(Chaotic Auntie Edition)

The Ruined Wedding

I always thought my best friend, Aaryan, was a mostly sane human being.

Okay, maybe semi-sane. He had this habit of showing up at my house at 2 AM with chicken momos and half-baked start-up ideas like “Uber, but for cows/street animals.” He once convinced me to dye my hair green for a “social experiment.” And he absolutely believed pineapple did not belong on pizza, which I grudgingly respected.

But never—NEVER—in all our twenty-two years of friendship, did I think he’d be the kind of person who would ruin my wedding.

And yet there he was, storming into the mandap like some Bollywood villain who had overdosed on Red Bull and audacity. His sherwani jacket was unbuttoned, his hair looked like it had been styled by a thunderstorm, and his face was glowing with something between madness and divine mission.

“I object!” he shouted, loud enough to rattle the chandeliers.

Now, I should explain something.
Indian weddings are not intimate affairs. They’re basically Avengers: Endgame with ladoos. Five hundred guests minimum, plus backup dancers in case of spontaneous choreography. And every single one of them turned their heads to look at Aaryan like he was the star of a Netflix special titled “Idiot of the Year.”

My groom-to-be, Raghav, froze mid-pose like a buffering Zoom call. My mother nearly fainted into a pile of marigolds. My father muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I knew this idiot would do something.”

And me? I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.

“Aaryan,” I hissed, trying not to dislocate my neck under the ten kilos of jewelry. “What the hell are you doing?!”

He marched forward with the confidence of a man who had eaten chaos for breakfast. “You can’t marry him, Ananya,” he declared, pointing at poor Raghav, who looked like he was calculating dowry refunds. “Because… because you’re already supposed to marry me!”

The hall went silent. Even the shehnai player stopped mid-note.

And then came the gasps—an orchestra of aunties.

“Hai Ram! Plot twist!”

“I told you these two were fishy since tuition classes!”

“Beta, get the popcorn.”

"Ab mzaa aayega na bidduu"

The Ultimatum

“What?!” I shrieked, nearly dislodging my matha patti.

“You heard me.” Aaryan grinned, unhinged. “You and I—we’re meant to be married. You promised.”

“I WHAT?!”

He squinted, as though digging through memory files. “Ah yes. That time in seventh grade when you said—and I quote—‘If we’re still single at thirty, I’ll marry you.’ Well, sweetheart, you’re trying to cheat on the contract at twenty-five. That’s emotional fraud.”

I gaped. “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?”

Raghav, still frozen like a statue, whispered, “Ananya… do you… know this man?”

“She’s my childhood best friend!” Aaryan cut in proudly, puffing his chest like a pigeon on steroids. “And also my future wife. Isn’t that right, Anu?”

“NO!” I snapped. “Not right! Very, VERY wrong!”

But before I could explain, my mother gasped and clutched her pearls like a reality show contestant. “Ananya! You promised him marriage?”

“Maa! It was a joke! We were twelve!”

“Promises are promises,” Aaryan said solemnly, like he was quoting the Bhagavad Gita. “Besides, do you even love this Excel-sheet robot?”

I flushed. “That is NONE of your business!”

Which, of course, was an answer in itself.
And Aaryan knew it.

The aunties collectively shrieked. One fainted into the gulab jamun bowl.

Kidnapping 101

Any sane best friend would’ve stopped there. Maybe pulled me aside for a heart-to-heart.

But Aaryan? No. This man decided to go full filmy.

Because five minutes later, before anyone could process the chaos, he grabbed my hand, pulled me out of the mandap, and kidnapped me.

Yes. Kidnapped.
Dragged me out of my own wedding in front of five hundred people like some Wattpad reject.

The aunties chased us to the gate, shrieking like banshees. One even threw a sandal at him.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?!” I screamed as he shoved me into his Jeep. “You’ve ruined EVERYTHING!”

“Correction,” he said, revving the engine. “I saved you.”

“Saved me from WHAT?”

“From a boring life with a boring husband whose idea of fun is probably arranging socks by color.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just—just—KIDNAP me!”

“Well, technically,” he smirked, “since we’re best friends, it’s not kidnapping. It’s… extended hangout time.”

