"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, her smile tightening.

"Your bride's family is here."

The warmth from Arjun's hug evaporated. I set him down, my posture instinctively straightening. "Right."

"Come on," Sakshi said, already in motion, grabbing my arm. "You're late, the samdhis are already here, and Bade Papa is giving that look."

She towed me into the house, and I was immediately hit by a wall of noise, jasmine, and heat. Women lined up with plates, aunties I didn't recognize were already trying to shove laddoos into my mouth, and kids screamed something about room arrangements like it was a battle plan.

I glanced over my shoulder, looking for my team — my support. It was a mistake. They were already gone, swallowed by the chaos.

I caught a flash of Maddy and Rey, cornered by two nosy aunties vigorously debating the merits of turmeric face packs. Sid was being directed by another relative toward a pile of pooja setups. Traitors. I was on my own.

Sakshi didn't slow down, pulling me through the chaos of the main hall into the unnerving quiet of my father's study.

The air in the room was thick with formality. My father and Bade Papa stood on one side, all military legacy and unspoken command.

On the other — her family.

A man and a woman, both impeccably dressed. Her mother was elegant in a silk saree, her eyes kind but visibly nervous. Her father, in a crisp shirt, carried the quiet confidence of a man used to boardrooms, not battlefields. His gaze was proud, but not tactical. It was a civilian's gaze.

And standing slightly apart from them, a man who was the clear exception — sharp, a little older than me, and the most alert pair of eyes in the room. Civilian clothes, but he carried himself like he was in uniform.

"Vikranth," my father said, his voice clipped. "This is Mr. and Mrs. Kumar. Aarohi's parents."

I moved forward, folding my hands. "Namaste."

"It's a pleasure, Major," Mr. Kumar said. His handshake was firm, but it was a civilian's grip — polite, not military.

"And this," my father added, his tone shifting, "is Group Captain Jack D'Souza. Squadron Leader Kumar's CO."

Group Captain. So this was him. Her boss. Her protector.

"Major." The Group Captain nodded, not smiling. His eyes were doing a full, systematic scan. "Heard a lot about you."

"Group Captain." I met his gaze. "Likewise."

I'm protecting her. I know you are.

The unspoken challenge hung in the air between us.

The conversation was stilted. My father and Bade Papa talked about the Service with the Group Captain — a conversation Mr. Kumar tried to follow but couldn't quite join.

It wasn't a meeting of equals. It was my family's military dynasty holding court, with her civilian parents looking on, and the Group Captain acting as a one-man embassy for his officer.

After ten minutes that felt like an hour, I excused myself.

I escaped to the courtyard, finally able to breathe. I leaned against a pillar, letting the cool night air and the scent of jasmine clear my head. A flicker of something — not pity, but respect — hit me. She wasn't from this world. She'd broken into it, all on her own. And she'd sent her CO to represent her.

"You scared, Chachu?"

I looked down. Arjun was standing there, fiddling with my dog tags.

"A little," I admitted, pulling him onto my lap.

"What if she doesn't like you?" he asked with brutal toddler honesty.

I looked at him and smiled — the first genuine one of the night. "Then I'll try harder."

Arjun patted my face gently. "Don't worry. I like you."

"Thanks, champ," I murmured, holding him close. "That's enough reassurance for tonight."

She wasn't like me. She didn't have a family legacy to fall back on. She'd earned her place alone.

And she was in the house, somewhere. Under the same roof.

I'd met her family. I'd sized up her protector.

And tomorrow, I had to marry her.