Saisha's pov:

Today is the day. Photography Expo 2025.

My heart beats faster with each passing second. I've submitted a thematic photo album — "Soul of India" - capturing the culture, architecture, and essence of Indian heritage. From the intricate carvings of Khajuraho to the spiritual stillness of Varanasi ghats, from the majestic silhouettes of Tamil Nadu temples at sunrise to the riot of colors during Holi in Vrindavan... every frame tells a story of timeless India.

Needless to say, this album has gone through several layers of critique , mostly from my ever-so-handsome husband.

Pranu and me travelled everywhere together for getting these photographs.

"Pranu... will you accompany me today?" I asked while adjusting my bindi in the mirror.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smiling. "Of course, Aishu. Is that even a question?"

I turned to face him.

"My dear Aishu ,you are going to win this," he said, stepping closer and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "And how can I not be there when you do?" 

"Don't dream too much, Pranu," I warned, trying to calm my nerves. "You'll be disappointed if it doesn't happen."

He shook his head slowly, cupped my face gently and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "My Aishu will win. If she can't, then who can?"

I smiled, heart warm, and slipped my hand into his. We were ready.

We reached college, and the campus was alive with buzz. The expo stalls were arranged in the central courtyard, colorfully draped with streamers and creative backdrops. Students, professors, and guests from art and media institutes strolled through, admiring the exhibits.

Pranay stayed close, his eyes lighting up when someone lingered over my work. We took a tour of all the exhibits together, appreciating other students' themes — wildlife, street photography, conceptual storytelling ,all so rich in perspective.

And then came mine.
People stood silently in front of my display. One elderly man — a guest from the Indian Photography Guild murmured, "This is not just photography... it's heritage documentation."

I felt a lump rise in my throat.

As the sun dipped low and golden rays bathed the courtyard, the host climbed the dais with a mic. "Now comes the moment we've all been waiting for... The winner of this year's Best Photography Album Award..."

My fingers clutched Pranay's arm. He squeezed my hand, calm and steady.

"...is Saisha Mishra, for her project 'Soul of India'! Along with a memento and a cash prize of ₹1,00,000."

My ears buzzed. I froze. For a second, I thought I misheard.

Until I felt Pranay's voice in my ear: "Told you."

I turned to him with teary eyes, then rushed toward the stage, somehow managing to walk with grace through the flood of emotions. After collecting the award, the moment I stepped off the stage, I ran straight into his arms.

He lifted me slightly in a tight hug.

"My dear aishu ,You did it,"  he whispered. "I'm so, so proud of you."

Pranay's POV

I don't remember the last time I felt this proud.

Standing in that crowd, watching her name echo over the mic, her photographs glowing under spotlight, her hands trembling as she accepted the award... it felt like I won.

It wasn't about the award or the money. It was the fact that my Aishu — who once questioned her worth, who doubted herself in silence — stood tall today because she believed. And maybe, just maybe, because I always believed in her.

After the event, I guided her straight to a nearby electronics store.

"Pranu, where are we going?" she asked, still half-floating.

"You need a new laptop," I said, matter-of-fact. "One that's fast, sleek, and worthy of an award-winning photographer."

She stared at me. "But Pranuu—"

"No arguments. You've earned this."

We picked a powerful photography laptop with 1 TB SSD and a high-resolution display , she couldn't stop smiling.

Then, hand-in-hand, we walked to our favorite little ice cream shop.

She ordered butterscotch, I got chocolate. We clinked cones and laughed like kids again.

"You know," I said, licking the side of my cone, "someday people will look back and say, 'That's the girl who saw India through her lens... and made us fall in love with it all over again.'"

She leaned her head on my shoulder. "And behind every photo I click... you'll be there."

And that was all I needed.

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