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Three Years Later
The sun filtered through gauzy curtains, casting golden patterns on the marble floor of their sea-facing apartment in Bandra.
Birds chirped somewhere beyond the balcony, and the soft rumble of waves drifted in through half-open glass doors.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the distinct scent of sandalwood and Chanel. Somewhere between chic Parisian and earthy Indian—exactly the vibe Verena Kallias-Gill had cultivated in their home.
She padded barefoot across the living room, her silk robe—ivory with delicate embroidery—fluttering slightly as she moved.
Her hair was in a loose braid, wild strands framing her face, and a tiny, tired yawn escaped her lips.
On the couch, Shubman sat with a mug of chai, already dressed in a light blue t-shirt and track pants, scrolling through match-day stats and ESPN alerts.
His hair was still wet from a quick shower, and the silver band on his finger glinted as he adjusted the iPad in his hand.
"Morning, jaan," he said without looking up, sensing her presence.
Verena leaned down from behind and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss just behind his ear.
"Morning, love. Why the hell are you up before me on a Sunday?"
He tilted his head toward her. "Team meeting at the Wankhede. We've got Australia next week, remember?"
"God, cricket never stops," she muttered, pressing her forehead to his. "And I was dreaming about Goa and unlimited Bloody Marys..."
He chuckled, pulling her onto his lap. "We can still do Goa. But you have to promise to wear that red bikini you tried to sneak past me last time."
Verena gave him a faux-scandalized look. "You mean the one your mom nearly found in the laundry? That bikini?"
He laughed out loud. "Exactly. Worth the risk."
Their home was a blend of elegance and culture. An LV monogrammed throw lay folded neatly over a beige linen couch.
A framed sketch of Paris hung beside a photo of theirs. The shelves held Vogue magazines and cricket trophies side by side—proof of two lives, now one, and the messy, magical merger of fashion and sport.
As Verena sipped from his chai mug, her eyes landed on something shiny on the glass table—a wedding photo.
It had been two years since that surreal, opulent wedding in Udaipur—lake palaces, fairy lights, couture lehengas, and the sound of tabla and sitar as they had walked hand-in-hand under the stars.
She wore a deep red Sabyasachi lehenga, threaded with golden tigers and florals.
He, in a cream sherwani, had tears in his eyes as she walked down the aisle, barefoot on rose petals.
And now, here they were. Married. Still crazy in love. And navigating the beautifully chaotic world of adulthood together.
"I have a meeting at the studio today," she murmured into his shoulder.
"The launch is in two weeks, and I swear to god if one more model shows up late I'm going to throw a stiletto."
"Your own brand's killing it, babe. Be nice." He grinned. "Also, you're the hottest CEO I've ever seen in a power suit."
She raised an eyebrow. "Even hotter than the one who posed for GQ in just a blazer and heels?"
He groaned. "Don't remind me. Every guy on the team saw that cover. They haven't shut up about it since."
"Well, you married the cover girl, didn't you?" she said, sliding off his lap and walking toward the bedroom with a smirk. "Guess that makes you the luckiest bastard alive."
Shubman smirked. "Damn right, Mrs. Gill."
The walls were lined with mood boards, fabric samples, sketches of her upcoming Verena Kallias Atelier collection.
Her team buzzed around her, tailors adjusting gowns on mannequins, assistants juggling schedules, makeup artists prepping for the campaign shoot.
But her phone lit up with a notification.
@shubmangill posted a new story
It was a picture of her mid-laugh at their home, barefoot in a cotton saree, hair in a messy bun, sipping from his chai mug.
Caption: "My muse. My madness. My home. ❤️"
Verena shook her head with a soft smile.
He always did know how to make her feel like art.
Later they lay on the balcony couch, wrapped in a soft blanket, the Mumbai skyline glittering in the distance.
She rested her head on his chest, their hands lazily intertwined.
"I like our life here," she whispered.
He kissed the top of her head. "Me too. Still feels like a damn dream sometimes."
"Promise me it stays like this?" she murmured.
He looked at her, dead serious. "Forever, meri jaan. Even when we're old and cranky. Even when your heels are higher than my career stats."
She laughed, smacking his arm. "You ass."
But her heart was full.
The girl who once dreamed of Paris now had her dream and her person.
Not hidden. Not rushed. Just theirs—loud, real, and wrapped in love.
And for Verena and Shubman Gill, forever had already begun.
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SOUP RANTS!
the final chapter is here, and i hope you all enjoyed reading this book.
it feels weird that I've been updating but haven't been getting votes, comments or reads like i used to. i guess people just gave up. but anyway.
