Page 53 of Red Flags and Rishtas
For the next few seconds, nobody said anything. My heart began palpitating, and I wondered if I’d totally blown this.
Then, Muskaan broke into light applause before raising her champagne glass in my direction. ‘That was so amazing. Wow.’
I thanked her, letting a little ray of hope seep into my chest. But I knew she wasn’t calling the shots here. Kavita Aunty stood up, her face completely blank. The three of us watched in silence as she moved around the boutique, tracing her fingers along the wallpaper, pausing to inspect the ceiling of the modern mandap. She then walked over to the clothing racks, where we’d hung afew pieces for effect. I had to resist the urge to crane my neck to follow her to the dressing area.
V and I exchanged glances. Muskan excused herself to make a phone call and stepped outside.
‘What do you think?’ I whispered to my friend.
She held up her hand, crossing all four fingers and giving them a kiss for extra luck.
‘So …’ We heard her voice before she emerged from behind the dressing area, followed by the sound of the kaleeras rustling. ‘Who authorised the funds for this?’
‘I did, Mom,’ V said, her voice unsure.
‘Without asking me?’ She was now approaching us with firm steps.
V turned to look at me as if asking me for help. ‘I … uh, I took a chance.’
‘Hmm,’ Aunty said, fixing her gaze first on her, then on me. ‘Well, I’m glad you did.’
You are?
I had no idea I’d said it out loud until she chuckled, placing her hands on both my shoulders. ‘Yes, beta. I am glad. I like that you’ve given a sort of theme to the place. It’s meaningful and symbolic of the business we’re in … and that’s what I love about it.’
I didn’t realise I’d been holding my breath until I exhaled in her face. She laughed again, and my heart rate began to speed up.
‘So you like it?’ I needed to hear her say it.
‘I really do. Congratulations,’ she said, and I heard V squealing behind her.
I’d done it, it finally hit me. Not only had I managed to woo the toughest client of my career, but I’d also decorated and furnished a space – a job I washiredto do. Without me, thelittle world inside this boutique would not exist. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. It was a feeling I wanted to share.
On my way back home, I put up a photo of the boutique on my Instagram story: Did the interiors for this beautiful space by @akiracouture. #FeelingBlessed
Within five minutes, I had two responses on the story. I read the first, it was from Madhav.
The next one was from a handle that had not previously entered my chats, @thisisaadar. I didn’t even know he followed me.
My fingers automatically began typing out a response.
I stared at the three little dots dancing on the bottom left corner of our chat box.
I sent my text, then caught a glimpse of myself in my phone screen’s reflection. Immediately, I stopped smiling.
A devil who carries a handkerchief in his pocket. I chuckled at the absurdity, forgetting that the chat box from Madhav was waiting for my response.
13
Wedding Hells
I’d been on locationduty since Monday, which meant I’d had the supreme pleasure of spending my days (and a quarter of my nights) in the shaadi ka ghar – or should I say, shaadi ka five-star hotel? For the first two days, I somewhat enjoyed being away from the monotony of my office desk. But forty-eight hours, five shoe bites and countless averted crises later, I would’ve sacrificed my promotion to go back to the safety of my cubicle.
The first event of the four-day celebration, the sangeet, was to take place tomorrow evening. While most of the guests were supposed to check in sometime in the morning, a few overeager ones were arriving tonight. Among them were Deepti’s elder sister and her husband, whose editorial interview, I’d found out a few minutes ago, was scheduled for midnight. The woman had refused to do it at a more civilised time during the day, saying haughtily, ‘It’s myrealsister’s sangeet. I’m not going to have any time once the celebrations begin.’
Today was the only day I could’ve gone back home for a good night’s sleep before the madness officially began. But I knew the editorial team would want me around for the interview – they needed someone to manage the tantrums. I pulled out my phone from the pocket of my jeans and texted my mom.
She’d be worried. I hadn’t spent more than a few hours every night at home for the last two weeks. At first, I’d been busy decorating the boutique, and then, with the preparations for Best Man. My dad and she had tried to lecture me a few times, warning me about how I was pushing myself too far. I’d told them the same thing I’d been telling myself over the last few days:I’m absolutely fine.I know what I’m doing.
