"Ammu, coffee tiskoni ra." (Bring coffee, dear.)

I was startled, because it's not like any normal day that nanna asks for coffee in the morning. Today is na pellichupulu — the day the groom's family comes to see me.

I adjusted my simple maroon dress and took the coffee tray Atha gave me. (Atha means aunt in Telugu — either mother's brother's wife or father's sister.)

She said, "Jagratha ammu, padeyemaku!" (Be careful, don't drop it!)

I replied, laughing nervously, "Parvaledhu, Atha, I got this."

ala hall loki ragane andharu ala straight ga kurchunnaru. aa hall ni chusaka oka vishayam strong ga anipinchindi — idi normal ga nenu sofa lo kurchoni TV chuse hall. kani ivala, ade hall lo nannu cheskoboye vaadu nannu chudataniki vachi akade kurchunnadu ani.

(As soon as I entered the hall, everyone was seated properly. Looking at the hall, one thought hit me strongly — this is the same hall where I usually sit on the sofa and watch TV. But today, the man who is going to marry me had come to see me and was sitting right there.)

kani oka vishayam enti ante, nenu intlone vunde manishini. atu ala bayataki velli tiragadam kante, business chusukoni malli intiki vachi intlone undatam naku istam. nanna okoksari "bayataki vellu kasepu" ani antaru kani, na badhakam ki lechi madyanam bhojanam cheyadam kuda kashtam. TV chusthu nidrapoye manishini.

(But one thing is — I'm a complete homebody. Instead of going out, I prefer managing work and coming back home. Nanna sometimes tells me to step out for a while, but with my laziness, even getting up for lunch feels difficult. I'm the kind who falls asleep while watching TV.)

alanti naku, dubai nunchi vachaka aa illu inka ekkuva gurthu vachedi. akada unna rojullo kuda, na manasu ide inte lo ne tiruguthu undedi.na sofa,na room, na comfort anni.

(For someone like me, after returning from Dubai, I missed this house even more. Even when I was there, my mind kept wandering back to this very this house.my sofa, my room, and above everything my comfort)

My mama (mother's own brother) stood behind nanna's chair. As I walked forward, he smirked and said, "Careful!"

I replied with my eyes, teasingly, and nanna turned back, saw me, and stood up.

so context cheppali ante, ma mama mariyu ma atha ma life lo chala close. idhi nanna side relatives laga kaadu — mana nanna side sagam mandi godavalu petkunevallu untaru paiga mana vaipu adi ela vuntadi ani general telsindhe. ala ani andharu ani kaadu kani, amma valla side mathram pedda baga chuskuntaru paiga pedha kutumbham.

(So for context, my mama and atha are very close in our lives. Not like the usual father's-side relatives — you know how generally half of them are always into fights. Not saying everyone is like that, but my mother's side is a big family.)

nanna ki relatives thakkuva. paiga amma vunnappudu, amma valla thammudu tho chala close ga undevaaru. anduke maaku mama ante chala alavatu.

(My father has fewer relatives. And when my mother was alive, my father was very close to her brother. That's why my mama feels very familiar to us.)

inka nenu first adapilla ni kabatti, ma mama ki nenu ante chala istam. chinnapati nunchi nannu tana intlo ammai la kakunda tana kuthuru la chusukunnadu.

(And since I'm the first girl child, my mama is extremely fond of me. From childhood, he treated me not just like a niece, but like his own daughter.)

anduke intlo em jarigina memu atu veladam, vaallu itu ravadam mamule aipoyindi. paiga ma mama valla illu ma intiki pakane, separate illu aina feeling mathram intlo vunnatte.

(That's why whatever happens at home, we go there or they come here — it became very normal. On top of that, my mama's house is right next to ours, so even though it's a separate house, it feels like they're always part of our home.)

"Haa, ammu ra. Idhi naku ichey. Nuvvu velli first palakarinchu andharni," he said.
(Come, dear. Give this to me and go greet our guests.)

As I handed the tray to nanna, I noticed him — sitting across from nanna, wearing a biscuit-brown shirt. His fair skin made me look a shade darker, maybe even more than usual.

For a second, my steps slowed without me realizing it. My heart beat faster, not because of fear, but because my eyes had found something they didn't want to look away from. I reminded myself — breathe, Ammu, it's just your future husband... not your louis vuitton heels company owner sitting right there asking you to pay the remaining of your emi.

Beside him sat his mother and father — my soon-to-be in-laws — and behind their sofa were three of my grandmother's sisters.

On the left side of the room sat around ten members of his family. The women were seated, while the men stood behind them.

By the way, his name... I shouldn't say it yet.but you'll see me saying his name more than mine in this story.

As I gave the tray, that man suddenly stood up and said, "Uncle, naku ivvandi, nenu patkuntanu." (Uncle, give it to me, I'll hold it.)

One of his aunts teased, "Coffee tray kuda patkoniva appude?" (You can't even let her carry the coffee tray already?)

Everyone burst into laughter, and that eased my tension.

I sat beside nanna, my hands slightly trembling, while he held his cup and smiled.

Everyone was talking, but I was busy stealing tiny glances at the biscuit-shirt man — because why not? He's my groom!

Each time I looked at him, he was already looking at me, giving a big smile while sipping his coffee, his eyes filled with mischief.

When he did that, I couldn't help but laugh softly — but suddenly everyone stopped talking, which made my laugh sound even louder.

Prasad Rao uncle (his father) smiled and said, "vallani kasepu matladukoniyandi"(Let them have a talk while we finish our coffee.)

Everyone agreed.

Then nanna asked, "Ammu, velthava nenu kuda vundana nitho?"
(Will you go, or should I come with you?)

I know it might sound different, but being raised by nanna alone, he's been everything to me — father, mother, and best friend.

I said, "Ledhu nanna, velthanu nenu." (It's okay, I'll go.)

As I stood up, ammamma teased, "Velli kasepu matladukondi, Leda ikkade matladesedattu unnaru!"
(Go talk there privately — if we don't give you space, you'll start chatting right here!)

I gave her a look with my round dark eyes.

She laughed, "Ammu, urike annale !" (Just kidding!)

His mother joined in, "Avunu,vellandi leda ikkade anni aipothayi!"
(Yes, go — or everything will happen right here!)

I turned my head suddenly, shocked at the double meaning in her words.

He laughed and said teasingly, "Amma, em matladuthunav?" (Mother, what are you saying?)

She chuckled, "Navvatam antunna le." (I just meant about laughing!)

I laughed awkwardly, cheeks burning.

As we started walking, he turned back to his mother and said, "Parledamma, navvu bagundhi kadha — vinatamlo em problem ledu."
(It's okay, mother, her laugh is beautiful anyway — nothing wrong in hearing it.)

My face turned red like a tomato, warmth rushing up my cheeks.