Typed On - 03/11/2018 - Finished typing on – 05/11/2018
Chapter 19- Wedding
The day has arrived.
Today she is going to leave her father alone. After today she'll be recognized—addressed—as Mrs Kiaan Rajput. Marrying him doesn't bother or irk or make her tensed today. Maybe because the day has come and there's no going back. The only thing—problem—is she's unhappy and undecided about leaving her father behind. She is panicking, not because of her wedding night—which she should be afraid of considering she detests Kiaan—but her father. Leaving him alone living in a house with Juhi is such an edgy feeling.
She has to leave one day but never knew the day can arrive this soon. A month ago she had a regular simple life. Wake up, eat breakfast and out the door she was to her café. Her routine is going to change, she's sure of it, but can Jaanvi blend into it?
Jaanvi wishes to take him with her but it isn't possible, for obvious reasons. Just like cancelling this marriage is.
Taking a deep breath in she walks to her desk, taking out the property papers she places it between her clothes inside her luggage. Jaanvi does the job quickly before anyone can barge into her room and see it. Her heavy luggage is zipped up and ready to be taken away.
Her dark brown, red with a small portion of golden eyeshadow eyes with extra curly long lashes gaze around the room. Taking in every detail, to memorize it, to cherish all the beautiful and precious life lessons she's learnt. Her emotional and friendly and strong pairs of eyes linger thickly on every single teddy her father has brought for her in each New Year for the past fifteen years.
Fifteen teddy bears. Each with different back story. Different sentimental of emotions she felt with each one. From the first teddy bear to the last—from last year—her father's voice—frankly voice—improving his 'Nuu yyar' as the years went by. What's priceless is not the teddy's itself. It's her father's growth and optimistic personality attached to the tradition. (New Year)
She walks over to her desk. Slowly. Like she has all the time, but in reality, she doesn't. In a few minutes, Aditi, or Rashi or her father would call her. But I don't want to leave. Her heart wails. The perfectly fitted red blouse with golden coloured patterns covering her chest rises and falls in sadness.
Her favourite collection of novels and notebooks she brought from a sale held close to her café last year are neatly stacked in her desk. Her desk. Where all the magic happened. (Ps, dirty-minded people, don't. Just don't.)
She loves writing. Not being able to share her thoughts with someone—being able to explain how she feels—Jaanvi has been writing a diary for as long as she can remember. Each year she brought five notebooks to write down all the trauma she was going through—battling with—or how awful she felt, how lonely and long some days were. It's all written in these notebooks.
Her fingers draw towards one specific blue coloured notebook she wrote just before her birthday last month. She picks up the book with her dark henna hands and turns to the last page.
8.00 p.m.
So I'm listening to Shape of You, by Ed.' as always my day was great, ignoring the deadly glares I received from Chachi. Dad dropped me off to the café today. It was quiet at work today, hardly any customers but I don't mind it. Less customer's means, more time for gossip!
All I can say is, life's great. I don't hate it, nor do I love it. But I do, appreciate it. This might change over a few years.
Her fingers touch her handwriting, inhaling the similar delight she felt that day, a small smile in her red rosy lips. Closing her eyes she feels a drop of a tear rolling down her face. Her eyes—tired eyes with a gorgeous makeup—blink. They stay trained on the tear over her handwriting.
I should remember this day in the future. She will, one way or another. Jaanvi hurriedly fetches for her pen and beings writing exactly what she feels in this moment.
25th November,
This part of the page is a little wet right now. Can't help it, I'm an emotional fool but don't tell Kiaan or he'll use this against me.
This tear represents how much I miss my old life. How much I already miss dad.
Her fingers are wrapped around the pen tightly, ready to dance in her lead but she's out of ideas. Jaanvi doesn't know what to write or how to write it. So her lively nature gives up. She drops the pen and hugs the notebook to her body. Sending strength or borrowing it, it all is confusing. She can write anything in this notebook and not be afraid of being judged because it—this book—is her little secret.
"Jaanvi they are here. I must say Kiaan is loo—" Aditi overly joyed and enthusiastic soft voice trails off at the sight of her crying friend, hugging her notebook like her life depends on it. Aditi carefully walks over to her friend and places her gentle hand on Jaanvi's shoulder. "Are you okay?" Her voice is highly concerning. Sad and even sympathetic. Because her mother isn't alive to see her wedding?
Jaanvi is unaware of how to react or speak. She thinks if she begins to talk her voice would be coarse and unamusingly complex to understand so she settles with a brisk nod. She drops the notebook in her other luggage. "H-help me. H-hand the other three books to me."
"Okay," Aditi carries the remaining three books in her hand and hands it over to Jaanvi. She watches her friend arranging the notebooks so tidily in her luggage under her clothes. "These books are full, why are you taking them?"
