Page 52 of Since the Night We Met
In the far corner of the room, by the wide windows glowing with the evening sun, the mehendi night arrangements were set up in vivid colour. Rose petals were scattered across the floor, and marigold strings cascaded like split waterfall down the pillows in shades of orange and fuchsia. The low hum of a 90s Bollywood lo-fi wedding playlist weaved through the room.
Both the seating sections were across from each other, under the golden fluorescent headingsDulhaniya ki ToliandDulhe ke Bhai. Siya hated admitting it to herself but her heart sank when she saw the empty cushions on the groom’s side.
She greeted the henna artists with a polite nod, and sat down on the silk cushions, silently grateful that it had lumbar support. The artist confirmed the minimalist henna design they’d discussed earlier, and then the women began prepping her arms. A shiver ran up her arm when the cold tip of the henna cone touched her skin, and the artist began drawing intricate loops of leaves around the edges.
Meera took a seat beside her on the cushion and Siya discreetly spoke to her. ‘Do you know who decided to invite the entire goddamn media to a private ceremony?’ she asked drily, as she glanced at a camera directed right at them.
‘That would be your favourite person on this planet.’ Meera tilted her head ever so slightly in the direction of the opulent bar. There, leaning casually against the glass counter, was Dhruv. He was dressed in a white kurta, talking to a woman Siya had seen on many magazine covers. As soon as he caught her eye, he raised his glass in mock salute, and the victorious smirk on his face told her everything she needed to know.
‘Of course,’ she muttered, sarcasm tinting her words. ‘I should have expected some retaliation for the brunch.’
Meera said under her breath, ‘You’re not wrong, but he isn’t the one who pulled the trigger on this. He is just enjoying the show.’
Siya frowned, eyes darting to Meera, who only gestured in the direction of the balcony doors where Kartik was speaking with one of the media personnel. In his designer beige kurta with his hands clasped behind his back, he stood like a statesman in charge of surveying a political rally.
Meera said softly, ‘I overheard their conversation and was very surprised when Dhruv was making the case on your behalf about how this event should be private since it’s your big day.’
Dhruv made a case on her behalf? That is surprising. ‘What did my father say?’
‘He told him to only think when he’s told to think, and signed off deals with four major media outlets to send their own photographers. They’re not allowed to interview anyone, but they’re here to capture every moment. Exclusive images and hourly social media updates. This wedding is the golden goose for him, and all those outlets must have paid a fortune for access.’
For a long moment, Siya said nothing, reeling from the realisation that her father was monetising her wedding. Every time she thought he couldn’t fall any lower, he proved her wrong. ‘It’s not enough that he’s forcing me to marry, he needs to sell the spectacle to the highest bidder too. I was really stupid to think we could keep this low-key.’
‘You’re the one wearing the green jumpsuit you like when I know he’d sent a lehenga with a stylist. You put your foot down and decided to pay for the half of the wedding instead of depending on him,’ Meera pointed out sternly. ‘The only reasonyou’re doing this is for Kashvi, and he had to use her because he knows he can’t control you any other way. So, my suggestion? Give yourself a break.’
Siya smiled despite the ache inside her chest. ‘You really do talk like a therapist sometimes, you know.’
Meera shrugged, then grinned. ‘That’s what best friends are for.’
Kashvi joined them, taking the other seat beside Siya.
Siya first caught the movement in the corner of her eye as polished black loafers softly brushed across the marble steps. There was a shift in the air, that distinct gravitational pull that only happened whenhewalked into the room.
Clad in a designer black kurta, with silver ornate buttons shining down his front with arrogance and opulence stitched into every detail, Abhay walked down the stairs, flanked by Luv and Swayam.
The shimmery fabric of his kurta gleamed under the golden chandelier and was tapered enough at his waist to remind her of every time he’d pulled her against him. The way it hugged his shoulders, the graceful confidence in his walk, and the disarming smirk on his lips when he spotted her made her heart skip a beat.
His hair, artfully messy, only made her want to tug at it until all that smug composure splintered into pieces. It should have been illegal for anyone to look that good in a traditional outfit. After Siya had learned his identity, she’d spent a few days digging into him. She would rather die than confess that she had a secret folder in her phone full of his pictures.
‘Someone’s late,’ Siya muttered under her breath.
‘But definitely worth the wait in that outfit, right?’ Kashvi teased her.
‘He looks like he was sent by the universe to mess with your sanity,’ Meera added.
Siya glared at her but didn’t dare to deny it.
Abhay walked up to her, and without hesitation, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. His lips lingered for a second too long, and he took a deep inhale, breathing in her scent. He whispered, ‘Damn, I’ve missed you.’
And just like that, all her carefully rebuilt defences crumbled under the weight of a single gesture. Instead of giving in to the urge to lean into him, she pulled back slightly and arched a brow. ‘Was this for the guests or the cameras?’
‘For me,’ Abhay answered with conviction. Then teasingly added, ‘But they can enjoy it too.’
That betrayed her every logical objection, so she narrowed her eyes at him, ‘Do you ever tone it down?’
‘Not when you’re the one I’m trying to impress,’ he said with a wink and stepped back. He walked across her, and took a seat on the identical set up of arrangements, in between Luv and Swayam.
‘Look at you, you’re practically glowing,’ Meera joked, poking a finger into her cheek.
