The air conditioning inside the upscale restaurant in Madhapur humd quietly, filtering out the heavy afternoon heat of Hyderabad. The restaurant was located just twelve minutes away from the office where Krithika had worked for the past two years.
Krithika sat in a secluded corner booth. She wore a simple, elegant white kurti. She checked her watch. It was 1:05 PM.
Sitting across from her, scrolling rapidly through her phone, was her younger sister, Anjali.
"They are late," Anjali noted, not looking up from her screen.
"It's lunchti in Hitec City, Anju," Krithika said. "Getting out of the corporate elevators and finding an auto takes fifteen minutes alone. Just be patient."
Krithika reached into her tote bag resting on the seat beside her. She felt the two smooth, small wooden boxes resting at the bottom. She had officially resigned from her corporate strategy role a week after the engagent at Falaknuma Palace. Her manager had accepted the resignation without pressing for details.
Today, she was finally going to tell her two closest colleagues the truth. The wedding was one week away. The timing had to be precise.
"I still think you should have just texted them a photo," Anjali grinned, setting her phone face down on the table. "Seeing their reaction over a WhatsApp ssage would have been hilarious."
"I am not sending digital proof to anyone," Krithika warned, adjusting her glass of water. "I am giving them the physical invitations today, and I am swearing them to secrecy."
The glass doors of the restaurant swung open. Two won in formal office wear walked in, looking around the tables.
Krithika raised her hand slightly.
Sneha and Priya spotted her and imdiately walked over.
"Krithi!" Sneha said, dropping her laptop bag onto an empty chair and pulling Krithika into a tight hug. "We missed you at the morning briefing today. The new manager is a nightmare."
Priya hugged her next, sitting down next to Anjali. "It feels so weird not having you in the cubicle next to . Are you enjoying your funemploynt?"
"I am," Krithika smiled, gesturing to the nu. "Order whatever you want. Lunch is on today."
Sneha opened the nu. "You better pay. You leave the company with one week's notice, you refuse to tell us which rival firm you joined, and you completely dodge all our questions on the group chat. You owe us at least a pizza."
"I didn't join a rival firm," Krithika said.
Priya frowned, putting her nu down. "Then why did you quit so suddenly? You were in line for the promotion next quarter."
"I quit because I am getting married," Krithika stated simply.
Sneha and Priya froze. They stared at Krithika.
"Married?" Sneha asked, her voice dropping. "You? Since when were you even looking? You never ntioned anything about your parents arranging a match."
"It's not an arranged match," Krithika said. "We have known each other for a long ti."
Priya leaned across the table. "You have been secretly dating soone this whole ti? While we sat next to each other for two years? Who is he? Do we know him? Does he work in our building?"
"I'll tell you everything," Krithika laughed, raising her hands defensively. "But let's order food first. I promise I will show you his photo after we eat."
Sneha sighed heavily, signaling the waiter. "Fine. But I am ordering the most expensive pasta on this nu as compensation for your lies."
They ordered their food. For the next forty minutes, the booth was filled with standard office gossip. Sneha complained about the quarterly targets, and Priya talked about a recent project deadline. Krithika listened, feeling a strange sense of detachnt. Just a few weeks ago, those quarterly targets had been her entire world.
The waiter cleared their plates and brought three glasses of fresh li soda.
"Alright," Sneha said, crossing her arms and leaning back against the leather booth. "The food is gone. The plates are cleared. The suspense is killing . Show us the photo, Krithi. Who is the mystery man?"
Priya nodded eagerly. "Is he handso? What does he do?"
Krithika looked at Anjali. Anjali grinned, leaning forward, resting her chin on her hands, waiting for the explosion.
Krithika reached into her tote bag. She pulled out the two small, intricately carved teakwood boxes. She slid one across the table to Sneha, and the other to Priya.
"These are your invitations," Krithika said quietly. "The wedding is next week."
