Delicate

“I swear I don’t understand those uncles who wear pants, suits and shirts to weddings,” Ajabdeh spoke as she sorted the marigolds eyeing some of the uncles in the banquet while one of the other bridesmaids was breaking down the petals and another was making designs for a flower rangoli they wanted to surprise the bride with for her Mehendi ceremony.

“Why?” one of the younger girls asked as Ajabdeh shrugged. “Well, you wear those every day, why not make some effort on another person’s special day and look good? Wear traditional?”

“But if they wear suits and watches, maybe our dupatta will get stuck to one of their watches or buttons.” Another one made all of them giggle as Ajabdeh shook her head, amused. 

“Well, Sherwanis also have buttons.” The one making the rangoli shrugged. Ajabdeh nodded in agreement, getting up from her spot and wiping some of the petals off her kameez. “The bottom line is, unlike women, men don’t think they need to put in effort for things like these. Wearing traditional attire is not that hard if we can dance in sarees!” She turned, ready to see if Aunty needed any other help, only to find Pratap, Shakti and a few others trying to get in through the entrance. Pratap did expect her on the sangeet night, but he did not quite expect to see her in the morning. Ajabdeh eyed him and then the others.

“You can’t go from here; there is a rangoli in progress.” One of the teen cousins of the bride stopped them. “Take the other door.” Shakti nodded politely at her and turned to Ajabdeh.

“I do agree with you.” He said before leaving, making Pratap frown at him and eye Ajabdeh. “Hence, I wear traditional.” He made her smile. “All the women appreciate your effort, then.” She smiled.

“Shakti.” He extended his hand as the cousins exchanged glances.

“I know you, your company was one of our clients.” Ajabdeh eyed Pratap briefly as she shook his hand. “Ajabdeh.”

“Well, Ajabdeh, you can’t teach all men. My brother, for example.” He glanced over his shoulder as Pratap raised his eyebrows and Ajabdeh eyed him amused. “He never makes an effort.”

“Because I don’t need to.” Pratap took Shakti’s upper hand and started to drag him. “Come on, Shaurya must be looking for us. Excuse us.” He did not look at Ajabdeh as he dragged Shakti away, and the others followed him. Ajabdeh turned to see Asha glowing as she waited for the Mehendi artist to finish working on her hand. She walked up to the bride.

“ I will be going home now.”

“Thank you for coming this morning. I will see you in the evening.” Asha hugged her.

“Now that is a sight to behold.” One of Ajabdeh’s friends gasped, looking behind her. Ajabdeh stirred the wine in her cup playfully and turned cluelessly in the direction her friends ogled at. The Sangeet Night was arranged on the lawn, and the theme of the evening for the bride’s side was Teal while that of the groom’s side was Burgundy. Her heart made a funny leap to her throat before settling again. She sipped the wine to calm down.

Pratap could feel the eyes on him. He expected this reaction and liked it. Especially when his mother put Kala Tika behind his earlobe. 

“You look good in traditional. Wear them more often.” Jaivanta had told her firstborn.

“Frankly, I never saw him in one.” Shakti quipped. “Hence, he is getting all the attention.” He stopped at the glance of his sibling as their mother smiled.

“Tell him to use it and find me a daughter-in-law then.” She left Shakti amused as Pratap shook his head at the conversation. He looked up at the bridesmaids, looking at him not so discreetly and giggling among themselves. He adjusted the sleeves of his Burgundy Kurta, and it was then that she turned to spot him. In her teal and gold lehenga, with a sleeveless deep neck blouse and a dupatta that hung over one shoulder. The only piece of jewellery she had on was the earrings and mangtika, and her eyes looked highlighted after makeup. He had a smile on the corner of his lips as soon as she sipped her wine and looked away.

It was not until the dances started that he could actually find her cheering for her friends in the crowd, and still could not approach her, especially with his mother around the place. When everyone joined in the song and dance, in the end, he found himself in a corner of the dance floor, smiling at his brother, trying to make their mother dance as he took a video of them. His eyes then fell on the other side of the dance floor where she swayed, her wavy hair falling on her hips as she danced with one of the bride’s younger cousin sisters. He smiled and walked away to the bar, hoping nobody would drag him to the dance floor. He took a drink and sipped at it only to find her familiar voice beside him, raised above the music, asking for water. He eyed her and inhaled.

