Chapter Seventeen
Chapter
Seventeen
“The bottom line is, in life, sometimes good things happen, sometimes bad things happen. But, honey, if you don’t take a chance, nothing happens.”
—Dorothy Zbornak, Golden Girls
Harsha refreshed her bank balance on her phone, certain the number blinking back up at her was a lie. Neha had promptly paid the invoice in full for the wedding photography gig, while the other client had sent over a small deposit, and gosh, that was…a lot of money in her own account.
Maybe it wasn’t a lot for any of the other Godboles, who would only need one shopping spree to bring that number down to zero, but for Harsha, who’d done her fair share of hustling and struggling this year, it was more than she could have dreamed of.
When Veer’s car honked thrice from downstairs, Harsha put on her sneakers and jogged to where Nayanthara was parked. Veer reached forward to open the car door for her before she could, and she smiled at him graciously as she tugged on her seat belt. He wore one of her favorite collared shirts that she’d bought for him—light pink, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms in a sexy way—and his hair was slightly shorter than usual, buzzed on the sides.
“New haircut?” she asked as he pulled onto the main road and braked in traffic.
“My barber cut one side too short,” he said, touching the buzz cut as though self-consciously. “So it had to be done. Hope I don’t look ugly, though.”
Harsha rolled her eyes. “You’re fishing for a compliment.”
He tutted loudly. “And you didn’t take the bait.”
The road erupted with the noise of horns as the signal turned green, and Harsha waved her hand forward, smiling at how quickly he could soothe her nerves. “Just drive, you goof.” She set her phone on his dashboard, Google Maps displayed front and center. Twelve minutes until they got to the designer wedding clothing store, and maybe she’d luck out and find something she could buy with her own, hard-earned money. Now that her career was going places, there was no way she wanted to rely on the secondary account for anything other than Veer’s payments.
“Here we are.” Veer parked the car under a shady tree in front of Renuka Mishra’s designer boutique, where a guard swiftly opened Harsha’s door for her. Impressed, she said a quiet thank-you and reached for Veer’s hand, pulling away at the last moment.
When they walked inside, Harsha’s heart melted. The store was decked out with yellow chandeliers, artistic Indian wallpaper, and rows upon rows of the most beautiful, high-end, fashionable ethnic wear she had seen in her life. No wonder Neha had proudly shown off this place on her Instagram.
One of the store attendants, dressed in a neatly pleated red-and-gold saree—signature bridal colors, and the colors of Renuka Mishra’s logo—folded her hands in namaste. “Welcome to Renuka Mishra’s boutique. Would you like something to drink?”
“Filter coffee, if you have some,” Veer said.
“We do. Ma’am?” the attendant asked.
“I’m good, thanks,” she said, and the attendant headed somewhere inside the store.
Veer bent closer and whispered right into Harsha’s ear, ruffling her hair with his breath, “Is my coffee the only kind you like?”
“You mean Sunstag’s coffee, not yours,” she said, shifting away. Her neck still tingled.
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” he said.
“Nobody says po-tah—” she started, but gave up and addressed the other attendant who was waiting patiently for instructions. “I’d like to see some lehengas. My cousin’s getting married next week.”
“Of course.” She gestured for them to follow her to the other side of the store, which opened up into an explosion of colors: green, blue, pink, yellow, silver, everything but red; clearly, it only showcased lehengas for guests of the wedding. “What style or color are you looking for, ma’am?”
Harsha thought for a minute. She’d stayed up all night, googling lehenga designs with Sasha diligently commenting on them via Zoom, and decided sea-green was the way to go. It was a classy color that would set her apart from the other guests and bring out the flecks in her gray eyes. Or so Sasha had said.
“Something in sea-green or turquoise,” she said, and the store attendant picked out three lehengas from the rack and set them on a table.
Harsha turned her back to the attendant and tried to shield herself as she combed through the first lehenga to find a price tag, curious since the website didn’t advertise prices. When her hands came up empty, the attendant cleared her throat. “Ma’am, this range starts from a hundred and seventy thousand rupees. We have another range that’s priced a little lower at a hundred and fifty thousand—”
Harsha almost gasped at the cost. She slowly faced the attendant again, forcing out a weak smile. “I was just feeling the fabric.”
“Of course.” The attendant lowered her gaze.
“Excuse me.” Ignoring Veer’s concerned look, Harsha walked farther into the store, nearly stumbling into the first attendant who carried Veer’s coffee in a dainty, pink-rimmed mug. She apologized and took out her phone, her fingers punching in keys on the touchscreen until her own bank balance flashed before her eyes: a little over one hundred and sixty thousand rupees, more money than the account had seen in months.
Her stomach dropped to her knees. And yet, there was no way she’d be able to afford anything from this store within that price range and still pay all her other bills on time. What had the attendant said? One hundred and fifty thousand? She laughed dryly. Nope. Not happening.
