CHAOTIC PREPARATION

The sun had barely risen, but in an Indian household, the morning had already kicked off with full force. The soft hum of temple bells echoed in the distance, the smell of fresh parathas wafted through the air, and the chirping of sparrows outside the window blended with the rhythm of the household’s daily hustle.

In Arya’s room, however, the only sound was the soft snoring of a girl who was blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding around her. Arya, clutching her pillow as though it were the most precious thing in the world, lay cocooned in the blankets, her face peaceful, the morning light barely touching her.

That was until Meera burst in like a hurricane.

“Oh my god, Arya! Wake up!” Meera screeched, bursting into Arya’s room like a hurricane

.As she yanked open the curtains, Arya groaned, shielding her eyes from the sudden onslaught of sunlight. The warmth of the sunlight felt almost foreign to Arya, who had been wrapped in the comforting cocoon of the cool room, her peaceful slumber interrupted by the chaotic force of Meera.

Meera, oblivious to Arya’s grogginess, was all over the place, full of nervous energy, running from one corner of the room to the next. She muttered frantically about booking makeup artists, finding the perfect jewelry, and organizing Arya’s outfit

Arya groaned and curled tighter into her blanket, mumbling, “Let me sleep, Meera’’.

“I don’t know what to wear! I didn’t book a makeup artist! Should I just use that Instagram tutorial I saved last year? Or—wait—do I even have a foundation shade that matches my skin tone?!” Meera wailed, holding up a bottle of makeup with one hand and a pair of mismatched earrings with the other. Arya rubbed her eyes and yawned and looked at Meera with an almost bored expression. “You’re not the one getting married.”

“That’s the point!” Meera yelled, throwing her brush in the air. “I’m not getting married, so I can’t steal your calm vibes! I’m over here deciding if I should curl my hair or just burn it all off for being so uncooperative!”

Arya arched an eyebrow. “Burning it off does seem efficient.’Before Arya could respond, the doorbell rang.

Meera froze, her eyes darting toward the door. “Who’s that? Is it Shiv? Oh god, is it the pandit? Did I forget something?!”

Arya calmly stood up, rubbing her eyes. “I’ll get it.”

“No, no, no!” Meera lunged toward the door, her hair half-curled and her eyeliner uneven. “I’ll handle this. You finish getting ready! And please for the love of maa Durga go take a bath ”

.Meera opened the door with a wide, dramatic flair, expecting it to be the usual delivery guy or perhaps a wedding planner. But when she saw who was standing there, her heart almost skipped a beat.

He was handsome. Extremely handsome. His jawline could have been chiseled from stone, and his dark hair was perfectly styled—neatly combed but with just enough tousled charm to make it look like he didn’t try too hard. His deep brown eyes held an almost magnetic intensity, framed by thick eyebrows that gave him a naturally authoritative, yet approachable look. He wore a smart, crisp white shirt, paired with sleek black trousers, and his posture was straight and confident, exuding the kind of professionalism that made Meera almost forget how to breathe

“Uh… hi?” Meera stammered, her jaw nearly hitting the floor.

The man gave a polite nod, his deep voice smooth and confident. “Good morning. I’m here to pick up Arya and Meera for the venue. We like to inform you everything has been arranged by Shiv Sir.”

Meera blinked, still staring. “Oh, uh… okay. Sure. Right.” She ran a hand through her messy curls, suddenly aware of how disheveled she looked. “And… who exactly are you?”

“I’m Aman, Mr. Chaudhary’s assistant,” he replied, offering a small smile.

Assistant? Meera thought, her inner voice screaming. Why does his assistant look like a Greek god?

“Well, Aman,” she said, leaning against the doorframe in what she thought was a casual pose but ended up looking more like she was about to fall over, “you must be very good at… assisting.”

Aman raised an eyebrow, clearly used to this reaction. “Thank you. May I come in?”

“Oh, of course!” Meera stepped aside, practically tripping over her own feet. She turned and Arya appeared at the top of the stairs, her pair of jeans and White shirt, her expression as calm as ever. She gave Aman a polite nod before descending the stairs .

