Two years after that afternoon in the book café, Siddharth stood nervously at the edge of a small garden, adjusting the sleeves of his kurta.
It wasn’t a grand wedding — no glittering chandeliers or thousand-people guest list.
It was simple, just like their love had always been: honest, quiet, deep.

The ceremony was held in the town's old botanical garden — the same town where they had once passed notes in dusty classrooms, the same place where poetry first tied their hearts together.