“But you have friends coming.”
“Like … a few. Half a dozen. It’s going to be such a small wedding that a holud seems … pointless.”
“Youhaveto have a holud,” Hani says. “Holuds are supposed to be small. With family and close friends … and it’ll be fun. When else are you going to get your mehndi done after all?”
“We’ll plan it!” I exclaim, even though I’ve never in my entire life planned a party. There’s a first time for everything, I guess. “We can have it tomorrow. Just invite your friends, and Hani and I will take care of everything else.”
Hani glances at me hesitantly, like she’s not sure she thinks we can do this, but I know that we definitely can. So I ignore her gaze.
“Are yousure?” Nik asks, looking at us with narrowed eyes.
“Yeah, we’re sure. I’m not going to let you have a wedding without a holud, Nik.” Especially not when she’s already having a wedding without Ammu and Abbu.
Nik finally smiles. “Thanks, Ishu.”
We spend all of the next morning preparing for the holud. Hani strings up flowers on the walls of Nik’s sitting room. Nik and I push the couch to one side and lay down a throw, pillows, and cushions on the floor to make a seating area. With the mattress and an old bedsheet, Hani and I create a makeshift stage just in front of the seating area. We decorate the wall of the back of the stage with flowers and glitter and balloons.
While Hani prepares the turmeric paste and mehndi and creates a holud playlist, Nik and I work together to cook a large pot of biryani.
“You have to go get ready,” I tell Nik once the biryani is done. “The guests will be here soon … make sure you wear holud, okay?”
“You guys have to get ready too,” Nik says.
“Wewill.You’re the bride though—you’re kind of more important.”
“Okay, okay,” Nik concedes, before finally disappearing into her bedroom.
Hani disappears into the bathroom to get changed, so I pull out my own set of clothes: a delicate yellow and green lahenga. Lahengas are not usually my thing—but you can’t really go wrong with them during a wedding. I even slip on some green churis that jingle with every movement of my arms.
When Hani steps out of the bathroom, I feel like my lahenga can’t compare. She’s wearing a dark red kameez that’s as long and wide as a ballgown. There are subtle hints of green splashed onto the dress. The two colors shouldn’t go together— but they do. And it makes Hani’s bronze skin look more beautiful than ever—though that might also be the makeup.
“You look amazing!” I exclaim. Stepping forward, I take her arms in mine. Both of our arms jingle with churis. That sound has never sounded better to me.
“So do you,” Hani says.
I reach up to brush back a lock of her hair before leaning forward until our lips touch. Hani leans into me, and I thread my hand through her hair and—
“Ow!”
I jump back.
“Your churi …” Hani says.
My bangles are caught in the strands of her hair. I lean forward, trying to unclasp the churi.
“Bengali clothes are really not designed for kissing, are they?” I sigh. This isn’t the first time we’ve been caught up in each other awkwardly while wearing Desi clothes. You would think we’d learn by now, but I suppose we’re determined.
“How does Bollywood make it looks so effortlessly romantic?” Hani asks, pulling at the threads of her hair.
“I guess we’re no Deepika and Ranveer, huh?” I sigh.
Thankfully, we don’t have to be a Deepika and Ranveer to take a picture together in front of the stage we decorated. A photo where we’re pressed together a little too close and Hani is kissing my cheek. After all of our old fake photos together, we’ve gotten pretty good at taking the cheesiest real couple photos together.
Nik’s guests start pouring in by seven o’clock. They’re mostly her friends from university, but also a few friends from outside university. Theyoohandaahat the décor, and I can’t help but feel pleased that the three of us have pulled this all off in just a few hours.
When Nik comes out of her bedroom, dressed in a bright yellow salwar kameez that makes her glow, the room descends into silence. She blushes a pretty pink and comes over to greet everyone and give them huge hugs and thank them for coming.
“Okay, okay.” I step in when the hugging has gone on for a bit too long. “We need to get started. Come on, Nik. Up on stage.” I guide Nik onto the mattress. Someone dims the light, and a kind of fairytale glow descends onto the room. The music comes on, and the speakers begin to thump out a Bollywood song: “Mehndi Laga Ke Rakhna.” I can’t help the grin on my face—Hani couldn’t have chosen a more perfect song to start off the evening.