“Good morning, Arya,” Aman said, handing her a folder. “These are the final arrangements Mr. Chaudhary asked me to deliver. He’s at the venue ensuring everything is ready.”

Arya took the folder without breaking her calm demeanor. “Thank you.”

Meera, meanwhile, was still recovering from Aman’s presence. “Hey, uh… Aman, do you always drive brides around, or is this a special gig?” she asked, batting her eyelashes in what she thought was a subtle way.

Aman glanced at her, his expression professional. “I assist Mr. Chaudhary in all important matters.”

Meera smirked. “Well, if you ever need a break from assisting, you know where to find me.”

Aman gave a polite but distant smile, turning back to Arya. “Is there anything else you need, ma’am?”

Before Arya could respond, Meera cut in, “Yes! Can you give me two minutes to grab my stuff?” Without waiting for a reply, she darted upstairs, yelling, “ARYA, PACK YOUR THINGS! WE’RE LEAVING!”

Aman stood there, composed, as Arya shook her head slightly. “She’s… excited,” Arya said.

“She seems very enthusiastic,” Aman replied diplomatically.

A few minutes later, Meera reappeared, a bag slung over her shoulder and a forced air of composure. “Alright, let’s go. Time to get this bride married.”

As they walked to the car, Meera leaned toward Arya and whispered, “Please tell me Aman is single. Or at least flirtable.”

Arya sighed. “Meera, focus.”

As they walked to the car, Meera couldn’t resist. “So, Aman, do you have a girlfriend, or is your schedule too busy being Shiv Chaudhary’s right-hand man?”

Aman opened the car door for her, clearly unfazed. “I’m married to my work.”

“Oh, I’m focused,” Meera replied, glancing at Aman with a mischievous grin. “Just… on multiple things.”

Meera gasped, placing a hand over her chest. “What a tragedy. A face like that, wasted on spreadsheets and phone calls.”

Arya climbed into the car, clearly done with Meera’s antics. “If you’re done flirting with Aman, we have a wedding to get to.”

Meera slid into the seat, giving Aman a wink. “Don’t worry. I’ll save your number for later.”

As the car pulled up to the entrance of the banquet hall, Meera and Arya were greeted with a grand sight that left them both momentarily breathless. The venue was a luxurious masterpiece, built to resemble a traditional Indian fort with towering stone walls and intricately carved arches. The structure itself was a majestic blend of royal heritage and modern elegance, its grandiosity apparent even from a distance.

The building stood tall, its sandstone walls glowing in the soft light of the evening sun, with decorative motifs that traced patterns of floral vines, delicate paisleys, and geometric shapes—each carved with a precision that spoke of centuries-old craftsmanship. The grand archways leading into the venue were adorned with golden garlands of marigolds and roses, their vibrant colors filling the air with a delicate fragrance that mixed with the warm, earthy aroma of sandalwood incense. The towering wooden doors, intricately etched with golden inlays, were flanked by two ornate brass lanterns, glowing softly in the dusk.

As they stepped out of the car, Meera was in awe, her eyes darting to the details of the surrounding decor. The courtyard was a lavish affair. Lanterns hung from the trees like delicate stars, and strings of fairy lights crisscrossed above their heads, twinkling like diamonds in the dimming evening. The grass below their feet was lush, trimmed perfectly, and adorned with scattered rose petals in shades of red and gold. Small fountains bubbled with water, the soft sound of trickling creating an ambiance of tranquility.

Inside, the banquet hall was even more magnificent. The soaring ceilings were decorated with massive chandeliers made of crystal, their countless prisms refracting light in a thousand directions, creating a shimmering effect that felt like stepping into a fairy tale. The floors were polished marble, a deep, glossy shade of onyx, reflecting the lights above, and the walls were lined with large, hand-painted murals depicting scenes from ancient Indian mythology—gods and goddesses surrounded by celestial beings, drawn in vivid hues that gave the space a timeless, magical quality.

The banquet hall was bustling with activity as the staff, in their pristine uniforms, moved with quiet efficiency, preparing for the evening ahead. The air was filled with a symphony of sounds: the gentle hum of conversations, the clinking of silverware, and the soft rustle of fabric as elegantly dressed guests arrived. The entire atmosphere was imbued with an air of sophistication and grandeur, like something straight out of a royal court.

