On the wedding day, under the mandap , the priest chanted the Mangalashtak in his deep, sonorous Marathi. Mira did not sing along. But she closed her eyes, and in her mind, the English lyrics played like a silent film.

Sky and earth. Unwavering love. Joy reflected in the other’s eyes.

And that, she realised, was the truest wedding of all.

“First verse: May you two be united like the union of the sky and the earth… May your love be as vast and unwavering.”

“You understood,” Aai whispered. “Not the language of the tongue. The language of the soul.”

By the seventh verse, her eyes were wet. The English words weren't clunky or academic. They were tender. One line read: “May you see your own joy reflected in each other’s eyes, even when the world grows dark.”

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