48. MAHENDI
AAROHI:
I wake up before him. Not because of the alarm. Not because of noise. Because his arm is still around my waist. And I don't want to move it.
For a few seconds, I just stay there, half lying on his chest, listening to his breathing. It's slow, steady, the kind of sleep that comes only when someone feels safe. And the strange part?
So do I.
I carefully move his arm from around me and slip out of bed without waking him. The room is still quiet, early morning light coming through the curtains. The house must already be awake downstairs, today is mehendi day.
I take my green saree and go to the washroom. The water is cold. My hair gets wet. My mind is still warm. When I come out, wrapped in my saree, hair damp and loose, he's still sleeping. On his stomach. One hand under the pillow. Face relaxed in a way I've never seen before.
He looks... harmless like this. I smile to myself. I go near the bed and shake his shoulder lightly. "Veeransh ji... wake up." No response. I try again. "Everyone is awake... and already ready." Nothing. He turns to the other side.
So I do the only logical thing. I take my wet hair and flick it gently over his face. Water droplets fall on his cheek, his forehead. He wakes up with a start. "Aarohi!" I laugh immediately. "See? You woke up."
He wipes his face, blinking. "What did you do?" "Good morning," I say innocently. He looks at me for two seconds... then smirks. "I'll definitely take revenge for this." I step back. "First go take a shower. I already kept your clothes ready."
That surprises him. "You did?" I nod. "Yeah. They're kept near the table." He looks at me like he wants to say something, then just shakes his head and goes to the shower. When he comes back, dressed and fresh, I'm fixing my bangles.
I tell him softly, "Today I won't be able to do any work.
Me and Suhana are getting mehendi first so it dries by evening.
" He nods. Then I remember something Maa told me and say quickly, "And.
.. if Maa asks you to apply mehendi too, then get a little done.
Don't refuse. Otherwise Bua ji will feel bad. Maa told me to tell you."
He raises an eyebrow. "Me? Mehendi?" I smile. "Just a little." He sighs. "Fine." We go downstairs. The house is already full of color. Flowers. Music. Laughter. Women sitting in circles. Designers with cones of mehendi.
The smell of sweets and fresh leaves fills the air. Suhana pulls me immediately. "Bhabhi come here! You first!" I sit down. The designer starts drawing patterns on my hands, slow, careful, detailed. Flowers, leaves, lines... and then, on my palm, she writes a name.
Veeransh. I stare at it. My heart skips. Both my hands are soon covered in mehendi. I can't move them properly. Can't touch anything. After a while, my throat feels dry. I get up carefully and go toward the kitchen. But before I can even reach the water jug... he's there.
Following me. "Came to drink water?" he asks. I nod, helplessly holding my hands up. "Yeah... but I..." He picks up a glass. Brings it to my lips. "Drink." I hesitate. "In front of everyone?" "No one is watching."
I take a few sips. While I'm drinking, my wet hair falls over my face. Without thinking, he lifts his hand and gently tucks it behind my ear. The touch is so soft I forget to breathe. I whisper, "I have a little headache." He looks at me instantly. "Too much?"
I nod a little. He thinks for two seconds and says, "The function is at night, right? Come to the room. I'll give you a head massage." I blink. "You?" He nods. "Yeah." We go upstairs. The room is quiet again.
I sit on the bed. He sits behind me, gently placing his fingers on my scalp.
And he starts massaging. Slow. Warm. Careful.
His fingers move through my hair, pressing lightly, like he's scared to hurt me.
My eyes close on their own. I don't even realize when I fall asleep.
The last thing I feel is his hand still in my hair.
When I wake up again, I'm lying on the bed properly, covered with a light sheet. He's sitting near me, just... watching. Running his fingers through my hair again, softer this time. Then the door opens. Maa walks in. She looks at both of us. At me sleeping. At him sitting beside me. And she smiles.
"See," she says softly, "she has blended into our family now." He looks a little embarrassed. Maa comes closer, places a new saree on the bed. "Wear this in the evening after mehendi," she says. Then she looks at him.
"Just keep taking care of her like this." He nods slowly. And I, half asleep, half awake, realize something important. For the first time in my life... I am not alone in a crowded house. I am not scared in a locked room.
