"From Stadium Lights to Starlit Nights"

Chapter 36: Madras Melodies & a Question That Changed Everything

The flight to Chennai was short, but Niyati's heartbeat made it feel longer.

This wasn't just a visit. It was her stepping into his world—where Tamil rolled off tongues faster than she could translate, where filter coffee wasn't just a beverage but sacred routine, and where Vignesh wasn't "India's sweetheart," but Amma's kutty, Appa's pride, and akka's forever partner-in-crime.

She stepped into their home barefoot, the scent of jasmine, agarbatti, and hot sambhar greeting her like a memory she hadn't lived, but somehow missed.

His mother hugged her with warmth that only comes from quiet acceptance. His sister handed her a deep maroon Kanjeevaram saree and whispered, "You'll look stunning in this for tonight."

"For what?" Niyati blinked, gently stroking the intricate zari border.

"Temple visit," she smiled. "Appa wants to do a small puja... with both of you."

Niyati nodded, heart skipping in an unfamiliar rhythm.

⸻

That evening, she stood beside Vignesh on the cool temple steps, wrapped in the silk saree, hair braided with jasmine, hands folded as the priest chanted. The air was rich with sandalwood, devotion, and an unspoken something that sat heavy in her chest.

His family stood behind them, smiling gently.

But Vignesh—he stood beside her as if he was standing beside his future.

After the final aarti, they walked barefoot around the inner sanctum, the stone cool under their feet, the temple bells echoing above them.

"You okay?" he whispered, his shoulder brushing hers.

She nodded. "It feels... like I belong."

"Feels like fate," he said, eyes never leaving hers.

⸻

Back home, the evening bloomed into laughter over hot dosas, coconut chutney, and rasam. Old stories of Vignesh's childhood spilled out—of broken windows, scraped knees, and cricket matches in temple courtyards.

Then came the teasing.

"So, da..." his uncle smirked, biting into a jalebi, "When are you giving us good news?"

Niyati nearly choked on her water.

Vignesh just leaned back, nonchalant. "Soon."

She kicked him under the table. He just grinned.

⸻

The next morning, he woke her just before sunrise.

"Come with me," he said softly, brushing her hair back and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Still sleepy, wrapped in his hoodie, she followed him out.

They drove to the Marina beach. It was empty. Quiet. The sea spread before them in soft waves of silver and blue.

He laid out a blanket. Handed her a tumbler of filter coffee. And sat beside her, legs stretched out, face turned to the sky.

Then he handed her a folded piece of paper.

"Read this first."

His handwriting danced across the page—uneven, heartfelt, him.

To the girl who gave me back my calm.
To the one who turned airport goodbyes into coming-home moments.
To the one who didn't understand my Tamil jokes, but still laughed.

You are my safe place. My favorite call. My loudest cheer.
And I want to wake up next to you, across cities, countries, and cricket seasons—forever.

Will you be mine? Not just for this moment. But all of them.

When she looked up, he was already on one knee.

Holding a ring—simple, elegant, him in a band.

"Will you marry me, Niyati?" he asked, eyes searching hers with a softness that melted every doubt she never even had.

She didn't say anything at first—just threw her arms around him, laughing and crying all at once.

"Yes," she whispered against his shoulder. "Yes, a hundred times over."

He slipped the ring on her finger, and just like that, the sun rose behind them—witness to a new beginning.

They sat together after, coffee forgotten, wrapped in the kind of silence that speaks louder than words.

"I wanted it to be just us," he said finally.

"Like how it started. Quiet. Real."

She nodded, resting her head against his. "Like us."

⸻

Later that day, his home was bursting with celebration. Sweets exchanged hands, laughter echoed through the halls, and his mother couldn't stop looking at her like she was already a daughter.

Niyati's parents joined over video call, teary-eyed and thrilled, already planning their visit to Chennai.

Two families. Two languages. Two cities.

One love.

And it was all happening—softly, surely, beautifully.

Like a story written long ago in stars and silly coincidences.