Jaanvi smiles a tiny smile pushing her clothes down so it won't require much effort to zip the luggage up. "You know I'm a memory person, Aditi. I like to cherish things. Whenever I open these notebooks I can feel what I felt when I wrote it. If I wrote about something funny or exciting I can feel the joy inside me even if I'm sad. Maybe reading these over and over again can make me smile." Her merry voice immediately turns low picturing how her life would turn out with Kiaan.
"That you are. Who keeps their old high school books? I mean, you won't be using them." Aditi rolls her eyes eyeing the old school books of Jaanvi on the top shelf of her bookshelf in the bedroom. "Come on, uncle was calling for you. It's time." She mutters looking at an anxious and suddenly stiff going Jaanvi.
The smile on Jaanvi's face replaces with sadness.
"P-pa didn't want to talk to me? A-alone?" She was expecting her father to come into her room to speak. Saying a few last words before she leaves this house. Normally mothers have a one-on-one conversation with their daughters but Jaanvi didn't have one, so she imagined—he didn't come. All she wanted was a little 'I love you and I'll miss you' from her father in private.
Maybe she expected too much.
Aditi curses herself for being blunt. I could have filtered my sentence a little. There is no time to waste of a face-palm so she swiftly changes her expressions to a cheeky and naughty one. "If he sees his daughter looking this beautiful he'll kick Kiaan out of the hall! Who would want such a beauty leaving their house, huh? Besides Mr Groom has been glancing around the whole crowd to find you. Someone, please tell your NRI husband the bride doesn't come down until the priest asks her to." She has this dramatic mischief eye wiggle and shoulder shimmering in excitement which can earn a slap from Jaanvi but she's too lost.
Her best friend's words didn't affect Jaanvi.
She is already started missing her father. And the hole—the empty crucial hole—in her chest seems to deepen. He doesn't want to meet me? This is the time. The moment he should come, hug her, kiss her face, tell her exactly how he feels.
Aditi's eyes dull in sorrow. A bride shouldn't look as devastated as her friend. She wanders towards the bride. Her arms wide open to cuddle the sad soul into a warm encouraging embrace and pass—transfer—all her happiness and excitement to Jaanvi.
Barely a meter away from hugging her when Rashi opens the door without a knock to alert the girls of her interference. Aditi grits her teeth at the lack of manners being taught.
"Di!" She yells in her high-pitch voice. A bit overjoyed than Jaanvi had predicted. The bride flinches at the loud voice. Her eyes stare at her cousin—who Jaanvi personally thinks looks stunning today with her professionally done makeup—patiently waiting to speak up.
Her eyes flick unemotionally at Rashi and Aditi. Her cousin's gaze roams at her best friend's body. As if inspecting what is different about them. The judgemental and unpleased eyes watch her unhurriedly. Jaanvi clears her throat. A formal expression, nothing like cousins would exchange to one another.
"You need to come down. The priest is calling you."
Something in her stomach wobbles. Like her legs. They're rooted to the floor. Doing the exact opposite of what's been asked. Aditi—they have no relation by blood but heart—perceives Jaanvi's cry-able expressions and rushes to run her hand in her back. Her friend's skin is tight and posture straight, as if standing in front of the principle.
"It's okay. Trust me, this'll be the best gift your parents have given you." The whisper touches her ear like a blessing.
Her eyes shoot up. She looks at her friend standing beside her. "Gift? More like punishment." Rashi grabs a hold of Jaanvi's left forearm and drags her out of the room with Aditi on the other side.
She laughs. "We'll see." Which makes Jaanvi think, not you but I'll see. I'm the one being forced to live with him.
"Rashi," her cousin hums in response. "Google for me 'how many years do you get sent to the jail after murdering someone.'" Her question doesn't sound as silly as her voice. The reaction she gets from her cousin and best friend isn't likeable so Jaanvi spreads her lips into a wistful smile.
Each step she takes from the support of Rashi and Aditi escalates her heartbeat. This is the day. Every bride goes through these waves of roller-coaster emotions but in a much positive way, unlike Jaanvi. Instead of picturing her future with a family of her own she's engrossed with all the tortures Kiaan might come up with to break her.
She isn't marrying a guy of her choice. She's not marrying a guy who she likes. She always imagined myself marrying her boyfriend. Though, she never had one because she couldn't handle the 'hey baby' and all the mushy sweet gestures. It's too much for a brutally honest person like her. She can still imagine the possibilities if it meant not marrying Kiaan.
If not a boyfriend she expected an arranged marriage with a guy who she knew for at least six months but nope. This is probably karma, she thinks to herself.
She is a hundred percent sure karma is doing this because she never—never. Really—ever shared cakes with anyone. Whether it was at her café or home. She wants it all to herself.