Sneha looked at the wooden box. She ran her fingers over the carvings. "Krithi, this is beautiful. This looks like solid teak. Did you get these custom-made?"
"Open it," Krithika said.
Priya unhooked the small brass latch on her box. She lifted the wooden lid. Inside, resting on a bed of dark crimson velvet, was a thin, heavy plate of pure silver.
Priya's eyes widened. She touched the tal. "Krithi... is this actual silver? You printed your wedding invitation on a silver plate?"
"Her family must be really rich," Sneha muttered to Priya, staring at her own silver plate in shock.
"Read the text," Anjali urged from across the table.
Sneha pulled the silver plate out of the box. She held it up to the light, squinting slightly to read the dark, laser-etched English lettering on the right side of the plate.
"The families of Vikram Deva and Subba Rao invite you to celebrate the marriage of..." Sneha read aloud slowly. Her eyes moved to the next line.
Sneha stopped reading.
She stared at the na etched into the silver. She blinked twice. She read it again.
Priya, who was reading her own plate, also stopped. Her breath hitched. She looked up from the silver plate, staring directly at Krithika with an expression of horror and confusion.
"Krithika," Sneha whispered. Her voice was shaking. "Krithika, there is a typo on this plate."
"There is no typo," Krithika said calmly.
"Yes, there is," Sneha insisted, her hands trembling slightly as she held the silver plate. "It says... it says Siddanth Deva."
"I know what it says," Krithika smiled.
Sneha stared at her. She looked at Anjali. She looked back at the plate. The realization slowly, violently crashed into her brain. The na wasn't a coincidence. The silver plates. The sudden resignation.
"WHAT?!" Sneha scread.
She didn't just shout. She scread the word at the top of her lungs.
Every single person in the restaurant stopped eating. The waiters froze in their tracks. Three tables turned around instantly, staring directly at their corner booth.
Krithika lunged across the table. She grabbed Sneha by the shoulder and physically pulled her down.
"Sneha, shut up!" Krithika hissed, looking around the restaurant apologetically. "Keep your voice down!"
Priya dropped the silver plate back into the wooden box. It hit the table with a loud clatter. Priya gripped the edge of the table, staring at Krithika as if she had just grown a second head.
"You..." Priya stamred, her voice a harsh, frantic whisper. "You are marrying... the Indian cricketer? The founder of Nexus? That Siddanth Deva?!"
"Yes," Krithika said softly.
"Are you ssing with us?" Sneha demanded, her eyes wide, completely ignoring the people staring at them. "Is this a prank? Did you print fake plates to ss with us?!"
Krithika didn't argue. She pulled her smartphone out of her purse. She opened her secure photo gallery. She tapped on the folder labeled 'Engagent'.
She slid the phone across the table.
Sneha and Priya practically knocked their heads together as they leaned over the screen.
The high-definition photo displayed Krithika, wearing a stunning deep maroon handwoven silk saree, sitting on the floor mats inside the Durbar Hall of the Falaknuma Palace. Sitting exactly opposite her, wearing a matching maroon kurta, holding her hand and smiling warmly, was Siddanth Deva.
Priya's jaw literally dropped open. Her mouth hung completely slack. She stared at the screen, entirely paralyzed.
Anjali reached across the table. She placed a finger under Priya's chin and gently pushed her jaw closed.
"Close your mouth, Priya," Anjali grinned. "Everything you just ate will co out."
Sneha grabbed the phone. She swiped to the next photo. It was a picture of Siddanth sliding the diamond ring onto Krithika's finger. She swiped again. It was a group photo showing of them with family.
Sneha slowly placed the phone face down on the table. She looked at Krithika.
"I sat next to you for two years," Sneha whispered, her brain completely short-circuiting. "I borrowed your stapler. We ate lunch from the sa tiffin box. And you are marrying the most famous man on the planet."
"I am just marrying Siddanth," Krithika said, putting her phone back in her purse.
Priya finally found her voice. "When? How? How is this even possible? Where did you et him?!"
