Page 9 of Red Flags and Rishtas
He walked over to me, pulling a light green T-shirt over his head. I caught myself yearning to say a proper goodbye to his abs, which had now disappeared under the fabric. Not that I’d ever gotten to say hello.
What a shame.
‘All right, I’ll walk you out,’ he said, touching my shoulder.
I sighed internally.Yes, please.
Except Karan’s brother didn’t move from the doorway. I was suddenly very aware of how tiny I must’ve looked, sandwiched between two freakishly tall men. Instead of throwing another insult at Karan, his brother directed his attention to me. I found myself squirming under his frowning gaze.
‘What’d you say your name was again?’ he asked, furrowing his brows together.
Now that I was looking at him up closely, I could see that his features were softer than Karan’s. His nose wasn’t as long and his jawline was less in-your-face. His eyes were the lightest shade of brown, sheltered under thick, dark eyebrows.
‘Ananya,’ I said, wondering why on Earth he had developed an interest in me at this inopportune moment.
As soon as I said that, he dug his hand into his denims and started looking for something on his phone.
‘What the fuck are you doing, Aadar? Move,’ Karan said, and I was grateful for the newfound urgency in his voice.
But Aadar didn’t seem to have heard him. His eyes went wide as he finished studying something on his screen.
‘Dude, quit being a creep.’ Karan went past me and smacked his brother on his chest.
Instead of hitting him back, Aadar held up his phone to Karan, whose expression changed when he saw whatever was on there. A few seconds later, he burst out laughing.
‘What the hell is happening?’ I demanded from the two men standing in front of me – one bent over laughing and the other looking like someone had punched him in the balls.
When neither of them responded to me, I snatched the phone from Karan. There, smiling behind a rangoli, was my face. It was the photo from Garima’s Diwali party.
‘Oh my God,’ I said, feeling the blood rush to my face.
No way. No fucking way.
I tried to remember what my parents had told me about the guy I’d be meeting today. Marketing guy. Seven-figure salary. Looked like a movie star. None of these things were great identifiers. Apart from the movie star bit … which I was on the fence about. Aadar was a good-looking guy, but he was not his brother. I mean, he could’ve been a movie star, although probably not in Bollywood.
Just how is this relevant, Annie?I gave myself a mental kick.Focus.
Wait, Mom had used the family surname at some point.
And then, an image from last night flooded my brain. The nameplate outside their apartment – Chauhans.
I had never understood why food was so important in arranged marriage setups. I’d always seen it in movies – heaps and heaps of savoury snacks, pakwans and mouth-watering desserts were laid out in front of the other party. And yet, no one ever ate anything. It felt too strange to enjoy dhoklas with smilingstrangers who were no doubt judging everything about you and your entire home with every bite.
But today, as I found myself in the single most awkward situation of my entire life, I understood.
‘Please try the ladoos, Mrs Chauhan. We got them specially from Sadar Bazaar,’ my mom said, breaking the silence with the aid of yet another food item.
Mrs Chauhan, who was wearing a blue and gold silk sari with intricate zari work, reluctantly accepted the dessert plate that was handed to her. My mom, too, was dressed in a sari, even though she hated wearing them. Even at weddings, she almost always wore an anarkali suit. But today was a special occasion, she’d explained. Her daughter was now a woman.
‘You said that when I got my period, like, twelve years ago,’ I’d argued.
She had shushed me, pinched my chin as an expression of her maternal love and asked me to put on the light pink angrakha suit she had picked out for the day. I’d happily obliged, humming as I took the pain to straighten my wavy hair. Mom had been suspicious about my chirpiness, but she didn’t say anything.
In a way, I’d realised on my way back from Karan’s place, this had worked out really well for me. Aadar, my to-be suitor, had practically thrown me out of the house when I had joined Karan’s laughter riot. There was no way he would show up to propose a rishta the same afternoon.
And yet, here he was, sitting in front of me on my coffee-brown leather couch. Dressed in a dark-grey blazer over a white T-shirt and black trousers, he looked nothing like the dude from this morning. His dad sat on his right, wearing an off-white kurta almost identical to the one my father was wearing.
To my horror, Karan had also shown up. He was the most relaxed person in the room, and I saw him stifling a laugh onmore than one uncomfortable occasion. He clearly harboured no leftover guilt about costing his brother a match. I didn’t blame him. I envied him. What I wouldn’t have given to be in his position instead of sitting here in clothes that itched me and jewellery that didn’t belong to me.