As Meera and Arya were led inside, the staff gently escorted them through the ornate corridors of the building, past rooms draped in luxurious silk curtains and intricate tapestries. The hallways were lined with marble statues and glowing lamps, and the scent of jasmine and roses lingered in the air, making everything feel like a dream.

They arrived at the bridal room, a sanctuary of its own. The door swung open to reveal a lavishly decorated space that seemed to have been plucked from the pages of a royal fantasy. Rich, golden drapes hung from the windows, filtering the sunlight and casting a soft, warm glow over the room. The room was expansive, with a four-poster bed in the center, draped in delicate white and gold linens. The bed was surrounded by ornate mirrors with gilded frames, reflecting the room's opulence.

There were plush velvet chairs and a golden vanity table, where soft light from crystal lamps made the space feel serene and inviting. The walls were adorned with intricate gold detailing, and fresh flowers—roses, lilies, and marigolds—were arranged in vases placed strategically around the room, filling the air with their intoxicating fragrance.

Meera and Arya were led further inside by the staff, who offered them refreshing drinks and invited them to relax as they prepared for the festivities. Meera, still in awe of the surroundings, couldn’t help but smile with excitement, while Arya, calm as ever, took everything in with a quiet grace.

The staff left them to prepare for the ceremony, but the grandeur of the space left a lingering sense of wonder, and Meera couldn’t help but feel like she was part of a fairy tale unfolding before her eyes. This was truly a wedding fit for royalty, and she was ready for every moment of it.—Arya calm and composed, Meera gawking like she’d just entered a royal palace.

Before Meera could unleash her usual commentary, a team of overly enthusiastic makeup artists swept in like a well-organized army.

“Oh my goodness, look at this skin!” one of them exclaimed, pulling Arya to a chair. “Darling, you are giving me a statuesque goddess. I’m obsessed.”

Another makeup artist grabbed Meera and practically dragged her to a seat. “And you, honey, what are we working with? Miss india runner up? Love it! Let’s channel that into something... DIVA.”

Meera blinked, momentarily stunned by the sass. “Excuse me?! Why not winner but runner up … I’ll have you know I—”

“Shush,” the first artist interrupted, waving a makeup brush like a wand. “Sit. Breathe. Trust the process.”

Arya, watching this unfold, smirked slightly as the team worked on her with precision. Meera, now fully immersed in their vibe, rolled her eyes dramatically but played along. “Fine, work your magic, Picasso. But if I end up looking like a clown, I’m suing.”

“Oh, sweetie,” the artist replied, flipping their hair, “we don’t do clowns here. Only masterpieces.”

As they worked, Meera started bantering with the artists, matching their sass with her own. “Honestly, I’ve never felt more like a celebrity. Arya, do you feel famous yet?”

Arya, eyes closed as an artist applied eyeliner, responded dryly, “I always feel famous.”

Meera burst out laughing. “Look at you, Queen Arya. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to not poke my eye out with this mascara wand.”

The artists laughed, clearly enjoying the duo’s dynamic. As Arya’s transformation neared completion, Meera stood up, claiming, “I need a prop! A rose bouquet! What’s a wedding without one?”

Meera stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her purple net saree, which shimmered beautifully under the soft lights of the bridal room. The saree was a delicate shade of lavender with intricate silver embroidery along the edges, creating a magical effect as it caught the light. The fabric flowed gracefully, its sheer netting giving it an ethereal feel, while the silver threadwork in floral patterns added a touch of glamour. Her blouse was a deep purple, fitted perfectly to accentuate her figure, with a plunging neckline that added a hint of allure, while still maintaining elegance.

