WebNovels

Chapter 34 - Chapter 34 Embroidered Dreams and Emerald Intentions

Mital's House, Midnight, The moon was low, the city hushed. They leaned on the rusting balcony railing, mugs of cocoa in hand.

Vivaan broke the silence. "Do you think this only works because we're afraid to name it?"

Dev stared into the night. "No. I think it works because we're not rushing to."

Vivaan nodded. "Still. One day, I want to be brave enough to call it what it is."

Dev looked at him sideways. "Even if it changes things?"

"Especially then," Vivaan replied. "Things that change deserve to be known fully."

Dev smiled faintly. "You always talk like you're writing lyrics."

Vivaan shrugged. "You always listen like you're composing behind your eyes."

That made Dev pause. He stepped a little closer.

"Hey, Vivaan?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not freezing this time."

Vivaan turned.

Dev leaned in. No panic. No metaphor. Just presence.

Their lips met — not with urgency, but with something quieter. A question. A promise.

And when they pulled apart, forehead to forehead, Vivaan whispered: "You didn't knock."

Dev grinned. "Didn't need to."

The kiss wasn't dramatic. It didn't come with crashing waves or movie scores. No fireworks.

Just lips brushing like a question—soft, unhurried. Dev's hand rose instinctively to Vivaan's jaw, not pulling him closer, just resting there, like he was making sure Vivaan was real. That he wasn't humming this into existence.

Vivaan didn't pull away. He breathed into it—gently, like one would to keep a flame alive.

The city below hummed quietly. A dog barked in the distance. The air was cool, not cold.

When they parted, it wasn't awkward. It wasn't confusing.

It just… was. They stood there, still close, breath mingling. Foreheads touching. The balcony railing pressing lightly into their hips.

Dev was the first to speak, voice hushed: "I didn't plan that."

Vivaan looked at him. "Good. Because if you had, I'd have ruined it by overthinking."

They both smiled. And then they didn't say anything for a while—just listened to the night, the occasional sound of a passing rickshaw, a door creaking open somewhere down the street, a faint saxophone solo from someone's rooftop speaker.

Eventually, Dev glanced toward the hallway.

"Coming in?" he asked.

Vivaan tilted his head. "To your room?"

Dev blinked. "I mean… just to talk."

Vivaan stepped back with a soft grin. "Talk here. Balcony's warmer tonight."

Dev chuckled. "Are you stalling?"

Vivaan didn't deny it. But as he turned to face the skyline again, his fingers reached back—finding Dev's hand. Not pulling. Just holding. And that was answer enough.

Next Morning – Dev's Room, 7:18 AM

Dev stirred first. The fan above ticked slowly. Outside, birds had already begun their quiet chorus. The edges of the curtains glowed faint gold.

He didn't move at first. Just blinked, quietly aware of the shift in his breathing rhythm—because someone else's was synced to it.

Vivaan lay beside him.

They hadn't done anything more than fall asleep talking—somewhere between joking about midi plugins and Dev's confession that he once cried watching Ponyo.

Vivaan was on top of the covers, hoodie still on, one leg curled up slightly. His guitar pick necklace had flipped backward. He was still asleep.

Dev smiled faintly. It felt… normal. Uncomplicated, despite everything.

He slipped out of bed quietly, padded to the kitchen, and returned ten minutes later with two mugs and the soft static of the radio playing a lo-fi beat.

Vivaan stirred as the scent of mint and cinnamon reached him.

"Mmm," he mumbled, eyes still closed. "I know that smell."

Dev handed him a mug. "Morning."

Vivaan sat up slowly, stretching. "Did I crash here?"

"You landed here," Dev said. "Big difference."

Vivaan opened one eye and gave a soft laugh. "You always this charming before 8 AM?"

"No," Dev said, sitting beside him. "Only when I wake up next to someone who didn't run away."

A silence passed between them—but not an uncomfortable one.

Then: Vivaan took a sip, closed his eyes again, and whispered, "Not running."

Dev turned toward him, voice quieter: "Are we okay?"

Vivaan opened his eyes. Met his gaze. "I think we're something better than okay."

Dev blinked: "Like what?"

Vivaan leaned in, resting his head on Dev's shoulder.

"Like music that hasn't found its lyrics yet. But still… a song."

Rooftop Studio – 9:32 AM,

A new project was open on the screen.

Dev typed in a track name: "No Edits. Just Us."

