**EVERYONE THOUGHT THE GROOM HAD RUN AWAY—
UNTIL A LIVE HOSPITAL FEED APPEARED ON THE LED SCREEN AND THE ENTIRE WEDDING FROZE**
It was already 4:00 p.m.
Ananya Kapoor’s garden wedding was supposed to begin at 2:00 p.m., but even now—
Rohan Mehta still hadn’t arrived.
The breathtaking garden in New Delhi, adorned with white roses and crystal chandeliers, was slowly filling with tension. Guests shifted in their seats, whispers buzzing like angry bees.
“This is over. Classic runaway groom,” an aunt whispered from another table.
“Poor Ananya. Imagine spending millions only to be left hanging,” someone replied.
Inside the holding room, Ananya’s face was beyond repair—her makeup ruined from endless tears. She had called Rohan countless times, but his phone was still unreachable.
“Ma’am Ananya,” the coordinator said nervously,
“We need to decide now. Some guests are already leaving. Should we cancel the wedding?”
Ananya felt her world collapse.
The man she trusted for ten years.
The man who told her just last night that she was the best thing that ever happened to him.
Why?
Why would he leave her like this?
“O-okay…” Ananya sobbed.
“Tell everyone… there’s no wedding. Let them go home.”
The coordinator was about to step outside and announce the heartbreaking news—
WHEN SUDDENLY—
BZZZT! BZZZT!
The massive LED screen on the stage, which was supposed to show their same-day wedding edit, suddenly flickered with static. The sound system screeched with loud feedback.
The whispers stopped.
The screen lit up.
It wasn’t a wedding video.
It was a LIVE VIDEO CALL.
A sterile white background.
The sharp scent of antiseptic.
The unmistakable sound of a heart monitor.
Beep… Beep… Beep…
And then—
ROHAN’S FACE FILLED THE SCREEN.
A collective gasp swept through the garden.
Ananya ran out of the holding room and collapsed to her knees on the grass, shaking as she stared at the screen.
Rohan was lying in a hospital bed.
His tuxedo was torn and burned.
His face was smeared with soot and blood.
His left eye was swollen shut, his head wrapped in bandages.
Tubes were connected to his body.
“R-Rohan?!” Ananya cried out. “What happened to you?!”
On the screen, Rohan struggled to open his remaining eye. He was breathing with difficulty, but when he saw Ananya on the nurse’s phone screen, he smiled—
a smile full of pain, but overflowing with love.
“H-Hi… m-my love…” Rohan whispered hoarsely.
“Happy… happy wedding day.”
“Rohan! Where are you?! Why are you like this?!” Ananya sobbed.
“Sorry…” Rohan coughed.
“Sorry I’m late… I’m not— I’m not a runaway groom, okay? Don’t believe them.”
The nurse gently took the phone to explain.
“Ma’am, we’re very sorry. He was brought here to AIIMS New Delhi about two hours ago. There was a fire at your house. A total fire.”
Ananya’s eyes widened in shock.
Their house.
The home they built together.
“A fire?! Rohan, why were you there?! You should’ve been at the venue already!”
The nurse handed the phone back to Rohan.
Slowly, Rohan raised his right hand.
It was heavily bandaged—third-degree burns.
His hand trembled.
But in his palm, he was tightly holding something that sparkled.
The wedding rings.
And not just any ring.
Ananya’s ring was an antique ring with a small ruby—
a precious heirloom left by her late grandmother, who had passed away the year before.
“I left it…” Rohan whispered, tears rolling down his soot-stained cheeks.
“We left it in the bedroom. A neighbor called—said the house was on fire. The firefighters told me not to go in. They said it was too dangerous… that everything was already gone.”
Rohan tightened his grip around the rings.
“But I said… no.
Even if the TV burns.
Even if the fridge, the clothes, everything else is gone…
not this.”
“Because I know… this is the last memory of your grandmother.
This is the most important thing to you.”
The entire garden fell silent.
Guests who had just moments ago judged him, mocked him, and called him a fraud—
were now crying openly.
Rohan had run into the burning house, fighting smoke and collapsing beams just to reach the nightstand. A piece of wood fell on him, his skin burned—but he never let go of the ring.
“My love…” Ananya cried.
“You risked your life for that! You idiot! Why would you do that?!”
“Because…” Rohan smiled weakly, his strength fading,
“I’m willing to lose everything… just not your smile.
I’m willing to be hurt… as long as you don’t cry.”
Rohan raised the ring toward the camera, as if placing it on Ananya’s finger from afar.
“Ananya… even if I’m burned…
even if we no longer have a house…
will you still marry me?”
In the middle of the garden, Ananya knelt down, staring at the screen as if Rohan were right in front of her.
“Yes, Rohan! Yes!” she cried.
“Even without a house! Even in the hospital!
I’ll marry you right now!”
The priest, standing nearby with tears streaming down his face, stepped toward the screen.
“By the authority of love stronger than fire,” he said into the microphone,
“I pronounce you husband and wife.
Rohan Mehta and Ananya Kapoor—you are now married.”
The crowd erupted into applause, crying uncontrollably.
On the screen, tears streamed down Rohan’s face—
before his eyes slowly closed again as exhaustion and medication overtook him.
The grand walk down the aisle never happened.
But everyone witnessed something far greater:
A love that no tragedy could burn.
The “runaway groom” did not run away from responsibility—
he ran straight into hell
to save the one thing that would make the woman he loved smile.