The form sat on my desk like it was mocking me — Leave of Absence: Personal.

Colonel Bhaskar raised an eyebrow as he glanced at it. "Wedding, Major Khanna?"

I nodded once. "Yes, sir."

"Ten days, approved," he said, signing the form with a flourish. His smirk was almost fatherly. "You look like you'd rather be sent to Siachen than Chennai."

I gave a half-smile. "Siachen's easier, sir. Fewer extended family members."

He chuckled. "So, the most stoic man in my command is finally surrendering to civilian chaos. Good luck, Major. Hope you survive the real battlefield."

I saluted, signed the form, and left.

As I returned to my barracks, I found my team waiting outside, lounging like they had zero respect for government property — which, to be fair, they didn't. The teasing had already begun.

"Groom on the move!" Rey hollered dramatically.

"Are you taking leave for a wedding?" Maddy grinned, tossing me a duffel bag. "Is this what domesticity looks like on you, boss?"

"Hope you packed your courage," Jay added. "You'll need it more than your medals."

Sid gave me a quiet nod, his hands folded across his chest. "You sure you're ready?"

I ignored them, my mind on the logistics. Instead, I looked at them — these four men who knew the full truth, not just about Anshu, but the weight I still carried from that chapter. They'd never pushed. Never judged. They just stayed close, like a good perimeter defense.

"You lot are coming with me," I said flatly.

Jay froze mid-stretch. "Wait, seriously?"

"You're my team. You've faced bullets with me. You can handle one Indian wedding."

Bala raised a brow. "Define 'handle.' Are there rules of engagement?"

Sid chuckled. "Rule one — don't talk back to aunties. Rule two — never underestimate turmeric."

"Should we bring tactical gear?" Rey added. "I heard Indian weddings are warzones in disguise."

The train ride to Chennai was chaotic. We had our corner of the carriage, backpacks piled around us, boots resting on rucksacks — five men, two guitars (don't ask), one open box of sweets, and approximately seventy-seven bad jokes.

Sid read quietly. Jay practiced sangeet dance moves in the aisle, nearly getting us kicked out twice.

"There is no sangeet," I said flatly. "This isn't a Bollywood film."

"Not with that attitude," Maddy chimed.

And I… I just stared out the window, my hands loosely gripping the duffel bag beside me. The blur of trees and villages did little to quiet my mind. My thoughts weren't on the train — they were ahead, in that house, with a bride I hadn't met.

What would I even say when I met her?

Chennai greeted us with heat, noise, and the scent of jasmine heavy in the air. The moment we entered the city, my phone started buzzing with messages from Sakshi Bhabhi.

The Khanna home was glowing — every balcony strung with mango leaves, marigolds, and golden lights. Classical music hummed from hidden speakers. Aunties buzzed like bees around flower baskets and rangoli powder.

I barely stepped out of the car before someone collided with my legs.

"Chachu!" came a shriek, and a tiny blur of energy crashed into me.

Arjun, my two-and-a-half-year-old nephew, clung to my knees with the enthusiasm of a kid meeting his favorite action figure. A warmth I hadn't felt in years shot through me. I scooped him up with practiced ease.

"He missed his Chachu," a voice said.

I looked up. My sister-in-law, Sakshi, was smiling, but her eyes were sharp. "We all did. Your father is in the study. And Vikranth—"

She paused, glancing past me toward the house.

"Your bride's family is here."