The wedding night was lit not just by fairy lights and lanterns — but by the glow of everything they had shared so far.
Laughter filled the air, henna-dark hands clapped in rhythm, and the groom — Simran's brother Vishal — stood proudly in a cream sherwani, tears in his eyes as he circled the sacred fire with his new bride.
Ruhi stood with Simran near the mandap, both watching silently as petals showered from above and mantras echoed in the still air.
Simran nudged her softly, "This is the part where I always cry."
Ruhi smiled. "You're allowed."
"Promise me," Simran whispered, "when you marry Rudra, I get to choose your lehenga."
Ruhi choked on her laughter. "You're jumping ahead."
But she didn't deny it.
Because somewhere in her heart, the image of Rudra in a sherwani, waiting by a mandap for her — it didn't feel impossible anymore.It felt... inevitable.
Rudra stood a little away, by the temple steps, hands in his pockets. He wasn't watching the ceremony — he was watching her.
Ruhi in a soft pink lehenga, face glowing in the firelight, hair pinned loosely, a tiny gold bindi on her forehead.
She turned for a second. Met his eyes.
And in that look was everything: affection, trust, safety.
And something more.
After the wedding rituals ended, the village sky exploded in fireworks — bursts of crimson, silver, and violet that lit up the trees and cast moving shadows across the courtyard walls.
Everyone stood outside, heads tilted, smiles wide.
Rudra walked over to Ruhi as one final golden firework bloomed above them.
He said softly, "You make even this look small."
Ruhi turned to him, eyes shining. "You're getting dangerously good at this."
"At what?"
"Making my heart do somersaults."
He grinned.
Then, suddenly — a voice.
"Ruhi!"
They turned. It was a young boy, maybe 12 years old, running over with a small envelope in hand.
"This came to the guesthouse. A postman gave it to chacha ji this afternoon. It has your name."
Ruhi blinked. She wasn't expecting anything. She took the letter.
No sender name. Just her full name in neat handwriting.
She opened it. Unfolded a simple page. And her heart dropped.
"Ruhi,
I wish I could say I deserved you. But I don't.I've never known how to love someone who's so full of light.And I'm afraid I'll darken you.
That's why I need to walk away now — before I get too close.You deserve someone who doesn't hesitate.Someone braver than me.
I hope someday you'll understand.— Rudra"
Her hand trembled.
She looked up. Rudra was right beside her, confused by her expression.
"Ruhi? What's wrong?"
She showed him the letter, wordlessly.
He scanned it — once, then twice. His face changed. From curiosity… to shock… to anger.
"I didn't write this."
"What?"
"This isn't mine. That's not my handwriting. I don't even talk like that."
Ruhi stared at him.
"I would never write a goodbye without saying it to your face. Never."
"But who—?"
Just then, Simran approached, frowning. "Hey, did that boy bring the letter I gave him?"
Ruhi turned. "You gave it to him?"
"Yeah. This morning, I found a letter inside your diary. I assumed you wanted it delivered. It was addressed to Rudra. But maybe I messed up…"
Ruhi's mouth went dry.
She reached into her bag, opened her diary.
The letter she had written to Rudra — the one that said "I'm already yours" — was gone.
Simran gasped. "Oh my god. That boy — he must've mixed them up."
Rudra frowned. "Then who wrote the one you got?"
The pieces fell into place.
Tanya.
She had already humiliated Ruhi once. She must've found or written this fake letter and swapped it, hoping to drive a wedge.
Ruhi's chest ached. "She's trying to ruin us."
Rudra looked at her, gently. "She won't. Not if we don't let her."
Later that night, in the quiet of the guesthouse room, Ruhi rewrote the letter — word for word — and handed it to Rudra herself.
He read it slowly.
Then looked up at her with eyes full of something tender, fragile, and fierce all at once.
"I'm yours too," he said simply.
They didn't kiss.
They didn't need to.
The moment itself was more intimate than touch.
Meanwhile, under the canopy of mango trees behind the house, Aarav and Simran sat alone. Lanterns flickered above them, and the sound of wedding drums was distant now.
Aarav said softly, "You've been quiet."
Simran looked down. "I need to tell you something."
He nodded. "Go on."
"I've been in love before. He broke me."
Aarav's jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.
Simran continued, "That's why I laugh too loud. I tease. I pretend I don't care."
She paused. Then added, "But with you... I can't pretend."
Aarav reached over, took her hand.
"You don't have to. Not with me."
She smiled, a little broken. "You're too good."
He chuckled. "That's the second time today someone's called me 'too' something. I'm starting to believe I'm extraordinary."
"You are," she whispered.
And under the soft rustle of trees, he leaned in, brushing her forehead with a kiss — gentle, respectful, and healing.
Back in her room, Ruhi opened Beyond the Buzzer again.
Page 43 – After the Fireworks
"Sometimes love is tested not by storms...But by silence, missteps, and mistrust.Today, we almost let a lie ruin our truth.But we didn't.
And that's how I know...This is real."
She closed the diary.
And this time, she slept — not dreaming, but knowing.
To be continued...