Chapter 8: In the Presence of the Divine

The sun rose gently that morning—soft golden light bathing the city of Bangalore.

At a quiet, ancient temple tucked between tall trees and stone steps, the sounds of temple bells chimed as if welcoming a new beginning. Flowers adorned the mandapam in simple elegance—no loud music, no crowd—just purity, just grace.

Poornima stood at the temple doorway, draped in the green silk saree Veeresh had gifted her. The gold bangles clinked softly as she held Aradhya close, her heart racing with calm nervousness. Her hair was tied in a traditional bun with jasmine strands woven through. Her eyes shimmered not with makeup—but with peace.

Veeresh stood at the other side of the steps, Ayan by his side in a cream kurta. His eyes never left her—not once. Dressed in a simple white dhoti and shirt, he looked every bit the man she’d slowly come to trust.

Their families—his parents, her parents—stood around the mandapam with contented smiles, the past forgotten in this sacred moment.

The priest called out,

“Muhurtham samayam aagide. Let the bride and groom step forward.”

Veeresh stepped closer and reached his hand to her.

Poornima looked at him silently—and placed her hand in his.

They sat together, Ayan and Aradhya beside them, playing with flower petals and laughing as the priest chanted the mantras.

Veeresh’s mother whispered to Poornima, “You’re the strength he needed.”

Poornima smiled, her eyes misting. Her own father wiped his tears and kissed her forehead.

And then came the moment.

As the priest chanted,

“Mangalyam tantunanena...”

Veeresh gently tied the mangalasutra around Poornima’s neck—his hands steady, heart full.

Ayan clapped.

Aradhya giggled.

Their worlds were no longer separate.

The priest declared,

“From today, you are husband and wife—not just by rituals, but by responsibility, respect, and love.”

They stood, and for the first time, Veeresh turned to Poornima and said softly,

“Now we begin our real story... not as pasts, but as partners.”

She nodded, and they looked down at Ayan and Aradhya holding each other’s hands—two little souls who had already accepted what the world was still absorbing.

Veeresh’s father said proudly, “Let’s go home, Mrs. and Mr. Suryavanshi—with our little team.