you think planning a wedding is hard?
try planning a wedding for your ex-boyfriend whom you still love dearly.
Throw in a brutal break-up, mixed emotions, an arrogant CEO and soulful Urdu shayaris and you got yourself a story.
_
Diya x Ishaan, Boo...
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pyaar nahi, ghamand the aap,
mera dil ka hissa nahi, pura dil the aap,
aapke liye jaan nisaar kar dete hum,
agar haste haste vida kar dete aap
_
Love is a magical feeling, drives one insane, so much that they get ready to shred all of their dignity, their self-esteem and their sanity and just give their all to the person they love. Love is blind, something I had always heard and read, but I felt it, I felt it the day I gave my everything to the man I loved only to get a destroyed heart in return.
I wish it was just broken in half, I swear, fixing a two piece broken heart is simple but that man, he stomped on my heart, broke it in a zillion pieces, so many that I am not sure whether I found all of the pieces yet. These three years have been spent only in gathering the pieces back, so far I have been collecting the pieces of my heart, fixing it will take another decade, I suppose.
Everything is fair in love and war, that is the old saying, but my massi says that everything should always be fair in love, else it is just not love.
I should have listened to massi when I was kid, I wanted to, I did, but blame the thirteen year old naive kid who held hands with this boy and then never wanted to leave his hand. I should have ran home, I should have washed my hands off that feeling, I should have stopped my mates from teasing us, I should have not gone with the flow, I should have...
I should have stayed within my limits.
The limits of being a middle-class girl amongst the rich kids.
But love knew no limits.
My love did not, but apparently his did.
"Carrot Halwa?" My massi, my mother's sister, smiled at me as she entered the small kitchen, "this is going to be an amazing sunday, I can tell it."
My massi was my best friend, she was my comfy friend, my noor. Sorry, I tend to use a lot of Urdu vocabulary in my language, and although some hate it, my family loves it and they tell me to stick to it. It makes me stand out from others, it makes me, me.
"Good morning, my Noor," I said, extending my arms as she hugged me, "Aap ke liye chai lau?" I asked, and Massi nodded as she tucked my hair lovingly.
"Did someone say chai and carrot halwa?"
While massi was my noor, my radiance, my little brother was my inaayat, as in a blessing. Aayan was my soul sister, although he was my brother, but, you know what I mean. Though he was just three years younger to me, I often felt that he was still a kid of seven years old, sometimes he acted like a seventy year old with his out of the blue mature advises. He was a mixture of my massi and my massa, more like the latter, with his smile and wise words.
