—I saw her tear up.

Because this moment… was everything.

It wasn’t just a ceremony.

It was her victory parade. And we were her wild, loud, unfiltered marching band.

As soon as the formalities wrapped up and Shivangi stepped off stage, the chaos officially began.

Adi charged at her like a Bollywood hero in slow motion. “My sherni! My legend! My lawfully wedded troublemaker’s wife!” he yelled, arms wide.

Shivangi blinked. “Adi—?”

Before she could finish, he swooped her into a dramatic spin, nearly knocking over a decorative lamp.

“PUT HER DOWN!” I barked, half-laughing, half-serious, rushing forward like a jealous action hero.

“I’m just celebrating my bhabhi's big day!” Adi protested, still spinning her like pizza dough.

“You’ll celebrate in the hospital if you drop her!” I growled, grabbing Shivangi away and dramatically placing a hand over her head. “She’s delicate.”

Shivangi rolled her eyes. “I literally won a black belt in karate, mister.”

“Exactly. That’s why you don’t need spinning. You need a throne,” I declared, then looked around. “Mihir! Get a chair!”

Mihir, being Mihir, didn’t get a normal chair.

He returned with a trolley cart.

Before anyone could stop him, I had already lifted Shivangi bridal-style onto the trolley and Mihir took off, pushing it full speed ahead down the auditorium corridor.

Vani and Ravi started clapping like this was Formula 1.

“THIS IS A LAWYER, NOT A LUGGAGE!” Shivangi screamed, holding onto me while trying not to laugh.

“THIS IS YOUR VICTORY CHARIOT!” Mihir shouted.

Meanwhile, Shaurya had found the mic someone left on a stand and babbled loudly into it, causing a screech that made everyone in the auditorium cover their ears.

“Testing! One-two!” he giggled.

Jenny waddled over, clearly exhausted, rubbing her belly. “Why do I feel like my baby’s going to come out wild just from absorbing this chaos?”

Vani grinned. “Because it runs in the family now.”

Just then, the trolley hit a bump.

THUD.

Shivangi didn’t fall—but I nearly did.

“Okay that’s it,” she said, trying to jump off, “this is not how I imagined my big day.”

Adi popped up beside her with a mock mic. “And ma’am, how did you imagine it?”

Shivangi smirked, fixed her saree, straightened her hair like a queen, and said, “Definitely not being paraded around like a confused pineapple.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

I leaned closer and whispered, “But a very hot pineapple.”

“Shut up,” she said, cheeks pink.

“Shameless cockroach?” I teased.

“Exactly.”

And just like that, with trolley rides, dramatic declarations, and one very confused security guard trying to control this circus—we celebrated the way only we knew how.

Loud. Crazy. And full of love.

After the trolley incident (which I’m still calling a victory parade, by the way), we finally reached the media area where a long table had been set up for press interactions and — to my surprise — autograph signing.

Shivangi looked at the pen placed in front of her and blinked. “Wait... people actually want my autograph?”

The coordinator beamed. “Ma’am, you’ve gone viral since morning. That video of you hugging your husband before walking on stage? Already trending as ‘Power Couple Goals.’”

I smirked. “Told you you’d be famous.”

Shivangi rolled her eyes but tried not to blush.

And then it started.

A line began to form. Actual people. Students. Reporters. Faculty. Strangers. Everyone wanted a signature from the girl who just lit up the whole event.

I was still marveling at the crowd when I heard a dramatic gasp behind me.

It was Adi.

Clutching his chest. “OH. MY. GOD.”

“What now?” I asked.

“I’ve waited my entire life for this moment,” he said dramatically, eyes glistening. “Bhabhi. Please. One autograph. Right here.” He handed her a tissue.

“You’re giving me a tissue?” Shivangi asked, stifling laughter.

“It’s a limited-edition napkin from the auditorium snack counter,” Adi said solemnly. “It deserves greatness.”

Mihir stepped forward next. “Sign my forehead.”

“WHAT—?” Shivangi laughed.

“Okay fine, sign my cast.” He lifted his arm. “From when I fell during your engagement dance, remember?”

“Oh my God, you still have that?” she giggled.

“I kept it in case you ever became famous. Look who’s laughing now!”

Vani held up her wedding photo. “Please sign this so I can tell people the woman who made this face”—she pointed at Shivangi’s epic eye-roll in the photo—“is now a literal queen.”

Even Ravi handed her a book. “Please autograph page 69.”

“Why 69?!” she asked, horrified.

“It’s symbolic,” he said with a wink, dodging a smack from Vani.

I leaned in casually and held out my phone. “Sign my heart.”

