Page 35 of Knot So Romantic

As I try to make my way forward, Ramu holds up his sickle like a weapon and stands in my path, not budging. Just then, the front door bursts open, and Kavita appears, hands on her hips. “Ramu!” she yells.

The towering giant of a man turns around, lowers his sickle, and mumbles, “Ma’am, I told sir boutique’s closed.”

“It’s okay. You can let him in,” Kavita says.

Ramu turns back to me, flashes a grin revealing his missing front tooth, and steps aside. “You can go, sir.”

“Thanks, Ramu,” I smile, patting his shoulder as I walk in.

Kavita is wearing a thin cotton sleep shirt with her hair in a messy top knot. I notice her puffy eyes with dark circles underneath. She doesn’t look like her usual cheerful self.

I want to pull her into my arms and pick up where we left off the other night. But does her upset face have something to do with that? Does she regret what happened and never want to see me again?

She takes in my sweat-soaked appearance and worried look. “Is everything okay?”

I realize I’m staring and clear my throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you so early.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “I know I’m not looking my best right now. I was working late, and...I’m still at it.” She sighs, pushing a hand over her forehead, causing a few strands of hair to fall over her face. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone this early.”

I fight the urge to tuck her hair behind her ears. She looks tired and upset. I know I shouldn’t be disturbing her, but I can’t help but ask, “Is something wrong? I know I probably won’t be much help, but is there anything I can do?”

She lets out another sigh and shakes her head, waving her hand toward the inside. “I doubt anyone can help. It’s just a mess in here.”

Through the slightly ajar door, I can make out the reams of fabric all over the floor. It does look like a mess. “I’m sorry to barge in like this unannounced, but let me help you clean up.”

She steps back, still shaking her head. I take that as a hint to follow her through the door.

“What happened here?”

“One of my brides is getting married today. Her dress wasn’t fitting her because she had lost some weight. She came in for a last-minute lehenga fitting late last night and accidentally stepped on the hem of her lehenga. It ripped off the delicate embroidery along the bottom. I’ve been trying to fix it up all night.”

“You’ve been working all night?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to trouble the staff, so I decided to take on the repair myself. Bad idea!” She flops on the couch and exhales. “I have to send this back in two hours, and I’m still not done.” A tear rolls down her cheek. She gives it a frustrated swipe and huffs.

I’ve never seen her so upset. “Hey!” I go to her side. “No need to worry. You’ll finish it.”

“I can’t,” she says, squeezing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I can’t do this. I should have called someone to help me last night. I hate to call on staff after hours, but I should have known better than to try to make this work and manage all of this on my own. What was I thinking? I don’t know what I’m going to do...and what am I going to tell the bride?”

“Hey! Hey! You’ll be fine.” I gently squeeze her shoulder. “Look at me.”

She looks up, teary-eyed. She looks exhausted and miserable, and my heart goes out to her.

“First things first, you need to take a step back, breathe, and look at it calmly. Where’s the tear?”

I help her lift the heavy lehenga off the ground. She shows me the torn part. The beautiful embroidery looks pretty messed up.

“I’ve been trying to restitch some of it myself, but the fabric is so delicate. I can’t work it back into the existing design. I’ve been trying to get it right, but it just ends up looking terrible.”

Something has to work, I think, racking my brain. “I’m no fashion expert,” I say finally, “but can you hide it somehow?”

“Hide it?” she repeats, blinking, then her eyes widen. “I guess I could put on—” A moment later, she gets up and heads to her studio.

She returns with a beautiful long piece of lace. “Maybe this would work, fingers crossed,” she says, taking a deep breath as she holds the lace next to the lehenga’s hem. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it...I’m...I’m such an idiot!”

“You’re just tired and overworked. You needed a break, that’s all.”

She smiles, and she looks like the sun peeking out on a rainy day. Soon, she’s at her sewing machine, holding the lehenga and the lace fabric together. The lehenga is so big and awkward that she has to struggle to hold it in place.