The unwanted journey

The glass walls of Daksh Industries towered above the city, reflecting the endless skyline. Inside, the atmosphere was sharp and quiet, just like its CEO.

Daksh Malhotra, thirty years old, sat behind his mahogany desk, his black suit pressed to perfection. His reputation as the youngest billionaire businessman in the city was known to all, but so was his icy demeanor. He believed emotions were a distraction, and love was a weakness he couldn’t afford.

“Daksh,” his mother’s voice broke his thoughts as she stepped into his office, graceful and warm, the complete opposite of her son. “I want you to come with me to the village this weekend. Your aunt’s daughter is getting married.”

Daksh didn’t even lift his eyes from the contract he was signing. “Mother, I don’t have time for family functions. You know that.”

His mother sighed, walking closer. “You never have time for family. It’s just one wedding. You’ve ignored traditions long enough. This time, you will come with me.”

Something in her tone—firm yet pleading—made him pause. For a moment, he almost refused, but the determination in her eyes reminded him of his late father. He set his pen down with a sharp click.

“Fine,” he said coldly. “But don’t expect me to enjoy it.”

---

Far away, in a small village surrounded by fields and laughter, Mahi Sharma was chasing her younger cousins who were stealing sweets from the kitchen. At eighteen, she was full of life, her black eyes sparkling with mischief, her long hair flying behind her as she ran.

“Arrey, you little thieves! If Maasi catches you, she’ll blame me!” she laughed, catching one boy by the ear. The house was already buzzing with wedding preparations—dhol beats, colorful fabrics, and relatives filling every corner.

Unlike Daksh’s polished, lonely world, Mahi’s life was messy, loud, and filled with love. She never imagined her path would cross with someone like him—a man whose heart was locked away behind money and power.

But fate was already weaving its threads.

As Daksh’s luxury car cut through the highway toward the village, his mother’s words echoed in his ear: “Some things in life are beyond business, Daksh. Sometimes, destiny chooses for you.”

And in the heart of the village, under the strings of fairy lights and wedding songs, Mahi’s laughter would soon collide with his silence—igniting a story neither of them wanted, but both were destined to live.

____

The village was alive that evening. Strings of golden lights swayed above the courtyard, and the air was filled with the sound of dholaks and laughter. Women in bright saris moved from one corner to another, balancing trays of sweets and flowers, while the men joked loudly over cups of tea.

In the middle of it all was Mahi, her dupatta slipping off her shoulder as she rushed to help her best friend, the bride.

“Mahi, hold still!” one of her friends scolded, pinning a jasmine flower into her hair.

“I can’t hold still when everyone is calling my name!” Mahi laughed, adjusting the bride’s heavy jewelry before twirling playfully in her own lehenga.

Her energy was contagious—wherever she went, people smiled.

---

On the other side of the courtyard, a sleek black car rolled in, instantly stealing attention. The villagers paused mid-sentence, their chatter softening into whispers. From the car stepped Daksh Malhotra, tall, sharp in a tailored suit that looked out of place in the colorful chaos. His mother followed, greeting relatives warmly, but Daksh remained expressionless, his eyes scanning the crowd with quiet disinterest.

He didn’t belong here, and he knew it. The dust, the noise, the laughter—it all irritated him. He reached for his phone, ready to disappear into his emails, when a sudden sound drew his attention.

Laughter.

Not just any laughter—it was light, musical, cutting through the noise like wind chimes. His eyes followed the sound until they landed on her.

Mahi.

She was trying to balance a plate of sweets, scolding a child for stealing laddoos while still grinning from ear to ear. A strand of hair had slipped from her braid, brushing against her cheek as she tucked it back. There was nothing refined or calculated about her—she was messy, radiant, alive.

For a moment, Daksh forgot to breathe.

Mahi, meanwhile, noticed the silent man in the corner, standing like a statue while everyone else danced around him. She leaned toward her friend and whispered with a mischievous smile,

“Who’s the grumpy guest? He looks like he came here by mistake.”

Her friend giggled. “That’s Daksh Malhotra. The groom’s cousin. He’s rich, serious, and apparently impossible to talk to.”

Mahi raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Challenge accepted.”

And that was how it began—an unspoken tug between a girl who lived for laughter and a man who had forgotten how to smile.

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To be continued...

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