Her makeup was flawless, highlighting her sharp features. She wore a bold smoky eye with a hint of shimmer on her lids, making her eyes pop, and her lips were painted a soft pink, adding a subtle contrast to her dramatic eyes. Her cheeks had a soft flush, and her hair was styled in loose curls, cascading over her shoulders. The final touch was a delicate silver maang tikka resting on her forehead, completing the look of a modern princess

Meera took a moment to admire herself in the mirror, a proud smile spreading across her face. "Looking good, is that how it feel when makeup is makeuping," she whispered, enjoying the reflection of her glamorous self. But then, a thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. Roses! She quickly realized she needed some fresh roses for Arya's bun, to complete her friend’s look.. On her way back, she sprinted toward the makeup room, only to crash straight into Aman.

“Oof!” Meera stumbled, clutching the bouquet tightly. Aman caught her arm to steady her, his expression concerned but amused.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his deep voice laced with a hint of humor.

Meera looked up at him, her cheeks slightly flushed. “You really need to stop appearing out of nowhere like some rom-com hero. It’s bad for my heart.”

Aman smirked. “And you need to stop running like a train without brakes. Bad for my suit.”

She noticed a few petals had scattered on his shoulder and gasped. “Oh no! I ruined my roses !”

Aman chuckled, brushing the petals off with ease.

Meera tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “You know, for someone who’s supposedly serious and business-like, you seem to enjoy my chaos a little too much.”

“I find it entertaining,” Aman admitted, his smirk widening.

Meera pretended to swoon, clutching the bouquet dramatically. “Stop, Aman, or I might actually fall for you.”

Aman shook his head, clearly amused. “You should because my face card NEVER DECLINE I have a lot in my list and it doesn’t bother to add one more.”

Meera scoffed at his attitude but somehow she liked it even more

AND suddenly Snapping back to reality, Meera gasped. ‘’ The bride! Duty calls!” She rushed off, nearly tripping again but catching herself at the last second. Aman watched her go, shaking his head with a small smile before walking away.

Back in the makeup room, Meera flung the door open, panting slightly. “Arya, I—”

As Meera walked into the bridal room, she was taken aback by the sight that greeted her. Arya was standing in front of the full-length mirror, her figure draped in a dazzling red saree that could only be described as pure luxury. The fabric was a rich, vibrant crimson, its silk threads shimmering like liquid fire. The saree was adorned with intricate gold zari work that ran across the hem and sleeves, creating an aura of regal elegance. The blouse, a deep red with delicate gold embroidery, clung to Arya’s frame, showcasing her graceful figure. The saree's soft drape flowed elegantly to the floor, with layers of fabric so finely woven it looked almost weightless. A scattering of Swarovski crystals along the borders made the ensemble gleam under the light, giving Arya a divine radiance.

Her bridal makeup was a masterpiece—her skin was flawlessly smooth, with a dewy glow that reflected the light perfectly. Her eyes were a canvas of elegance, with soft golds and deep burgundy shades blending seamlessly on her eyelids, enhanced by thick black eyeliner that made her almond-shaped eyes stand out dramatically. The soft touch of highlighter on her cheekbones accentuated the natural contour of her face, while her lips were a stunning shade of deep red, perfectly matching her saree. Arya's long hair was styled in soft waves, cascading over her shoulders, with a few delicate strands pinned back with sparkling hairpins.

Meera, now standing in the doorway, couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the beauty of her best friend. Her eyes welled up with tears, unable to hold back the emotions that came with seeing Arya like this.

Arya turned around to meet Meera’s gaze, and the two locked eyes. Meera’s tears were already threatening to spill over, but Arya, ever the calming presence, quickly wiped them away with a teasing smile.

“You’re crying, Meera? It’s my big day, not yours!” Arya teased, though her voice was soft, full of emotion.

Meera sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I just... you look so beautiful. It feels like I’m seeing my baby sister get married,” she said dramatically, her voice cracking as she tried to compose herself. “You’ve grown up so fast! How did this happen?”

Arya rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the soft smile playing on her lips. “Stop it, Meera. You’re going to make me cry too.”

At that moment, the makeup artist came forward, taking the roses Meera had run to get. Arya, still feeling the whirlwind of emotions, gently handed over the flowers with a graceful nod. “Thank you,” Arya murmured, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. She turned toward the artist, who began arranging the flowers in Arya’s hair.