"We t a long ti ago," Krithika explained patiently. "Right after the 2011 World Cup."
"2011?!" Sneha gasped, clutching her chest. "You have been hiding a relationship with Siddanth Deva for five years?! How did the dia not find out? How did the paparazzi not catch you?!"
"He is very careful," Krithika said simply. "And we didn't go to public places much, if we did it was under incognito."
Sneha stared at the wooden box. A sudden, horrifying mory hit her. She looked at Krithika, her eyes wide with absolute betrayal.
"The proposal video," Sneha whispered.
Priya gasped, rembering the exact sa mont.
"The animation video!" Sneha said, pointing an accusing finger at Krithika. "The day he dropped the Ramayana animation on the internet... the whole office stopped working. We sat in the cafeteria watching it on the projector. I literally turned to you and said, 'Whoever Sita is, she is the luckiest girl in the world.' And you sat there, eating a sandwich, and nodded at !"
"I agreed with you!" Krithika laughed, covering her face.
"You are a psychopath!" Sneha hissed, laughing despite her shock. "You sat there and let the whole departnt analyze the video while you were wearing the ring under your shirt!"
"I couldn't say anything," Krithika defended herself. "If I told you in the office, the news would have leaked to the press in ten minutes. I needed to leave the company first."
Priya picked up the silver plate again, tracing the letters. "So... this is real. This is actually happening."
"It is," Krithika said. Her tone turned serious. "But listen to carefully. Both of you. You cannot tell anyone at the office. You cannot post photos of this box on Instagram. You cannot tweet about it. Absolute secrecy until the day of the wedding."
"We won't say a word," Sneha promised instantly, placing her hand over her heart. "We swear."
"The wedding dates are on the plate," Krithika instructed. "But I need both of you to co to the venue two days early. You are my friends. I need you there for the Haldi and the hendi ceremonies."
"Are you kidding ?" Priya asked, her eyes shining with excitent. "We will definitely be there. We will take a week off if we have to. Wait... if we are there for the pre-wedding events... does that an his friends will be there too?"
"Yes," Krithika nodded.
"The whole Indian cricket team?" Sneha asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"Yes," Krithika confird. "And the Sunrisers Hyderabad players."
Sneha leaned back in the booth, staring blankly at the ceiling. "I am going to pass out. I have to buy new clothes. I can't wear my regular kurtis in front of Virat Kohli. I need to go shopping today."
For the next half hour, Krithika sat in the booth, answering a barrage of questions. She explained how they t, how he managed his security, and how the engagent went down at the palace. She clarified all their doubts, slowly bringing her colleagues back down to earth.
By the ti they paid the bill and walked out of the restaurant, Sneha and Priya were clutching their small teakwood boxes like priceless artifacts. They hugged Krithika tightly in the parking lot.
"We will be there," Priya promised. "Four days early."
"See you then," Krithika smiled, getting into her cab with Anjali. The secret was officially out among her friends, and the final countdown had begun.
While Krithika managed her colleagues in the city, Siddanth Deva was orchestrating a massive operation on the outskirts of Hyderabad.
---
Siddanth stood in the center of the main courtyard of Kakatiya set, holding a walkie-talkie. He wore work boots, blue jeans, and a plain white t-shirt. The afternoon sun beat down on the massive Banyan tree resting in the center of the paved stones.
Saer stood next to him, holding a digital tablet.
"Tell the truck drivers to co in through the south gate," Siddanth spoke into the radio. "Tell them not to damage the paving stones."
"Copy that, Boss," Rahul's voice crackled over the radio.
A few minutes later, three large transport trucks rolled slowly into the courtyard, coming to a halt near the Banyan tree. Workers imdiately jumped out of the trucks and unlatched the rear doors.
Siddanth and Saer walked over to the first truck.
The workers carefully began unloading the cargo. They weren't moving steel beams or catering equipnt. They were carrying massive, brilliantly painted wooden figures.