Why had Harsha even wanted to shop at the same store as Neha, anyway? Wasn’t she above all that competition and drama now? She exhaled, refusing to let her tears fall. No. She wouldn’t let Neha get to her again.
“What’s wrong?” Veer’s warm hand clasped hers, and she sank into his half-embrace. “Aren’t you using the secondary account?”
She licked her lips. “I wanted to get something with my own money.”
He spun her around and placed his hands on her shoulders, his gaze soft and smiling. “Let’s get out of here.”
“But where would we even go?” she said. “These wedding boutiques are always so expensive.”
He grinned—no, smirked—as he took out his phone and started to dial a number. “Trust me. I have a place in mind.”
Veer’s body thrummed with nervous energy—part anxiety, part excitement—as he pushed the door open to Anuja Pillai’s wedding boutique and led Harsha inside. Deepika had told her mom they were coming, and she was on the way to the store herself to help them find the right lehenga. So far, Veer’s friends hadn’t let it slip to Harsha that they knew the truth, but keeping his secret wasn’t the focus right now. What mattered more was making Harsha smile and solidifying in her the belief that she could make it on her own.
Her eyes were bright and wide-eyed with all the innocence of a kid in a candy store as she spun around, marveling at the cozy boutique so different from Renuka Mishra’s: no attendants at their beck and call, no bright explosions of colors, no chandeliers, but rows upon rows of beautiful Indian ethnic wear in pastel shades, from light blue and yellow to pink and green…
Harsha’s hands went to the pastel mint-green lehenga on the mannequin on display in the center of the store. “Veer, look!” she said. Her fingers walked along the embroidered blouse. “How did you know about this?”
“Veer, is that you?” Anuja Auntie walked up to them from a small room in the back, beckoning him over. He bent low to hug her short, stout frame, then tried not to laugh as she sized him up through her large glasses like only Indian aunties could. “You’ve lost weight. Are you not eating all your meals on time?”
He had only met Deepika’s mother a handful of times in the past two years, but she was a sweetheart. “I promise I’m eating just fine,” he said, then took Harsha’s hand in his. “This is Harsha, my girlfriend. Harsha, this is Anuja Pillai—Deepika’s mother.”
“Namaste, Auntie,” Harsha said, folding her hands politely. “What a beautiful collection you have here.”
Anuja Auntie grinned, her cheeks heating from the compliment. “Thank you, and it’s clear you’ve already found the one you love.” Harsha looked at Veer, confused, but Anuja Auntie pointed to the mint-green lehenga on the mannequin. “Let me bring it out. What’s the occasion?”
The door swung open behind them, bringing a rush of cool air as Deepika walked in. Veer gave her a hug. “Thanks for coming over.”
After Anuja Auntie headed to the back room, Harsha smiled at Deepika. “I didn’t know your mom was a designer. These lehengas are beautiful!”
“Yeah, thanks,” Deepika replied curtly.
Veer spoke, if only to break the awkward silence. “Deepika wants no part in the family business. Like I told you, she wants to start her own café someday.”
“You’d make an amazing coffee shop owner,” Harsha said. “Veer told me the new coconut mocha latte at Sunstag was your original recipe?”
Deepika nodded, shuffling her feet. “Yeah. It is.”
Harsha blinked as the silence stretched on. Veer shot his best friend a glare, but she shrugged at him like she didn’t know what else to do.
After a second, Deepika headed to the back room, and Harsha sidled up to Veer, her voice low. “I’m pretty sure she hates me.”
“No, don’t think that.” Veer put a hand to his neck, feigning ignorance. “Maybe she had a bad day.”
“Veer, I’m telling you—” Before Harsha could finish her sentence, Deepika and her mom brought out the lehenga, draped over Anuja Auntie’s arm with the hanger. Deepika was now wearing a tape measure around her neck. “Do you want to try it on?”
Hesitantly, Harsha stepped forward, running her fingers through the shimmery fabric once more. Her forehead was creased, lips set in a line, her back straight. Veer had no idea what she was thinking. Finally, she asked, “How much is it?”
A bead of sweat rolled down Veer’s neck. Deepika had said they were cheaper than Renuka Mishra’s lehengas when he had texted her, but by how much?
“It’s thirty-five grand, and we can also discuss a friends-and-family discount.”
Harsha’s eyes lit up. “I’ll be right back.” She headed inside the only dressing room in the store and drew the curtain across the rod.
“Let me know if you need any help,” Anuja Auntie yelled, then grabbed both of Veer’s hands. Her eyes were shining. “Business has been so slow. Thank you for bringing her here, kanna!”
Veer squeezed back. “Of course, Auntie.” She showed him around the store, explaining that they had only one other staff member who came to the store on weekends when it would ideally be a little busier. Sales weren’t going as expected, though, because Anuja Auntie had hardly sold any designs in the past week. “I hope your girlfriend likes it,” she said, sighing. “This has been the slowest wedding season in years. Everyone just wants to flock to those famous designers so they can show off to their friends. What about the rest of us?”
