One Week Before Forever

The sun had barely dipped below the horizon, casting a warm amber glow over the sprawling garden that surrounded the Rajput residence. Strings of fairy lights glimmered faintly in the dusk, anticipating a celebration that had not yet begun but was already being spoken of in hushed whispers. Inside the elegantly adorned living room, the atmosphere was thick with unsaid emotions. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, and the scent of fresh marigolds lingered in the air, but beneath the festivity was a silence that clung like a veil. “Yes,” Aryan said quietly, his voice devoid of joy. “Yes,” echoed Meera, the girl beside him, smiling politely. The room erupted into subdued applause. Ishita, Aryan’s mother, embraced Meera’s mother, Padmini, with a gleam in her eye that only a mother who thought she’d secured her son’s future could possess. Meanwhile, Rajeev, Aryan’s father, patted Yash, Meera’s father, on the back, trying to match the enthusiasm he didn’t quite feel. “May I have your number?” Meera asked shyly, holding her phone in her palm like an offering. Aryan gave her a mechanical smile, the kind that barely touched his eyes. “Yeah. Sure.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. The gesture, though meant to be affectionate, felt more ceremonial to Aryan. His gaze drifted toward his parents, who exchanged glances. Their expressions held a faint unease, sensing the hollowness in their son’s demeanor—but they said nothing. Not now. “I spoke to the priest!” Padmini’s voice rang with excitement. “Next Monday is auspicious.” Aryan’s heart sank. Monday. That was just a week away. “I want to speak to her alone,” he said suddenly. A momentary silence fell. Meera looked surprised but nodded. The two of them made their way to her room, a quiet space filled with pastel decor, photo frames of childhood memories, and the fragrance of jasmine incense. The door clicked shut behind them. Before Aryan could speak, Meera walked up and hugged him again. He stood still, his arms hanging by his side. His eyes searched the ceiling as though the answers to his chaos lay hidden in the ornate patterns above. “I’m okay with next Monday,” she whispered, her voice laden with hope. “But I’m not,” Aryan replied firmly. Meera stepped back, stunned. Her smile faltered. “What do you mean?” “I mean,” Aryan sighed, raking a hand through his hair, “I don’t think I’m ready for this.” Her eyes glistened. A tear slipped down her cheek. “No one loves me. Everyone just agrees to marry me out of obligation.” Aryan closed his eyes, frustration rising within him like a storm tide. He had never meant to hurt her, but neither could he lie. “Okay, okay,” he said reluctantly, softening his tone. “I’m okay with next Monday.” But the words tasted bitter on his tongue. Where are you? he screamed inwardly, I have grown up believing that love at first sight is a fairy tale, a poet’s exaggeration. But the moment I saw you… something changed. He remembered her—the girl whose name he didn’t know but whose face haunted him. Her laughter still echoed in his memory, from that fleeting glance across the college library. Her eyes had carried stories, her presence had held silence louder than a thousand conversations. Because of Maa’s condition… I’m trapped. He clenched his fists. "You have one week to find that girl or you will marry Meera," his mother had said. And that week had passed in vain. The girl never showed up again at the college. He had visited every day, hoping for a miracle, desperate for a sign—but the campus corridors remained devoid of her presence, and now… his time had run out. He and Meera descended the stairs. The living room was alive again, with the clink of tea cups and celebratory murmurs. Ishita looked up, hopeful. “Mom,” Meera said with a gleam in her eyes, “We’re okay with the marriage.” Ishita clapped her hands in delight and hugged Meera warmly. “That’s wonderful, beta.” Aryan stood silently beside her, a prisoner of circumstance, hiding a thousand emotions behind a rehearsed smile. A Day Earlier… Aryan had stood at the gates of St. Joseph’s College for the sixth time that week. He leaned against his car, scanning each face that walked in, heart pounding at the slightest hint of her. But she never came. “I must be mad,” he muttered. “Chasing a dream like this.” But wasn’t it more than just a dream? The first time he saw her, she was sketching quietly in the corner of the campus garden. Her fingers smudged with charcoal, her hair in a messy bun, a strand falling over her eyes. She didn’t notice him watching. But he couldn’t look away. He remembered her name only through the whisper of a mutual friend—“I think she’s Aanya.” That name became his anthem. But fate was cruel. Aanya had stopped coming just when he needed to see her most. Back to Present Night descended over the Rajput home. Aryan stood alone on the terrace, the cold breeze brushing against his face. A soft voice startled him. “You don’t seem very happy.” It was Yash, Meera’s father, holding two cups of tea. Aryan smiled weakly. “Just a little overwhelmed, sir.” Yash handed him a cup. “Marriage is like a journey in an unknown land. Sometimes we fall in love before marriage, sometimes after. But in both cases, love only grows if you let it.” Aryan didn’t respond. His mind had already drifted away… to a girl he didn’t even know but couldn’t stop thinking about. Two Days Later… Aryan sat in his room, scrolling through his old college photos. One picture stood out—a blurry candid click during a college fest. In the background, barely visible, was a familiar figure. “Aanya…” he breathed. Hope surged in his chest. He sent the image to his college group chat. Does anyone know where this girl is now? Urgent. One response came from his friend Raghav: She shifted to Pune for an art workshop. Left just last week. No idea if she’s coming back soon. Aryan’s heart shattered. Just one week… and I lost her. The Final Day Before the Engagement Ceremony The house was adorned like a palace. Florists bustled about, decorators added the final touches. But Aryan’s room remained a sanctuary of silence. A knock on the door. It was Meera. She walked in, sensing the heaviness in the air. “I know you don’t love me.” Aryan looked up, startled. “You don’t have to fake it, Aryan. I’m not blind. I see it in your eyes.” “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, honest now. “I know. But sometimes honesty hurts more.” He looked away. Meera sighed. “If you had a choice, who would you marry?” Aryan didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. That Night The moon hung heavy in the sky, as if it too bore the burden of a love unfulfilled. Aryan sat with his guitar on the balcony. He played the tune he had composed for Aanya, the melody echoing his longing. “Wherever you are,” he whispered, “I hope you feel this.” The Next Morning – The Twist of Destiny The doorbell rang. Ishita opened it and gasped. “Hello ma’am… I’m Aanya. I had come to return this sketchpad I accidentally took during the fest. I found your address in it.” Aryan came rushing out as if pulled by a magnet. Their eyes met—finally, after all these days of searching. Time paused. “Aanya,” he whispered. “You… remember me?” she asked softly. “I never forgot you.” Their story had just begun.