"Careful with the base," Siddanth instructed as four n struggled to carry a huge wooden carving of a royal elephant.
These were not standard decorations. These were authentic Nirmal toys. Nirmal, a historic town in the Adilabad district of Telangana, was world-famous for its incredibly vibrant, smooth wooden toys crafted from local soft Poniki wood and painted with brilliant, organic colors. Usually, these toys were small enough to fit in the palm of a hand.
Siddanth had commissioned the master artisans of Nirmal to carve them in real-life, human proportions.
"These look incredible," Saer said, checking his tablet. "Where do we place them?"
"The elephants and the royal guards go around the periter of the courtyard," Siddanth directed. "Place the dancing figures near the wooden Sangeet stage. And the rural village scenes—the farrs, the bullock carts, the won drawing water—take those to the park area we built for the kids to play in."
Saer made a note on his digital tablet. "And the riggers are currently securing the backdrop behind the stage."
Siddanth looked across the courtyard. A specialized crew was hoisting a massive, incredibly heavy canvas into the air, tying it to the heavy wooden beams behind the performance platform. It was not a printed digital flex banner. Siddanth had commissioned a hand-painted Kalamkari tapestry directly from the master artisans of Sri Kalahasti.
The canvas depicted a sprawling, intricate "Tree of Life." The colors were deep and earthy, dyed using purely natural ingredients. The artists had used indigo for the deep blues, oxidized iron rust for the blacks, and crushed pogranate seeds for the rich reds and yellows.
"The natural dyes look perfect against the wood," Siddanth observed. He looked around the vast, open space of the courtyard. "What about the ambient audio? I absolutely hate the idea of playing recorded instruntal music through modern digital speakers. It will completely ruin the historical aesthetic."
"We avoided speakers entirely," Saer said. He pointed upward toward the second level of the courtyard walls. "Look above the stone archways."
Siddanth tilted his head back. Built seamlessly into the upper stone walls, completely hidden from the direct line of sight of the ground floor, were several small, elevated stone balconies.
"The hidden Nadaswaram galleries," Saer explained. "We are stationing live Nadaswaram wind instrunt players and Thavil drumrs up in those hidden balconies. They will play in shifts, providing constant, organic, acoustic music. The stone walls of the village will act as a natural amplifier, allowing the live music to echo naturally through the entire venue without a single wire or speaker."
Siddanth nodded, deeply satisfied with the acoustic engineering. "Perfect. Let's check the main entrance."
They walked down the wide avenue toward the Magnum Opus—the replica of the Kakatiya Palace.
As they approached the towering, fifty-foot archway, a team of twenty n was operating a pulley system. They were hoisting the massive, solid teakwood double doors into the hinges.
"Hold the line steady!" the foreman shouted.
Siddanth looked at the doors. They were no longer just plain teakwood. Over the past two weeks, master talworkers from Pembarthi—a village in the Warangal district famous for its sheet tal art—had completely clad the front of the heavy doors in hand-hamred brass sheeting.
The brass relief work was staggering. It depicted the Kakatiya Kala Thoranam, the iconic, intricately arched gateway of the Warangal fort. Flanking the archway on the brass panels were raised motifs of the Yali, the mythical, terrifying beast that was part lion, part elephant, and part horse.
The sun caught the polished brass, making the massive doors gleam like solid gold.
"The Pembarthi artisans outdid themselves," Saer noted, shielding his eyes from the glare. "Those doors probably weigh two tons each now."
"They run on industrial ball-bearing hinges," Siddanth explained. "Two n can push them open easily."
Siddanth looked to the left and right of the massive brass doors. Mounted directly onto the thick, load-bearing stone pillars flanking the entrance were two colossal, vibrantly painted faces.
They were Cheriyal Masks.
Crafted by the traditional artisans of Telangana using a mixture of sawdust and tamarind seed paste, the masks were painted in aggressive, striking colors. The massive eyes glared outward, and the fierce mustaches gave them an intimidating presence.
