Reyansh Carter
If you were to take my advice, I would say never make your best friend and your wife friends. Because one day that fucker is going to take her side more than yours, and while that is an admirable sentiment, it is going to come bite you back in the ass one day.
I know this because when I told Aarav that he would be the one to pick up Aisha because I had some work to finish, he called me names I can’t even say out loud.
The supposed work that I have is a surprise for Aisha that I didn’t want to tell anyone else before her because I am still in doubt whether she will like it or not. My wife loves all things that can be or are Bollywood coded, but she also kind of doesn’t like me at the moment, so I wouldn’t be too sure.
But because that asshole wouldn’t leave me alone and threatened to not go and pick Aisha up, I had to tell him.
I am thinking of getting her name written inmehendion the center of my right palm. I know it is cliché, and to be honest, I can’t even stand the smell ofmehendi; I only like it because she likes it, and I do whatever my wife says.
At least, he didn’t call me names after that and instead said that I was back to being a lover-boy.
“I never stopped being one,” is what I wanted to say to him. I just became stupid enough to hide it.
But now is not the time to mourn over the past, over my stupid mistakes that I made under the control of my fragile ego.
Now is the time to fix what’s broken—including my own broken heart and Aisha’s too.
It was hard for me to find a henna artist all of a sudden who had the time and the skills, even though the only thing that mattered to me was to get her name beautifully carved in the middle of my palm.
I would tattoo her name on my body if she would let me. But while she finds those attractive on other people, she isn’t really fond of the idea of one on me.
The henna artist wrote her name in beautiful calligraphy on my right hand, and now I am driving to the event location with it resting on my thigh as I drive with one hand.
I am actually excited to burst her bubble that I left her alone again because of my work.
I want her to understand that I am not stupid enough to repeat the actions that made me lose her—the most precious one in my life—again.
* * *
When I reach the venue, I am awestruck. I didn’t actually think these influencers were going to do anything worth looking at. Initially I thought that it was going to be like one of those stupid house parties that they organize and you see all over social media.
After all, only Indians know how to do justice to Indian wedding parties. No one can replicate that vibe easily. It is all about energy for them. But whoever made this party happen clearly didn’t come to play because even someone like me who isn’t so easily impressed is in awe of the decoration.
I just hope this Indian wedding party—even if it is fake—manages to bring me and Aisha closer.
I text Aarav to let him know that I am outside and will be there soon. I just need to get the dry henna off my hands and some courage inside me that she is in fact going to like this.
I really hope she does.
I make sure I am not wasting any time as I go into the men’s restroom to clean my hands and finish my business.
When men around me see me wiping my henna-covered hands, they surely judge by the way they keep staring at me. But do I give a fuck? Hell no.
Once I am out of the restroom, I take one last look at the name on my hand. It looks beautiful. Her name pairs well with my name—with me.
I don’t care if she looks good with someone else; as long as I am there, that’s simply not going to happen. So, we can consider the possibility non-existent.
I find Aisha in the crowd, and I feel my heart stop beating. She looks divine.
Like she is a goddess.
Like she was made just for me.
Like all my dreams have come true.
I keep a hand on my heart to tell it to calm down, but who am I kidding? It can never feel calm whenever she is around.
