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“Only for Meher,” I interject. “My connection is solely with Meher. I want no association with the Walia family beyond that.”
She understands where my dislike for the rest of the Walias stems from, so she diverts the topic.
“By the way, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see the bride in her wedding attire before the big day. It will only kill the anticipation of seeing her on D-day, all decked up for you.”
I chuckle, realising she is right. “You know, even if I see Meher in her wedding outfit before the actual day, it will not dampen my excitement.”
Devika’s eyes twinkle with amusement.
“But still, there’s something magical about the surprise element, don’t you think?”
I ponder for a moment before agreeing with her. “You are right. If that’s the case, I’ll wait until our big day to see Meher in all her wedding finery.”
“Good call. It’s just another week until the wedding. Waiting will only make the excitement and thrill of seeing Meher more intense and romantic.” She responds with a teasing glint in her eyes.
Her words make perfect sense, and I nod in agreement. “You always have the best advice, Devika. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—you’re the only sane one in the Walia family.”
She laughs as she recollects the words I’d told her in Alibaug when we thought Meher had attempted suicide.
“I know, and thanks for always reminding me that,” she chuckles.
“Fine then. I’ll wait outside.”
“No peeking,” she presses on.
I nod. “No peeking.”
With a warm smile, I turn and make my way to the boutique’s lobby, grabbing a seat and keeping myself occupied while allowing Meher to try her outfit in peace. Waiting for Meher is both exciting and nerve-racking, but knowing that in just a week’s time, she’ll be walking towards our wedding mandap as my bride fills me with pride and happiness.
As I sit in the boutique’s lobby, my attention occasionally wandering to the messages on my phone, a subtle movement catches my eye. Vishnu comes out of the men’s trial room in a traditional kurta, appearing strikingly different from his usual self. Simran, waiting for him outside, looks at him in appreciation. The kurta feels foreign to Vishnu, his discomfort evident in his demeanour. Simran patiently addresses his concerns and reassures him, putting him at ease. Vishnu’s eyes shoot her a sharp glance when she gives him more kurtas to try on. He snatches the garments from her hands, his irritation evident, and retreats back into the fitting room to try on the new selections.
I chuckle and turn my head towards the women’s trial room, where Meher is still trying on the wedding attire, when my phone buzzes with an incoming call from Bhaskar uncle. I quickly answer the call.
“Hello, uncle,” I greet.
“Ayaan, Kailash has gone somewhere. He told me he was going for some work. I tried to stop him, but he didn’t listen. He didn’t even take the guards along,” Uncle says, his voice full of frustration and helplessness.
Confusion clouds my thoughts.
“Uncle, how could he leave? I specifically told him not to go anywhere without the guards. And he is supposed to be resting at home!”
“He said it was urgent, Ayaan. He was quite adamant,” Uncle explains.
I grit my teeth, my worry escalating.
“This is not good. He’s not well, and after the accident, he can’t just wander around without security. Where did he go?”
“He didn’t tell me that. Everything happened so fast that Kailash didn’t mention where he was leaving and why?”
I clench my fists, my anger simmering beneath the surface.
“I’ll call him. Don’t worry. And thanks for informing me.”
I disconnect the call and dial my father’s number, who is now acting like a spoilt child, hell-bent on defying orders. He answers after a few rings, his voice casual.
“I knew Bhaskar would rat me out,” Dad says.
My frustration boils over.
