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I woke up the next day with a pounding headache, a telltale sign of the previous night's excesses. He squinted against the bright morning light filtering through the curtains, each ray feeling like a stab in his already throbbing temples. As I lay there, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of the night before, a sense of dread washed over him. Something significant had happened, and it was slowly coming back to him.
The sangeet.
I groaned, rubbing my temples as the memories began to align themselves into a coherent narrative. It had been a night filled with music, dance, and celebration. The entire family and close friends had gathered, and the atmosphere charged with excitement and anticipation for the upcoming wedding. I had been drinking, more than he usually did, egged on by my enthusiastic little brother, Yashraj.
Yashraj. The name triggered a flood of memories. I recalled the mischievous grin on his brother's face as they played a game of "Never Have I Ever." It had started innocently enough, with laughter and teasing, but then things had taken a serious turn.
"Never have I ever confessed my love to someone and not meant it," Yashraj had said, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he looked directly at Yuvraj.
The room had gone quiet, all eyes turning to me. I had felt the heat rise to his cheeks, the alcohol in my system making me bolder and more reckless than usual. I had taken a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest, and looked across the room at Aisha. She had been sitting there, her eyes wide with curiosity and something else, something that looked like hope.
Fueled by a mix of liquid courage and years of suppressed emotions, I had stood up, swaying slightly. "I have something to say," I had declared, my voice slurring a bit. The room had fallen completely silent, the air thick with anticipation.
"Aisha," I had said, looking directly at her, "I love you. I've loved you for a long time. And I'm tired of hiding it."
The words had hung in the air, heavy and profound. For a moment, there had been nothing but stunned silence. Then Aisha had stood up, her eyes glistening with tears. She had walked over to him, her movements slow and deliberate, and wrapped her arms around him.
"I love you too, Yuvraj," she had whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I always have."
The room had erupted in cheers and applause, the joyful noise echoing around them as Yuvraj had held Aisha close, his heart soaring. It had been a perfect moment, one he had dreamed of for so long.
But now, in the harsh light of morning, the reality of my drunken confession hit me hard. I felt a mixture of relief and anxiety, wondering if Aisha felt the same way now that the alcohol had worn off. As I lay there, contemplating my next move, there was a soft knock on the door.
"Come in," I called out, my voice rough from sleep and the remnants of alcohol.
The door opened, and Viraj, my other brother, stepped in. He had a sympathetic look on his face as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
