All Strings Attached

Chapter Four

"How are you so sure?" She questions, following me into the kitchen when I move to leave my plate in the sink. "What if something does happen?"

"It won't," I assure her. "I do not like him.

"I never tied him a rakhi because I didn't like him— how do you think I'll like him enough for marriage?! And he's so much older than me; he's six years older, you can't actually want me to marry someone six years older!"

"I thought you didn't want to tie him a rakhi because you liked him," she defends herself. "And what do you mean he's six years older? You're very mature. Physical age doesn't matter as much as mental and emotional ages," she says, "and also, look at all these other couples Priyanka Chopra and Nick Jonas are 13 years apart! Shahid Kapoor and his wife—"

"Maybe they're interested in something like that. I'm not," I end the discussion. "I have no intentions of marrying Dhushyanth, I will not marry Dhushyanth, I do not like Dhushyanth, I did not like Dhushyanth."

My mother follows me as I pick up the car keys from the side table, where the driver left them. Good lord, she will not stop.

"Are wedding bells in the air for Dhushyanth Reddy and Sita Cherukuri?" A TV reporter wonders on the news channel, making me stop in my tracks.

"What the fuck?" I curse out loud, looking at the TV.

"What is this?" My mother asks, staring at the TV along with me.

"I don't know!" I screech. "Why is everyone so interested in who I will marry and when I will marry? Does it not matter to anyone that I don't want to marry?! The entire world cannot stop wondering!"

"Dhushyanth Reddy, the son of union finance minister Mahendra Reddy and a youth politician from the Telugu states and Sita Cherukuri, daughter of the state minister of industries and commerce might soon be hitched," the reporter claims, so confidently it makes me want to leap into the TV and slap some sense into her. "Here are some pictures of the pair from industrialist Rajesh Raju's daughter's wedding last night."

And they begin to showcase three very pixelated pictures of Dhushyanth and I standing next to each other while we talk to Bhanu Prasad, and another after he leaves.

"I was standing next to him!" I yell, "I was literally only standing next to him!"

"Calm down," my mother says, rubbing my arm. "They'll just yap some more and shut up."

"This is so annoying," I groan. "What did I do to anyone for everyone to be so concerned about me and my relationship status?" I complain, dialling a call to my father. This nonsense has to stop.

"Who are you calling?" My mother asks, as I lift the phone up to my ear.

"Daddy," I answer. "This nonsense has to stop."

"Naanna ni visiginchaku Sita, vaalle vaagi vaagi vadilesthaaru." [(Telugu) don't bother your father, Sita. They can't speak of it forever, they'll stop soon enough.]

My anger dissipates in the time it takes for my call to be connected. Truly, why annoy my father with such a thing. "Cheppu ra kanna," he answers the phone on the very first ring. [(Telugu) Yes, darling?]

"Em ledu, Naanna. Mummy's asking when will you be back?" I make up a story, dodging my mother's slap aimed at my arm.

"I'll be back tonight," he answers, "when are you going back to Bangalore?"

"I can stay the night and have breakfast with you in the morning and then leave by afternoon," I offer to my father.

"Do that, then. We will have breakfast together tomorrow."