'Di this isn't fair! You know I love chocolate cake!' She remembers Jay's face flashing in front of her eyes as she kept on feasting on the cake. (Sister)
'I won't share.'
'God will punish you di!' He whined walking away, defeated. (Sister)
Normally when she remembers this she'd smile but today—right now—she doesn't. She's perhaps the only bride who looks so pale, too pale to look happy. Clutching Aditi's hand tightly she whispers out her fear, "Karma got me."
Aditi—who is busy smiling at Dhruv standing in the crowd filled with guests—glances at her friend. The smile isn't replaced with a frown because everyone's looking at them. The smile is shaky, though. She gives Jaanvi a complexing stare which means, 'what?'
"Remember I never shared my cakes? Jay told me God would punish me. I never thought that punishment will be Kiaan." She whisper yells in a hushed voice. Her face shows pure panic. Her brown eyes stare ahead—for the shortest period—and see her groom looking bored.
He looks nice. She thought. You still hate him! Her brain shouts back—as soon as it clicks—she rewards him with a deadly glare.
"Di, you're overthinking!" Rashi whispers. A snarky beam lingers on her lips. Keeping an act, ignoring her cousin's blabbering.
Each step she takes brings her closer to Kiaan. Closer to her destiny, whether for good or bad. She wants to look away from him—avert her gaze from him to something worth looking at—but she can't. As if sensing her staring at him, Kiaan raises his shining eyes—at something his friend has whispered in his ear because there's a tempting smile that reflects in his face—and locks them with hers
There is a moment of captivation. Nor does she or he move their eyes away from each other. It can be called as affection or love but to Jaanvi it's challenge. She thinks he's challenging her to look away. To give up.
She can feel his hot gaze roaming over her frame. Inspecting her, closely. Like you inspect a piece of clothing to find any rips before purchasing it. This is not his intention in any way. Her breathing becomes unsteady and hard. It takes nothing—at all—to look away but she won't and neither will he.
The stare is warm-blooded, reminding her of addiction.
A bad addiction.
"Stop staring at him. It's hard to believe you hate each other." Aditi mutters in a sense of quirkiness and frankly. A slight chortle trips out of her mouth at the sight of the bride and groom. Jaanvi takes this as a cue to divert her eyes and scans the area to find her father.
He stands close to where Kiaan is sitting. His eyes swimming in unshed tears in pride and gratitude to see this day. His warm fatherly eyes are helplessly emotional, going well with his kind—the kindest face she's seen. He's making her over-sentimental.
"He was staring at me first." She whispers tightly once collecting herself from falling on the edge of emotions. Her eyes down. Afraid to match anyone else's. If Jaanvi catches one more look at her father she's aware for a matter-of-fact she will start crying rivers.
"You stared back." The chuckle-some healthily uplifting voice of her friend makes her smile a little inside.
Jaanvi is ready to fire back a sassy comeback but realises she is now standing in front of her would-be-husband.
Or as she claims, her jailer.
Save him tonight or else I'll kill him. She says to her brain—seizing it from planning his murder—at the sight of his smug smirk.
I hope she doesn't kill me. I don't want to die young. He thinks to himself after taking a glimpse of her straight-poker face. It's the arrogant kind. Specially used on him only. Though her face doesn't show anger, her eyes, however, speak volumes. And those volumes should perhaps be censored when they're around their family members.
I can't give her the satisfaction. So he smirks. As she witnesses with gritted teeth. Reyansh—his dear old friend—has exceptional things to say in Kiaan's ear.
"Your dead bird is here. Forever." His voice is humours. He tells Aarav what he's said to Kiaan and they both high-five, the other friend muttering, 'good one,' but fall zip silent at an inflammatory looking Dhruv giving them a warning glare.
Kiaan is unobservant to why he smiles but he does. He beams ear to ear at Reyansh's sentence. Statement. The sound of 'his' and 'forever' is nerve-rackingly nostalgic.
Why wouldn't he be happy? He has access to full-time free entertainment with him for the rest of his life. In addition to this, he can tease her every day which he missed dearly once he moved away to New York.
His smile is quick to fade at Aarav's informative and suggestive voice. Gossipy.
"But to be her dead bird, you need to die as well." He grins whispering in his ear making Kiaan glare at him. "Good luck Mr Would-be-dead-bird. I can't wait for you to talk in your 'dead bird singing' voice." His friend repeats the groom's phrase mockingly with pun intended.
I'll never use that dead bird line again! Especially in front of this roaring queen. He makes a mental note to never—not even to his soul or his bedroom walls—say it in front of her or he's gone. His eyes remain on an anxious Jaanv fidgeting with her fingers. Eyes on the holy fire.
Married My Enemy
Edited On – 10/05/2020 (2:01 p.m.)
Sorry for the late update.