The morning began with a sharp ring of Ira’s phone, breaking the quiet hum of Kolkata’s summer. She glanced at the caller ID — Mansi. Smiling, she picked up.

“Hello?”

“Ira dii !” Mansi’s excited voice nearly burst through the speaker. “We’re going shopping today, sab milke! Mehendi and haldi outfits, jewelry, everything. Please come! Let’s meet at the mall at eleven?”

Ira could practically feel Mansi’s happiness shining through the call. “Of course, I’ll be there,” she replied warmly.

Her mother, overhearing, stepped in immediately, “Beta, dekh lena apna bhi kuch lehenga, shaadi ka ghar hai, nazar sab pe padti hai!”

Even her aunt couldn’t help teasing, “Aur Varun bhi jaa raha hai na? Accha hai Ira, ek saath dekh lena sab.”

Ira sighed internally. She was used to these remarks by now — the way people always tried to link her name with Varun.

—

By eleven, the mall was buzzing with wedding shoppers, children chasing balloons, families debating colors. Ira arrived in a soft pastel kurti, her hair in a loose braid, feeling fresh yet a little nervous about the day.

As soon as she entered, she noticed Reyansh — standing coolly near the entrance, phone in hand, wearing a crisp white kurta, his eyes scanning the crowds like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Why does he always act so arrogant? she grumbled to herself.

Reyansh, meanwhile, looked up and nearly stopped breathing. Traditional suits suited Ira shockingly well, he had to admit, and for a moment, he was caught off guard by how graceful she looked even in this simple attire. But he quickly forced his face back to neutral, pretending to scroll his phone.

Ira saw that, rolled her eyes, and mumbled, “Mr. Attitude…” under her breath.

---

Mansi and her cousins greeted Ira with big hugs. Varun too was there, dressed casually and flashing a broad smile. He wasted no time joking with Ira, handing her bags, teasing her about color choices. Ira laughed easily around him, glad to focus on her friend rather than Reyansh’s silent brooding.

Their shopping marathon started — silks, jewelry, matching turbans, even kid-sized kurtas.

“Shaadi mein sab coordinate hona chahiye!” Mansi’s mother declared dramatically at a saree shop.

“Aur dekho Ira beta, tumhare taste pe bharosa hai,” added Mansi’s uncle, clapping Ira on the shoulder.

Meanwhile, Varun stuck close, helping Ira with piles of bags and praising her picks. Mansi’s grandmother winked at another aunt:

> “Dekha na Varun aur Ira ko? Kitna sambhal ke rakhta hai usko!”

“Haan re, Varun ki toh lottery lag jaayegi Ira ke saath.”

Reyansh caught that passing remark, and it stung more than he could have explained.

Why should it bother me? he scolded himself. She’s just a colleague. That’s it.

But every time Varun gently helped Ira with a dupatta or laughed with her about something , it burned.

He tried to look away, to focus on the wedding budget list on his phone, but found himself glancing back at her again and again.

---

For Ira, the day was exhausting but warm — this family had accepted her as one of their own, making her feel involved and needed. She was genuinely happy for Mansi, excited to see the wedding dreams coming alive.

But somewhere in the corner of her mind, she couldn’t help noticing Reyansh — quiet, distant, yet always watching. Why does he have to be here anyway? she wondered. Always acting like I annoy him.

And yet every time their eyes accidentally met, there was a strange pull she couldn’t quite name.