Meera stood next to her, hands on her hips, suddenly becoming the motherly figure. “My baby girl is getting married,” she said, her voice dripping with exaggerated drama. “Oh, Arya, I can't believe you're going to be someone else's headache now.”

Arya shot her a playful glare, but Meera continued, her eyes glistening with tears. “And you’re going to make a wonderful wife, even though you’ll make a terrible cook. Don’t worry, I’ll send you a cookbook for your honeymoon. Or better yet, I’ll just send you a microwave.”

Arya’s laugh was soft, but she could feel the tears welling up. “Shut up, Meera. You’re making me emotional.”

The makeup artist gave them both a knowing smile as she worked, but the moment of sweetness was broken when Meera suddenly hugged Arya. The two girls wrapped their arms around each other, trying to avoid smudging their expensive makeup. They both froze, remembering the delicate layers of foundation and powder on their faces, and then, as if on cue, they both pulled back at the same time, giggling.

“Oh no, we’re going to ruin our makeup!” Meera exclaimed dramatically, eyes wide in horror.

Arya laughed, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “We already did, didn’t we?”

They both stood there for a moment, staring at each other, the emotional bond between them palpable. “Okay, we need to calm down. I can’t have you looking like a raccoon on my wedding day,” Arya said with a wink, stepping away from Meera and dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

Meera gave her a playful shove. “I swear, this wedding is going to be more dramatic than a Bollywood movie. I’m just going to sit back and enjoy the show.”

“Maybe you should,” Arya agreed with a smirk. “You’re definitely the best supporting actress in this drama.”

As Meera and Arya embraced, their eyes began to well up again, and Meera immediately panicked. She pulled back, holding Arya by the shoulders like a coach delivering a pre-game pep talk. “Stop right there!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of urgency and drama. “Arya, look at the ceiling. Now!”

“What?” Arya blinked, startled by Meera’s sudden outburst.

“Ceiling!” Meera pointed upwards with such intensity that Arya had no choice but to obey. “Eyes up, soldier! We cannot afford a single tear to roll down. Not one!”

Arya tilted her head back, staring at the chandelier. “You’re acting insane,” she muttered, but she followed orders.

“I’m not acting insane; I’m acting responsible!” Meera said, hands on her hips. “Do you know how much effort it took to look this fabulous? One tear, Arya—just one—and I’ll look like a raccoon on her wedding day. And do you know what happens then?”

“What?” Arya asked, trying not to laugh while still staring at the ceiling.

“I haunt you,” Meera said with a dramatic flourish, pacing like a soap opera villain. “If these pictures aren’t perfect, Arya, I will haunt you for eternity. Every time you look at your wedding album, you’ll hear my voice whispering, ‘Panda eyes… panda eyes…’”

Arya snorted, almost breaking her “no tears” stance. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously gorgeous,” Meera shot back, flipping her hair and posing. “Now focus, Arya! Think about something dry desert June summer or the responses from my ex or Shiv tripping over his sherwani.”

Arya chuckled, still staring at the ceiling. “You know, I can’t decide if you’re more worried about me or your own photos.”

Meera gasped, clutching her chest like she’d been gravely insulted. “Excuse me! Your photos are my photos! If I don’t look good, people will think I didn’t do my job as your best friend. Do you want that, Arya?”

Arya shook her head, still laughing. “You’ve got issues, Meera.”

“And you’ve got a wedding in an hour. Now, stay calm, keep looking up, and don’t you dare ruin this masterpiece,” Meera said, motioning toward Arya’s face. “I didn’t spend hours picking out the perfect lipstick shade for it to get washed away by tears!”

The makeup artist chimed in, amused by the spectacle. “If you two are done with the dramatics, can I finish the touch-up?”

“Yes, please do, and also mine too,” Arya said, still giggling as Meera gave the artist a thumbs-up.

As the makeup artist worked, Meera leaned over and whispered, “But seriously, Arya. If one tear falls, I’m coming back as a ghost with smudged eyeliner. And it’ll be all your fault and these eyelashes are expensive if anything goes wrong I am sending you the bills.”

Arya rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop laughing. “Noted. No panda ghosts at my wedding. Got it.”

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