Enwrapped

Chapter 08

In the heart of the radiant glow cast by twinkling fairy lights and an expanse of meticulously arranged flowers, Muzammil hurried into the opulent wedding house. The winter wedding season had officially unfurled its splendour, ushering in a flurry of celebrations. Tonight marked the commencement of a series of joyous unions and festive soirées. Vibrant hues adorned every corner, creating a kaleidoscope of colours that embraced the onset of a season filled with merry gatherings.

Muzammil hurried through the ornate doorway, greeted by the soft scent of incense mingling with the vibrant hues of festivity. His mother, draped in elegant silk, stood near the entrance, a mix of urgency and affection in her eyes as she handed him a neatly folded kurta and pants hidden in a bag.

"Quickly, beta," she urged, her voice carrying both concern and the excitement of the occasion. "The mehndi ceremony has begun. Change into this; you'll feel more comfortable."

With a nod, Muzammil whisked away to transform into the traditional attire.

Anticipation pulsed through Muzammil's veins as he swiftly walked through the doors of the house, encountering women carrying huge metal platters. Some folded with flowers, some with sweets, and yet others covered with shiny fabric, concealing their contents.

Thoughts of his fiancée danced through his mind, her laughter flooding his thoughts. In the whirlwind of the wedding hullabaloo, his eagerness to finally catch a glimpse of her surpassed the allure of the elaborate festivities. She had been tirelessly dedicated to her restaurant, and the prospect of seeing her after what felt like an eternity made his heart flutter with excitement.

After meeting, greeting, and asking an elder of the household, he had been shown a dark room in the corner of the top floor, totally empty. Tucked away from the prying eyes of people, he closed the curtains of the room and began undressing himself.

~

Saboor hadn't had a moment to breathe.

Running up and down the corridors of the bustling wedding house, beads of sweat trickled down her forehead and back, she had truly felt the essence of a lively wedding season.

In her hands was a suitcase, full of clothes gifted from the bride's family to the groom's. Such customs were not what she favoured, but the rules of this house were different.

"Aapa, ye kapdoun ka suitcase hai, kahaan rakhoun?" she asked the groom's sister, who was just walking out of the backyard, wiping her hands with a greasy tissue.

"Ye? Issay oopar rakh do naa, meray kamray ke saath waalay kamray mein rakh do. Wahaan aisa hi bahut saamaan bikhra pada hai, tumhein pata chal jaayega."

Saboor nodded and was about to climb the suitcase when the lady stopped her. "Khaana aik-dum laa-jawaab banaa hai, Saboor. Tumhaara bahut shukriya."

"Shukriya aapka, ki humein iss qaabil samjhaa," she said, shaking hands with her, and then moved on with the suitcase.

When the caterers selected by the groom disappeared unexpectedly at the eleventh hour, leaving them in a bind, Saboor had stepped in to save the day. She swiftly coordinated and arranged a sumptuous dinner daigh from her restaurant. The notion of delving into wedding catering had never crossed her mind before, yet circumstances had led her right into it.

Cautiously, she tiptoed along the lackluster corridor, adorned with neatly aligned rows of marigold flowers. She nudged the last door ajar, slipping the suitcase inside.

In an instant, someone crashed into her, slamming the door shut, plunging the room into darkness. She shrieked in fear, but her voice died down in her throat when she saw it was a man.