Page 16 of Knot Their Arrangement

Omega Singles Meet – Tonight

FAILURE TO ATTEND WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE SUMMONING TO THE COMMITTEE FOR FURTHER INTERROGATION

"Fuck!"I check the time again – 11:45 PM.

The invitation states doors close at midnight. Midnight!

My mind races as I check the address.

The venue isn't far – maybe a fifteen-minute walk, but if I run... I could make it in ten. Eight if I really push myself.

This seems fucking laughable if I dare think about it.

If Father could see me now – his perfectly trained daughter contemplating running through the streets like a common criminal. All for a fucking singles meet.

Desperation at its finest.

I rush to my closet, throwing open the doors with enough force to make them rattle. Nothing here works – all my casual dresses would take too long to style properly, and I don't have time for a full outfit coordination.

My eyes drift to the section of my closet I usually avoid – the traditional wear I brought with me when I fled. Pieces too beautiful,meaningful, to leave behind, even if they remind me of a life I'm trying to escape.

With trembling fingers, I pull out a dark red saree, the fabric whispering against my skin like a forgotten lullaby.

The color is deep and rich – like wine in candlelight – with delicate golden embroidery along the borders. It's not what these events typically expect; most Omegas show up in Western cocktail dresses or designer gowns.

But maybe that's exactly why I should wear it.

Working with practiced movements that my mother drilled into me since childhood, I begin the process of wrapping the saree. Each fold, each pleat falls perfectly into place, muscle memory taking over where conscious thought fails.

The matching blouse hugs my curves modestly but elegantly.

From my jewelry box –one of the few luxuries I allowed myself to keep– I select pieces that complement without overwhelming. A delicate golden tikka for my forehead, matching jhumka earrings that chime softly with every movement, and a series of bangles that cascade down my wrists in a symphony of red and gold.

A quick glance in the mirror shows me a version of myself I barely recognize anymore – the perfect blend of tradition and defiance.

I can already hear the mockery.

The Indian Omega trying to look presentable in our world where elegant gowns and fitted suits are the trend and now…this.

I swallow the lump in my throat, affirming what I know is true.

I don't need to impress anyone.

Just arrive, be seen, and leave.

That’s it. Nothing more.

The clock shows 11:52 PM as I grab my small clutch and rush to the door. There's no time for elaborate makeup or hairstyling – my long black curls will have to do as they are, cascading down my back like a rebellion against Western beauty standards.

"Just get there, sign in, and leave," I mutter to myself as I lock up. "No need to stay, no need to socialize, just avoid the government's watchlist for one more month."

My sandals barely make a sound against the stairs as I rush down them two at a time, the soft chiming of my bangles marking each movement like a countdown to midnight.

The fabric of my saree flows behind me like a river of crimson and gold, years of practice making it possible to run without tripping over the pleats.

11:54 PM. I can make it.

The night air hits my face as I burst through the Haven's front door, carrying with it the scent of recent rain and city lights.

---