“I hate you!”

“No, you don’t. You love me.”

Reader, I wanted to kill him. But some traitorous part of me whispered: what if he’s not wrong?

The Marriage Contract

By the time we reached his flat, my phone had exploded:

500+ missed calls.

1k+ WhatsApp messages.

20+ voicemails from my mother screaming, “ANANYA BETA, COME BACK OR I WILL JUMP INTO THE WELL.”

Raghav’s family was threatening legal action. My dad was threatening to disown me. And I was threatening to murder Aaryan with a belan.

But Aaryan? He was making chai. Singing. Humming song," tera ishq bda teekha mujhe teekha acha lge...... Tere ishq mei dard bda.... Mujhe dard acha lge.... With playful smirk......tera ishk bda jhootha.....ooooo...."
Like he hadn’t just staged the biggest scandal of the year.

“Relax,” he said, handing me a cup. “All part of the plan.”

“PLAN?!”

“Our marriage.”

I nearly choked on my tea. “ARE YOU DELUSIONAL?”

He whipped out a wrinkled paper from his drawer. “Proof.”

It was from my childhood diary. On it, in my twelve-year-old handwriting: “If I’m still single at 30, I’ll marry Aaryan. Pinky promise.” Underneath, our messy signatures.

I stared in horror. “YOU KEPT THIS?!”

“Of course. Promises are sacred.”

“That was FIFTEEN YEARS AGO!”

“Exactly. Commitment, baby. Very rare these days.”

“You’re insane.”

“And yet,” he leaned closer, smug, “you’re not running away.”

Forced Roommates

Since going home meant instant execution by angry relatives, I stayed. One night turned into a week.

By the end of that week, news channels had picked up the story.
“Runaway Bride Kidnapped by Best Friend—True Love or Madness?” blared the headlines.

My extended family WhatsApp was split into two factions:

Team Disgrace: “This girl has ruined our izzat..... And honoured with tags like characterless, sanskarheen, aur pdhao betiyon ko..... etc.....”

Team Shaadi Goals: “Aww, so filmy! Make #AnuRan the hashtag!”

Living with Aaryan was chaos. He left socks in teacups. He ate Maggi at 3 AM. He made speeches about being “the husband destiny chose” while burning rotis into charcoal.

And worst of all? He made me laugh when I desperately wanted to stay furious.

And then I started noticing things.
The way he always got my chai ratio right.
The way he’d cover me with a blanket if I dozed off.
The way he looked at me sometimes—not like a best friend, but like… more.

And that scared the hell out of me.

The Breaking Point

One night, I exploded.

“You don’t get it, Aaryan!” I shouted. “You can’t just FORCE someone to love you!”

For the first time, he looked… hurt. His grin slipped.

“I’m not forcing you to love me, Anu. I’m forcing you to admit that you already do.”

My chest tightened. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” His voice was soft, breaking. “Then why didn’t you stop me at the mandap? Why didn’t you go back to Raghav? Why are you still here?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Silence.

And that silence was the loudest confession of my life.

The Wildest Wedding

Two months later, after family drama dramatic enough for ten Ekta Kapoor serials, it happened.

We got married.

Not because I was forced. Not because of a pinky promise. But because somewhere between the chaos, the late-night chai, and his ridiculous burnt rotis… I realized he was right.

Of course, our wedding wasn’t normal. Nothing with Aaryan ever was.

We eloped. On a random Tuesday. In jeans. He brought me a bouquet of Maggi packets because he “forgot flowers.” I spilled coffee on the marriage certificate. He almost lost the sindoor box because he thought it was chewing gum.

But it was perfect. Because it was us.

And when we walked out, he looked at me with that maddening grin and whispered, “Told you. A promise is sacred.”

This time… I didn’t argue.

Epilogue: Happily Chaotic Ever After

Do I still want to kill him sometimes? Yes. Especially when he leaves wet towels on the bed.

Do I regret it? Not for a second.

Because sometimes, the madness you’re running from is exactly the love you need.

And when people ask how I got married, I tell them the truth:

“My best friend kidnapped me. And that’s how I married the love of my life.”

                   ✳✴❇✳✴❇

😘😍 Thanks for reading😍😘