"The Drishti masks," Siddanth noted.
"To ward off the evil eye," Saer nodded. "My grandmother would be very proud of that placent."
Siddanth and Saer walked past the workers securing the doors and stepped inside the vast, cavernous interior of the Durbar Hall. The polished black stone floor reflected the towering pillars.
"What is the status on the lighting?" Siddanth asked, his voice echoing softly in the empty hall.
Saer tapped his tablet. "The Bidriware urns arrived this morning. We already positioned them."
Siddanth looked toward the dark, shaded corners of the massive hall. Resting on the floor in every corner were massive, floor-standing urns. They were crafted using the ancient Bidriware technique originating from Bidar—a craft heavily patronized by the Nizams. The urns were made from a blackened zinc and copper alloy. Inlaid into the matte black surface were flawless, complex geotric patterns made of pure silver wire.
The dark urns held tall, elegant arrangents of vibrant peacock feathers and dried palm leaves, adding a touch of royal regality to the empty corners without cluttering the floor space.
"And the exterior pathways?" Siddanth asked.
"The Dhokra lamps are being placed now," Saer confird.
They walked out of a side archway, looking down the long, paved paths that connected the guest manors to the main palace. Workers were securing tall, heavy brass oil lamps—known as Nila Vilakku—along the edges of the path.
The lamps were not machine-manufactured. They were cast using the ancient Dhokra lost-wax casting technique. The brass retained a tribal, rustic, unpolished finish.
"When we light these at night with real oil and wicks," Siddanth analyzed, walking up to one of the tall brass lamps, "the rustic brass will glow incredibly warm. It will reflect off the polished black stone floors leading into the palace. No harsh electrical halogen lights outside."
"It will look like a scene from three hundred years ago," Saer agreed. "The carpenters are also currently distributing the Nirmal painted furniture across the guest manors and the lounges. The intricately painted wooden chairs and diwans fit the village aesthetic perfectly."
"Take to the dining hall," Siddanth instructed.
They walked through a connecting corridor and entered the massive, open-plan dining and lounge area. It was a sprawling space designed to host the feasts. The walls were constructed of massive, blank stone blocks.
"I told you I didn't want any digital screens or printed flex banners in here," Siddanth reminded Saer, looking at the walls.
"And we don't have any," Saer smiled, gesturing to a team of artisans working on scaffolding near the walls.
Siddanth looked up.
Hanging vertically from the high stone walls were massive, breathtaking canvas scrolls. They were fifteen feet long and incredibly detailed.
They were Cheriyal Scroll Paintings. Siddanth had commissioned the few remaining artisan families in the state who still practiced the dying art form. The massive canvases were painted entirely using natural stone colors and organic dyes.
The vibrant, flowing narrative art did not depict generic floral designs. They visually narrated scenes from the ancient Indian epics.
Siddanth stopped in front of the largest scroll hanging near the head of the dining hall. The deep reds and earthy yellows jumped off the canvas.
The painting depicted a grand royal court. In the center, a prince was lifting a massive, divine bow, while a princess stood nearby holding a garland.
It was the Swayamvar of Sita.
Siddanth stared at the canvas. He had brought the digital animation he used for his proposal into the physical world, painted by human hands using stone colors.
"The artisans took three months to paint these scrolls," Saer said quietly, standing beside him. "They used crushed seashells for the white details and soot for the black borders."
Siddanth reached out, lightly touching the edge of the heavy canvas. The texture was rough, authentic, and completely permanent. He looked around the dining hall, then back toward the courtyard where the Nirmal toys stood under the Banyan tree, and finally toward the heavy brass doors of the palace.
Every single detail, every artifact, and every piece of furniture had been forged by human hands from his ho state. He had built a fortress of pure culture.
"Are we missing anything?" Saer asked, looking at his checklist.
"No," Siddanth said softly, stepping back from the scroll painting.
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