Vivaan, beside him, picked up the guitar. He didn't play yet.

Instead, he looked at Dev and said, "No loops this time. No safety net."

Dev nodded.

"I'll press record," he said. "You just start."

Vivaan smiled. And he did...

The sunlit morning of City D had a hum to it—something beyond the noise of horns and rush-hour chaos. It was the sort of day when the air carried not just heat, but headlines.

"Madhvan–Bansal Alliance Confirmed!" read the top scroll on every city news channel.

"The Rajat-Sanvi Engagement: Banquet Booked, Media Buzzing" splashed across lifestyle portals.

And just beneath it, in softer font but a louder heartbeat—"Coutnry's I Eligible Bachelor is Off the List."

The city hadn't just heard. It was breathing the news.

At the Bansal Residence— Sanvi Bansal sat at her antique vanity, flooded with early sunlight streaming through her bedroom windows. Her fingers gently glided over a velvet ring box she had received as part of a symbolic pre-engagement gift from the Madhvans. There was no ring inside yet—but its emptiness felt full of promise.

She wasn't in love. But she wasn't reluctant either. What she felt was a rare kind of anticipatory happiness, the kind that blooms not because someone sweeps you off your feet, but because a future is gently falling into place.

Her phone vibrated—another notification.

A message from Oberoi Lifestyle's official page: "The Rajat–Sanvi engagement sets new luxury standards. All eyes on City D's most awaited event."

She chuckled, tossing the phone aside. "They've planned half the wedding without asking me," she murmured.

Just then, her mother Ravina Chaudhary Bansal entered, but not alone. Behind her, elegant as ever, draped in pearl-white Chanderi silk, stood Vasundhara Madhvan— Rajat's mother.

"Sanvi," Vasundhara said warmly, "we're going shopping."

The car that pulled up outside wasn't just any limousine. It was the Upadhyay-custom Maybach, a gift from one business titan to another—a silent statement of unity between country's I financial dynasties.

Their destination: "Neeraj – Heritage Atelier," City's D most exclusive couture salon, known for crafting lehengas for royalty, runway legends, and now, the next Madhvan bride.

Inside, chandeliers shimmered like waterfalls frozen in crystal, and every inch of fabric whispered tradition and craftsmanship.

Sanvi's eyes widened as Vasundhara gestured grandly, "This entire floor is yours today. Neeraj will help you choose."

Neeraj himself—silver-haired, graceful, and utterly theatrical—bowed lightly. "Let us dress the future."

Three hours passed in swirls of silk, sequins, and handstitched dreams.

Sanvi eventually chose a piece that stunned even Vasundhara: A deep emerald lehenga embroidered in muted gold zardozi, with motifs of flying cranes and blooming lotuses—symbolizing transition, elevation, and blossoming beauty.

It wasn't flashy, it was powerful. And it spoke of a girl ready to wear her future with grace, not glitter.

Meanwhile: In another private suite, Rajat had been summoned too.

Not that he cared much for fashion—but Vasundhara insisted. "Your sherwani should not look like a business suit."

Vasundhara had a quiet way of ensuring everything stayed within her vision. And though Rajat did not often display emotion, when he saw Sanvi walking in from the other wing in her chosen lehenga, he paused.

Sanvi, reading the moment, simply said, "You'll match this with a champagne gold sherwani. Nothing louder."

Rajat nodded. "Done."

And Elsewhere—Back in the city, preparations were no less cinematic.

The banquet hall: The iconic Imperial Grand Courtyard, booked entirely for 3 days.

The guest list: Handpicked from Country's I elite—industrialists, royals, politicians, legacy media, and cultural icons.

Security: Private guards, and 12 top-tier diplomatic security personnel.

Hotels: The entirety of The Ritz City D and Upadhyay Palace Suites were reserved for guests from City M, City J ,Country L, and Coutnry G.

Every florist from Lodhi Colony to Chanakyapuri had been hired. Jewellers like Tanishq, Amrapali, and Surana flew in special designs. A Paris-based wedding aesthetic director was flown in.

Every movement was documented. Every whisper became a blog.

And yet, amidst the glamour and news cameras, Sanvi felt oddly calm. As she tried on her necklace—an old Bansal heirloom Vasundhara had insisted on pairing with new emeralds—she caught her own reflection and thought:

"Maybe love isn't the beginning of every story.

Maybe, sometimes, a well-sewn fabric and two respectful silences make a better one."

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