Amrita sat glowing on the stage, surrounded by relatives, friends, and endless smiles. Aunties came in waves, touching her head, whispering blessings in her ear, pressing gifts wrapped in shimmering paper into her lap. The air smelled of sandalwood and perfume, of haldi kumkum and excitement.

She was busy adoring Guru—watching him from the corner of her eye, her heart fluttering every time he smiled or turned toward her. He stood a little away, talking quietly to Soori and jai sharp in a deep blue sherwani, hair slicked back, wristwatch gleaming—his presence commanding, silent and strong.