Evening had gently draped its golden veil over the village when Naveen stepped into the verandah, clutching his phone, dialing a number with fast moving fingers. His parents were sitting nearby, their eyes flickering with barely concealed curiosity.

“Put it on speaker, Navi,” his mother whispered, unable to contain her eagerness.

Naveen silenced her with a playful glance and tapped the speaker icon. The phone began to ring.

Across the room, Nandini sat stiffly, pretending not to care. But her heart was pounding, each beat echoing like a war drum within her chest.

“Hello?” came the voice at last—deep, composed, unmistakably Raman's.

“Hello, Namaste, Jijaji. It’s me, Naveen.”

“Ah, Pandey ji! How are you?”

“I’m doing great, and you?”

“All good. How’s everyone at home?”

“Everyone’s fine, thank you. So tell me, when are you visiting us next? When will be you on leave?”

“Actually… I’m already on leave.”

“Oh wow! For how long?”

“About a week. But I’ll be taking a longer one during the wedding, of course.”

“Of course,” Naveen chuckled, a grin spreading across his face.

“I was thinking, Jijaji… how about we go on a small outing? Just the three of us—you, me, and Didi.”

Rani Devi’s eyes lit up. She quickly nudged Nandini, who got up, sighing, as though to say, Here we go again. She rolled her eyes dramatically, rubbing her forehead.

“Well, I’m in,” Raman replied, “but you’ll need to convince your sister. I’m not sure she’d want to tag along.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Naveen said with innocent confidence. “She’ll come. You just name the place and we’ll go!”

“Alright, let’s do this—I’ll bring the car and pick you both up. We’ll head out together. I’m tied up tomorrow but day after for sure.”

“Perfect,” Naveen beamed, hanging up quickly. He rushed inside to Nandini’s room, unable to contain his excitement.

“Let’s start packing, Didi! Do you see how crucial I am in building bridges between you and Jijaji? I deserve an award!”

“Please!” she snorted. “You’re dying to meet him and using my name as a prop. Bravo!”

---

Meanwhile, in a nearby village, Raman stared quietly at a photograph of a girl.

“She’s fair as milk,” his mother gushed beside him, eyes gleaming. “Just look at that face! Such beauty!”

Across the room, his father sat with his head in his hands, shooting a withering glance at his wife.

“The engagement’s already been decided, Ramu’s mother. What are you trying to do now?” He said bitterly.

“It’s just an engagement! Not a marriage yet,” she snapped. “And I don’t like the girl. Sure, her features are fine, but if only her skin tone was fairer, she’d be perfect.”

“What nonsense! If you didn’t like her, you should’ve said so earlier. And for the record, I’ve already refused this other girl’s proposal. She’s not fit to be part of this family. Her character is questionable. I’ve done my homework.”

“All lies! People always attack beautiful girls out of jealousy. I’ve spoken to her mother. Listen, no one knows of this engagement yet. I haven’t distributed sweets or made any public announcement. This new proposal… it’s from an incredibly wealthy family. Land, money, reputation—and she’s their only child! Have you seen her? Like an apsara descended from the heavens. God himself sculpted her beauty. Ramu, tell me, isn’t she lovely?”

Raman didn’t answer. His gaze remained fixed on the photo.

Raman's father said to his mother,

“Tell him, will you? That this apsara girl failed tenth grade and spends her days loitering around like a vagabond! She’s no match for Nandini. Educated, graceful—”

But before the sentence could finish, Raman spoke, calm and firm:

“She is beautiful, yes. But I don’t think she suits me, Ma. After my next promotion, I’ll be attending higher-level army functions with senior officers. My wife would need to stand among them as my equal. How will this barely-educated girl represent me? Just because she looks divine? No. It would be humiliating. And think about my future kids too. Beauty alone can’t raise a child with values or help them succeed. But Nandini? She’s perfect. I may be just a graduate, but she holds a master’s degree. The only girl in the village who studied in the city. And after marriage, she wants to pursue a PhD and grow in her teaching profession. That would bring us pride. Given my job and its risks, we need someone strong and sensible at home—someone who can handle everything. And let’s not forget, her younger brother is already serving at a junior rank.”

With that, he placed the photo on the table.

His father smiled.

“Oh? And what about what people will say about her dusky complexion, huh? I’ll be the one blamed! They’ll say I got a dark-skinned daughter-in-law for my only handsome son!”

“Let them talk. Her qualities will silence them,” said his father with a chuckle, walking out. Raman had already disappeared into his room.

“Well then! You two do whatever you like!” his mother snapped. “But I will take dowry now. My son is in the Army! I’ll demand it openly. That girl won’t step foot in this house otherwise.”

“We already made it clear—no dowry,” came the father’s grumbling voice from outside.

---

The next day, just past noon, Naveen burst into the house, phone in hand, voice booming through the walls.

“Ma! Baba! Didi! Where is everyone?!”

“Why are you shouting?” Nandini called, just back from school, visibly tired.

“You won’t believe it! Sangram Sir has received the Sena Medal! This morning—at the Delhi Army Headquarters! There was a full ceremony. He just sent me the video!” Naveen was nearly trembling with pride.

Nandini muttered dryly, “You must’ve nagged him to send the video. Honestly, have some shame. He’s not your friend or relative. You keep worshipping him, or worse—clinging to him! What must he think of you? Probably makes fun of you with his fellow officers. You’re too naive.”

“Oh stop it!” Naveen brushed her off. “He’s not like that. Sangram Sir never minds anything I say. In fact, the whole team jokes we’re like a father and son separated at the Kumbh Mela!”

“Great. That’s what I needed to hear in life,” Nandini sighed theatrically and marched to the kitchen for a glass of water.

“Come on! At least watch the video! He looked incredible—like a war hero from a movie!”

“No thanks. You enjoy worshipping your Sangram Sir. Maybe build a temple while you’re at it!” she shouted with laughter.

But Naveen didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes sparkled with the video still playing on his screen.

Just then, Mohan ji and Rani Devi walked in, bags in hand. They had returned from the city jeweller, slowly collecting wedding essentials. The preparations had begun.

Naveen handed them water and then, still grinning, held out his phone.

“Ma, Baba! Look at this. Sangram Sir received the medal today in Delhi.”

“Your senior officer?” Mohan ji asked.

“Yes! Watch!”

He pressed play and handed over the phone. Rani Devi leaned in, her eyes widening with awe.

“Where are my glasses?” muttered Mohan ji, squinting.

Nandini wordlessly placed the glasses in his hands and turned to leave.

“Nanda, dear, come see this too,” Mohan ji offered kindly.

“No, you all watch. I’ve got work to do,” she replied and disappeared.

“What a powerful presence he has,” said Mohan ji, eyes glued to the screen. “That face—radiating valor and command.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Naveen beamed. “He’s from one of Rajasthan’s oldest Rajput families. Born warriors. They once fought for kings, now for the nation. That’s the legacy he carries. No wonder he’s been awarded the Sena Medal.”

Everyone watched with pride—as if it was one of their own being honored in that grand ceremony.

Far away, in the quiet kitchen, Nandini stood by herself, ears catching every word. She had said she wouldn’t watch the video—but deep down, her heart wanted to see the man her brother so deeply admired.

The man who, perhaps unknowingly… was about to change her life.