Next came the send-off — the classic bidaai moment where the bride leaves her maternal home to go to her new family, the emotional farewell where the bride parts ways with her family, usually with enough crying to flood a small town.

Now, if you expected me and my parents to cry rivers, with dramatic violin music in the background... me sobbing uncontrollably into a tissue while my mother faints and my dad hands over my baby photos to Abhi like he's surrendering a legacy... while Abhi gently offers his silk handkerchief, lovingly wiping away my tears and telling me, "It's okay, Meera... I've got you now", as I rest my head on his shoulder and cry myself to sleep...

Let me stop you right there.

That. Did. Not. Happen.

By now, you should've figured out that my family doesn't really follow the user manual of emotional send-offs. We tossed the manual out of the window years ago — probably during Roohi's naming ceremony when my dad cracked jokes through the whole ritual.

So, what actually happened?

Well, not a single soul cried.

Zero buckets of tears. Not even a spoonful. If anyone had tears in their eyes, it was from laughing too hard. My farewell sounded more like a wedding comedy show than an emotional goodbye.

Why? Because this marriage wasn't really taking me anywhere.

Literally.

Abhi's house is next door.

Yes, next door. Like, "lean-out-of-your-window-and-ask-for-sugar" kind of close.

Our dads, in their infinite wisdom and best-friend goals, had bought adjacent plots decades ago and built their homes side-by-side — complete with a shared garden that was more active than some community parks.

Every major holiday, every pooja, every random Tuesday night — we were always together. So now that I've married Abhi, my family's thrilled because, technically, they've locked me in for life — without losing me to a new city or strange in-laws.

In short: "Apni beti apne hi ghar mein hai." 

(Translation: Our daughter is in her own home)

So yeah — why cry when I'll probably be having breakfast with them tomorrow morning?

The wedding took place at one of the hotels owned by our families, and the ride from there to Abhi's house took almost an hour. You'd think it'd be a quiet, contemplative journey. Maybe some glances exchanged. Some nervous smiles. Maybe a soundtrack playing in the background if life were a movie.

Reality check: It was chaos.

Roohi and Reena decided to third-wheel their way into our bidaai car (correction: fourth and fifth wheel — Rohan was driving like a royal charioteer on Red Bull), and the whole ride was a riot of teasing, singing, and arguments over who stole the groom's shoes and whether the ransom was paid in full.

Meanwhile, me and Abhi? We just sat back and watched the madness unfold, occasionally exchanging glances that said, "Yep. This is our circus now."

No awkward silences. No dramatic breakdowns.
Just laughter. Love. And the comfort of knowing... that no matter where I go from now on, I'm never really leaving home.

*

*

*

Once we reached Abhi's mansion, I was greeted with a grand welcome fit for a queen — or at least a very tired, slightly confused bride. The house was buzzing with excitement as more rituals unfolded, each one adding layers of tradition and laughter.

The highlight? The much-anticipated ring-finding game. First up, Abhi had to find his name hidden in the intricate patterns of my henna. True to his charm, he located it in less than two minutes — probably faster than I ever managed to find my keys on a Monday morning.

Next, it was our turn. Together, Abhi and I had to find a ring hidden in a vessel filled with milk and rose petals. The family divided into two teams, cheering loudly — though amusingly, mine was actually rooting for him, and his was rooting for me. The rule was simple: whoever finds the ring first gets to rule the relationship. Sounds like a battle for the throne, doesn't it?

As we plunged our hands into the cool milk, I suddenly felt Abhi's fingers brush against mine. Then, something small and smooth was gently passed into my hand. My heart skipped a beat.

I lifted the object out to find — yes! — the ring we'd been searching for.

The room erupted into joyful squeals and applause as I was declared the winner. I glanced at Abhi, and he was smiling that dashing, just-for-me smile that made my knees go weak — the kind of smile that said, "Looks like you're the queen of this kingdom, Meera."

And honestly? I wasn't about to argue.