I am not surviving. I am being taken care of.
By the same man who once hurt me. And that makes everything confusing.
.. But also, strangely, beautiful. I don't know exactly when it happens.
Not the moment I start feeling something for him, that happened long ago, quietly, painfully, without permission.
But the moment I accept it. That happens now. I am sitting on the edge of the bed, my hands stretched out carefully so the mehendi doesn't smudge.
The room smells like eucalyptus oil, fresh flowers, and something warm, something that feels like him. He is standing near the window, phone in his hand, half listening to someone downstairs, half watching me.
I don't look up. Because every time I do, my heart forgets how to behave. My palms are dark with mehendi now. The designs are deep, blooming properly. When I turn my left palm slightly, I see it again. Veeransh. His name, written neatly, deliberately, like it belongs there.
Like I wanted it there. He comes closer. Sits in front of me. His eyes drop to my hands. And then he stops breathing for a second. I feel it, the pause. The way his shoulders stiffen. The way his jaw tightens, not in anger, but in something softer, heavier.
He reaches out slowly, like he's asking permission without words. "Show me," he says quietly. I extend my palm. He takes it. His thumb brushes lightly over the letters of his name. Once. Twice. As if checking if it's real.
"The mehendi," he murmurs, "has bloomed beautifully." I smile without thinking. "Because your name is written in it." He looks up at me. Straight into my eyes. Then, without warning, he lifts my palm slightly and presses his lips to it.
A soft kiss. Barely there. But it lands directly on his name.
"Veeransh ji," I whisper, startled. Not because I don't like it.
Because I like it too much. He pulls back just enough to look at me.
"So," he says softly, almost teasing, "my name is written on your hand. .. that's why the mehendi bloomed?"
I nod, my cheeks warm. "Then," he says, voice lower now, "no mehendi has more right to bloom than this one." I don't know what to say to that. So I don't say anything. I just let him keep holding my hand.
Downstairs, music grows louder. Someone laughs. Someone claps. The mehendi function is in full swing. But here, in this room, time feels slow. Heavy. Safe. "Feeling sleepy?" he asks suddenly. I nod. "Yeah... a little." He glances at the clock. "It's almost time for the function."
"I know," I say softly. "But for a little while..." He understands. He always understands now.
He helps me lie down carefully on the bed, arranging pillows so my hands stay raised. He sits beside me, leaning back against the headboard. I rest my head near his shoulder, careful not to touch too much. Careful not to want too much. He looks down at me.
"Tomorrow is the wedding," he says. I smile faintly.
"I know." "After that," he continues, "we'll go to our home.
" "Rajasthan," I whisper. "Sarkar Haveli.
" There's no pride in his voice this time.
Just... inevitability. I stare at the ceiling.
"Don't you miss home here?" he asks. I think about it.
Mumbai. This room. This warmth. This version of him.
"No," I say honestly. "I don't miss home here.
" He exhales softly. "Me neither." That surprises me.
I turn my head slightly to look at him. His eyes are closed now.
Tired. Relieved. Human. The function goes on without us for a while.
When we finally go downstairs later, everything blurs, laughter, photos, teasing, lights.
People calling me bhabhi. Women admiring my mehendi. Suhana dragging me from one corner to another. But every time I feel lost, I find him. Standing nearby. Watching. Not controlling. Just... there. By the time the function ends, my body feels heavy.
Emotionally more than physically. Back in the room, I carefully remove my jewelry and sit on the bed again. He lies down beside me, leaving space, like always. But tonight, the space feels unnecessary. I turn slightly toward him.
He does the same. We lie facing each other.
No touching. Just breathing. "Veeransh ji," I say quietly.
"Hm?" I want to say it. I want to tell him that I feel something real.
Something deep. Something that scares me.
But the words stay stuck in my throat. So instead, I say the safest truth I can find.
"Today... you looked good." He smiles. Not his smirk. A real smile. "You too." Silence again. Our eyes slowly close. And as sleep takes me, I realize something important. I am falling in love with him. Not because he is powerful. Not because he is kind now. Not because he is my husband.
But because somewhere between pain and patience, fear and care... He learned how to hold my hand without hurting me.
And I learned how to stay without being afraid. Not confessed. Not yet. But felt. Completely.