“So, how is the nightmare?” She stopped at the bottle and frowned at him, cluelessly.

“Pardon?” She asked as he raised his collars. “You said it will be a nightmare.” He made her shake her head. 

“You are overconfident just because some women are ogling you.” She shook her head.

“And you are not?” He asked, making her stare at him from top to bottom. “I saw you.”

“If this was an attempt at getting my attention, I like it.” Ajabdeh opened the bottle and gulped down some water. He could not help his eyes travel to the drops of water that trickled down her chin to the deep neck of her blouse. 

“You think I would do this for your attention?” He chuckled. “There was a dress code.”

“Okay then.” She nodded at him. 

“Okay then.” He shrugged, their eyes meeting in a hint of amused sparkle.

“See you around.” She walked away towards the dancing bridesmaids to join them as Pratap drank down the contents of his glass and walked onto the dance floor to find his mother and brother in a corner.

“Let me have a dance now.” He gave his mother his hand as she shook her head.

“I am tired. Why don’t you dance with her? This is Mrs Mishra’s daughter, Chetna.” Before Pratap could react, he found himself dancing with the girl who looked equally awkward with the aunties eyeing them keenly. He looked across the dance floor as the feeling of being watched crept in. He could find Ajabdeh across the dance floor, quite amused. She gestured with a thumbs up as he shook his head and looked away.

“Excuse me.” Chetna looked confused on the dance floor as he walked away from the crowd and the music towards an empty gazebo to sit down. 

For the past one and a half years, nobody stirred him the way Ajabdeh did. It had been so many days, but still, he could remember her taste, her feel and her touch. He had slept with more women than he could remember faces of. Yet, now and then, he found himself walking away from a sleeping figure only to satisfy himself with her thoughts. He never expected to see her again. She was a story he realised was more in his head than in reality. Perhaps she seemed perfect because it was his imagination. He had moved on, accepting that she was a part of his perfectly desired delusion. Until he found her here. He could not tell what she felt, but he had to control his urges from intruding into his thoughts throughout the elevator ride. Her denial of attraction somehow made him more persistent. Was she lying? Was she telling the truth that she felt nothing anymore? It was perfectly plausible after so much time had passed. Did she have someone? Pratap inhaled. How did any of that matter? 

Ajabdeh was about to catch a ride after telling Asha she would come directly for the wedding. She had her outfit planned with a beautiful midnight blue saree she picked out for the event. She was lost in her thoughts about her look for the evening when she realised she hadn’t seen Pratap since the dance floor. He was perhaps with the girl. She inhaled and smiled to herself. Did he consider her words or simply go for the theme? How did it matter? Ajabdeh could lie to the world. She could lie to her father. To Pratap. Not to herself. Over the past years, she had found herself stalking his online presence from her private profiles. She did not know why she wanted to know what he was up to. It was his vacation pictures in the Maldives that made her suddenly realise she needed to stop. Her therapist said her abandonment issues made her indifferent to people and feelings. She would brush them off, undermine her feelings and not acknowledge others. She needed to work on them. Honestly, it had been over a decade. She had lost hope in herself to get over her abandonment issues for good. She knew that talking to her mother always triggered her. She would spend sleepless nights crying and hit the pub to drown her sorrows in drinks and a night of getaway, pretending to be someone she was not, with someone she barely knew. She did not ask for names anymore. She could not remember faces anymore. After a series of serious fights, her father backed off from the sensitive topic of marriage as well. It was no use telling her unless she was ready. But oddly, she did sleep the previous night. She even had a dream she could not remember. It was a happy one. She had woken up with a strange anticipation to reach the wedding venue. She told herself it was because she cared about the people who were kind to her during her bad times. She cared for Asha. But was that it? Then why did her eyes search for him throughout the Mehendi ceremony? Why did she want to stay away from him through the evening, fearing her eyes and face would give away how flustered she was at the sight of him? She was irked at his confidence in stirring her. She was not going to give him the satisfaction. It was one more day to go, to pretend like she did not care, that he made no impact, and she felt no urge whenever he came close. This could happen with anyone, she inferred. Yet, in these years, she only felt this strange longing once.