He fell silent, unsure of how to respond when he and Harsha had also gone to Renuka Mishra’s boutique first.
“Okay,” Harsha’s call echoed around the small store, pulling him back into the present moment, “are you ready to see this?”
“Let’s do it,” Deepika said. They headed toward the dressing room as, with a flourish and a “ta-da!,” Harsha pulled back the curtain and stepped in front of them.
Veer’s heart fluttered, his breath whooshing out of him. Harsha looked like a dream. The gold-embroidered blouse, cut high at her neck but dipping low at her back, enhanced her curves like no tight dress ever could. The mint-green lehenga skirt flowed straight from her natural waist and fell to the floor; little silver sequins in the fabric emitted a soft glow that mimicked the beauty of her gray eyes. The pastel green dupatta she’d draped along her arms completed the look. “Well?” she said, almost nervously.
“Hold on.” Anuja Auntie helped Harsha tie the strings across the back of the blouse, then beamed. “You’re going to look more beautiful than the bride.”
“I hope not, or my cousin will start a war,” Harsha said, chuckling. She picked up the folds of her skirt and tiptoed closer to the mirror.
Veer nodded along. He couldn’t think or speak. What were words? Deepika stood in his peripheral vision, her eyes on him, but there was no chance in hell he could look away from Harsha, not even if he wanted to.
“Do you want to look around some more?” Anuja Auntie said, gesturing to the store at large. “As you can see, pastel is our zone of genius. Pink or yellow would look lovely on—”
“I think this is it.” Harsha’s cheeks colored as she turned back to the mirror. “I don’t need to think about it. This is it.”
“Oh!” Anuja Auntie put her hands on her head as though she couldn’t believe it. “Let me just take some measurements so it’s the perfect fit for you. Deepika, hand me the tape?”
Deepika did as told, her face impassive, then dragged Veer by the arm to the entrance, away from Harsha and her impossible beauty.
He reluctantly tore his eyes off of Harsha and turned to his friend. “What?” he said, pulling his biceps from her grasp and massaging it. Damn, she was strong.
Deepika stared him down, her arms folded across her chest. “You’re going to fuck this up for yourself.”
Veer glared back. “What are you talking about?”
“You should have seen your face when she came out of that room,” Deepika said. “I’ve never seen a man more whipped. Fake relationship, my ass.”
“Lower your voice,” Veer mumbled. “And like I told you, I can’t help that she’s attractive—”
“And I can’t help but worry about you,” she fired back, though mercifully her voice was softer now. “I’ve seen you date around a lot over the years, and it’s never been like this.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Deepika shook her head. “You’re going to fall in love with her, and then this contract will blow up in your face, and you’ll be devastated.”
He ran a hand through his hair, gripping the strands for a second before letting go. “I’ve got this under control, all right? You know me; have I ever fallen in love before? I’m not capable of it—”
Deepika swallowed. “We both know that in this case, you are capable of it. Please be careful.”
He sighed, knowing she was right, knowing he had no chance of winning this argument. “All right.”
Anuja Auntie called them back inside. She had tightened the blouse and skirt in certain places, so the lehenga now fit Harsha like skin. Veer tried not to gawk like an idiot, especially not after his conversation with Deepika.
“Could you please share a picture on social media and tag my account?” Anuja Auntie asked, clasping her hands together, while Harsha smiled at her reflection. “Every post helps a small business.”
She’s going to say no, obviously, Veer thought. Because Harsha probably wouldn’t want her parents and Neha finding out she was shopping from a smaller designer. But she said, “Of course. Veer, do you want to take a selfie? Maybe we can just show off the blouse and save the rest of the outfit for the day of.”
“Yeah, okay.” He took out his phone and sidled closer to Harsha, putting one hand on her back, where golden strings held her blouse together. Her skin was soft and warm, and he realized as he pressed their cheeks together that he had never touched her bare back before.
“Veer?” Harsha said, and there was a slight edge to her voice. “Are you going to click it, or…?”
“Uh, yeah, sorry.” He clicked a few pictures as they smiled. In the last one, before she could protest, he turned his face and kissed her cheek, and the blush (and surprise) on her face was so natural he wondered if her family would think something amiss if they saw it.
“You should post this one, since you brought me here,” Harsha said as she walked back inside the dressing room and tugged the curtain closed.
“You make a lovely couple,” Anuja Auntie said, beaming.
“Thanks.” Veer shared the post on his Instagram feed, captioning it: Got to take my girl shopping for her cousin’s wedding. Am I the luckiest man or what? He tagged Harsha and the boutique in the picture and pressed Post, all too aware of Deepika’s concerned eyes on him.