Shivangi snorted. “Shut up, you simp.”

“You signed my soul long ago, might as well make it official,” I winked.

She laughed, finally giving in, and started signing things one by one.

By the time she was done, Adi had tears in his eyes.

“She signed my tissue,” he whispered to Shaurya like he’d met Beyoncé.

Shaurya, not understanding a thing, just shouted, “MAASI ROCKS!”

And honestly?

He wasn’t wrong.

She really did.

Just when I thought the madness had reached its peak, Shaurya — our official troublemaker — climbed onto the table, took the mic from the announcer, and screamed:

“EVERYONE CLAP FOR MY MAASI! SHE IS FAMOUS NOW!!”

And the entire hall exploded in applause.

Shivangi buried her face in her hands, whispering to me, “I swear I’m going to kidnap that child and lock him in a toy store forever.”

“Pretty sure that would be a reward,” I muttered, laughing.

But then the mic was passed to Adi.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, dramatically pacing the stage like he was hosting an award show, “we are gathered here today to witness the re-birth of our very own Shivangi—formerly known as Miss Shy-and-silent, now officially Shivangi ‘Slay-angi’ Singhania!”

Everyone laughed. Someone even threw a paper plane that hit Mihir on the forehead.

“What the—who threw that?!” he shouted, spinning in circles.

“Destiny,” Jenny said calmly from her chair, patting her pregnant belly. “Or maybe karma.”

As Shivangi finally stepped down from the signing table, I offered her my arm like some Victorian-era gentleman.

“Care to walk with me, superstar?”

She gave me the most dramatic side-eye and said, “Only if you promise no more tissue autographs.”

“Can’t promise that,” I winked. “Adi’s probably selling that tissue online already.”

“Limited edition,” Adi shouted from behind. “Bidding starts at five thousand rupees!”

Ravi, holding Vani’s hand, added, “Make it ten thousand if she signs my marriage certificate.”

“RAVI!” Vani smacked him on the arm.

“I’m joking! Kind of!”

And just like that — with my hand in hers, Shaurya holding a balloon he definitely stole from the decoration guy, Adi acting like her manager, and Mihir trying to flirt with the food stall lady — we walked out of the hall.

It wasn’t just a ceremony.

It was a full-blown festival.

Of madness, memories, and the kind of love you don’t find twice.

And as I looked at her — my wife, my chaos, my star — I realized something:

She wasn’t just the queen of the day.

She was the queen of every moment.

And I was her forever fanboy.

Even if I had to fight Adi for a front-row seat.

Shivangi was still surrounded by the gang, all holding out random things for her to sign — Vani had a tissue, Ravi had a banana, Adi held out his forehead, and Mihir… well, Mihir had a slipper.

“I am NOT signing that!” she shrieked at Mihir, laughing and trying to push his arm away.

“But it’s lucky! Shaurya chewed it once!” he said dramatically, holding it out like it was sacred.

“You people are insane!” she laughed, scribbling her name on Vani’s tissue anyway.

Meanwhile, I stood behind her, arms crossed, proudly watching my wife being treated like a total celebrity.

“Shivangi! Just one selfie with your fans, please!” Adi said, pretending to be a crazed paparazzi and clicking thirty blurry photos in two seconds.

“Ma’am, can you please autograph my heart?” Ravi asked, dramatically clutching his chest.

“Too small,” she shot back, and the group howled with laughter.

Just then, I leaned toward her and whispered, “You know, Mrs. Singhania, I’ve still got one thing left you haven’t signed…”

Everyone gasped in scandalized unison.

“What?!” she said, half-laughing, half-suspicious.

I smirked and pulled out… a printed wedding photo of us from my back pocket. “This. You never signed this one. So technically, our marriage is incomplete.”

“Idiot!” she giggled, smacking my shoulder.

But before she could grab the pen from me, Shaurya ran into the scene at full speed — covered in cake, no one knows from where — screaming, “THE BABY’S COMING!”

Everyone froze.

All heads turned to Jenny, who looked equally frozen.

“Shaurya!” Vani gasped. “What baby?”

He pointed behind him. “That baby!”

We all looked—

And there stood a goat in a baby diaper, happily chewing on a bouquet.

“WHO BROUGHT A GOAT IN A DIAPER TO THE CEREMONY?!”

Jenny fainted. Mihir screamed. I dropped the wedding photo. And Shivangi?

She just blinked, looked around at the absolute chaos, and said—

“…this is why I didn’t want a public event.”

To be continued…

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Okayyyy this is it for today.

I am soooo sorry for making you guys wait for so long but I hope this chapter is worth it.

God I missed writing about them so freaking much 😭

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