A short story defining the stages of love.
Inara Khan was petulant: stubborn, short-tempered, blunt, and a middle child. She had her life planned until she stumbled on a betrayal by one she had never considered a possibility from.
Life threw a cur...
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Inara marveled at his choice. Her palm touched the light fabric of the saree and imagined herself carrying the attire in a few hours to follow. It was peach georgette fabric with a thin embroidered border. The small flowers woven intricately looked like stars pinned in the celestial tapestry.
Draping the fabric would look no less than a cosmic ballroom and carrying stardust in her wake.
All her cousins watched the saree with awe and her heart fluttered with pride like never before. Taking a relaxed shower, she watched her henna-filled hands under the streams of water. She had drawn a flower with its petals hiding Ashfaq's name and somehow, one of them was molded into an R of sorts she didn't remember drawing in her palm.
Shrugging, she wiped herself dry and wore the half-sleeved, sweetheart neckline blouse. It was heavily embellished and made up for the simplicity of her saree. Stepping out of her room with a bathrobe above her blouse and shapewear, she smiled at the make-up artist who quickly worked her magic on her hair and face.
Helping her drape the saree, the artist admired her look and unzipped a second packet Rahil had delivered with this. It carried a pearl beauty. Bangles, earrings, and a choker necklace that snugged her like it was made for her.
Her hairs were laced with beads to match her look and a red dupatta Afreen had left with her yesterday. Neatly covering her head, the artist asked her to look up in the mirror and check her final look.
"You are the prettiest bride I have ever helped." She gushed and Inara smiled at the exaggeration, not that she pointed out the lie she may have repeated to all her clients.
"Thank you." She smiled in gratitude. "You can collect the envelope from my mother. Thank you for helping me today."
The artist bid her farewell and hopped out of her room as she sat staring in the mirror.
"Iram Appi looks like a hoor."
"Did you see the sharara she wore? It would have cost so much. Rahil bhai could have never afforded it."
"That is why she refused to marry him."
"It was only right." The girls gossiped. "Why should she marry a pauper when her own sister was being married to a man who could give her that?"
The walls here were thin, she should have known this before.
They laughed and her insides burned. She would slap these words back to their faces one day. It will be one day.
The door to her room opened and their laughter faded, as if star-struck, they gawked at her with naked appreciation.
"This is so pretty." Dani walked inside. Her fingers were ready to touch her veil but Inara stepped back. None touched this saree, not these girls who thought so low about Rahil.
"Only this, what about me?" Inara peeled them out of checking her out.
"You do." Dani nodded fervently. "You look so beautiful."
