Vows of Misfortune

8.

A/N: Chapter 7 was another short chapter and I felt VERY generous so here's Chapter 8 for you beautiful people as well x

***

I was eating some ethakappam, or banana fritters, and dragging myself into my room when I heard something from the door that aunty and my mum had locked themselves in.

"You need to stop being so high-maintenance, Manisha." I stopped right out the door. Making sure no one else was around, I pressed my ear against the door and even halted my chewing on the greasy snack.

"What do you mean? I have every right—"

"Be realistic. Do you really think going after doctors and engineers is going to be wise? No one esteemed wants to be wed into this family, do you understand? Not after what Anjali did."

I didn't hear anything from mum and just as I thought she had caught me out or something, she spoke. Her voice was tearful like she would burst any second.

"What did my poor Arshia do to deserve this?" I sucked in my bottom lip, oily from the fritter, to stop myself from crying. "You told us that she could marry someone that's moved to Bangalore, Delhi or—or even back home."

"You think they don't know? And even the ones that haven't accepted the requests. Why do you think, Manisha? They will obviously do a background check. It is not like she can marry someone who isn't of our background. She doesn't know Hindi. She can't cook. And you want someone who is Catholic, do you not? With all these requirements, how are we going to find someone that'll look past everything?"

"What are you saying we should do, then?"

"To accept who you can."

Who we can. That meant regardless of pretty much everything—his job, his looks—he could be old or fat—I was going to have to accept my fate?

"No," my mum surprised me by saying. "A month. We'll give it a month and if no one comes forward then...we'll go with what you said."

My fritter was left alone on the dining table because I didn't even care enough to chuck it out. I had heard enough.

***

A month later and things went as my aunty had foreseen. I didn't let either of them know that I knew what they were thinking of doing even as the...what, the twentieth guy smiled at me, said some sugary-sweet words, and left.

Some of them weren't even refusing me because they knew about my sister. Most of them said no because they either didn't like me or if we got that far, didn't want to have a 'contract marriage'.

I didn't blame them, but really? Not one was being pressured into this like I was?

Damn, these arranged marriages are a real confidence booster, I thought sarcastically. After what Varun did to me, this wasn't really helping me any.

The next day, I was sitting on the sofa in front of the TV and scrolling through my phone at the same time when my mum came from behind me and turned the TV off.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my arms spread out.

"I should be asking you that. Why do you look like a homeless woman?"

I took a glance down. I was wearing the worn pyjamas I always did and the plait that I had done last night was still in place except messier; strands of hair had been pulled out from my constant tossing and turning.

I guess I did have a rat's nest for a hair, I thought, pulling on one of the strands in front of my face.

"Why does that matter?" I asked instead. "I'm at home. No one's coming today."

"Who said? I just got a call from a family. Go get changed."

Yay.

Blowing out a deep breath, I pushed myself off the sofa and shuffled toward the swinging doors leading to the room I was staying in. I took my hair out of the dutch braid plait my aunty had put it in making me look like a high schooler, and let the black frizzy waves cascade over my shoulders.

I half pinned it back, getting ready to change into the same Kurti and jeans I wore the other time when my mum pushed open the swinging brown doors.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Changing, obviously."

"I meant what are you wearing?"

"What do you think, mum?" I gestured to the clothes on the bed. She rubbed her forehead before shaking her head and opening the closet doors right near the door.

"Wear this." She took a long pink Anarkali out from the hangar. It wasn't heavy with embroidery. It was very simple and beautiful if I did say so myself. "Your aunty bought it for you a few days ago."

"And you give this to me now?"

"Well, we figured you should wear it to the family that would make the best impression."

I knew what that meant. This must be one of those families that weren't as esteemed or had a job as great as a doctor or an engineer. Which means we were starting to get desperate.

I changed into the pink pants and the long dress that stopped right above my ankles. The sweetheart neckline showed just enough neck to make my collarbones stand out and the sleeves were long but very forming.

I looked really pretty.

And yet Varun still cheated on you.

The smile on my face wavered. My mum squeezed my shoulders from behind and smiled at me from the mirror. "You look beautiful," she said and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

I wish Varun thought that, too. "I know. Thanks." She laughed but I wasn't in the mood. I was antsier to find out who exactly I was seeing. "Can I ask who this guy is?"

My mum's face hardened just a tad so I knew she wasn't exactly thrilled with the match. "He's a mechanic," she said. "Which is good but I don't know, I hoped for more."

"What does dad think?"

"He's more upset that he isn't like us."

"What does that mean? Like status or culture or?"

"He isn't fully Indian apparently."

The guy wasn't fully Indian? What did that even mean? "Is he, like, mixed or something?"

"Half Indian. Half...European or white or something. That's what your dad said. I'm surprised you didn't hear the ruckus he was making last night."

"We live in London. Don't we see mixed couples all the time?"

"Yes, well, this is an arranged marriage in India. You'd think we'd want you to marry an Indian boy. That was the whole point, wasn't it?"

"If he grew up here, then he's as Indian as it gets."

She laughed. "I guess you have a point."

I had fallen asleep last night like a baby. I'd figured after all the failures that we were going to give up. I mean, I was even planning on telling my parents that I didn't want to do this anymore and a part of me was happy about it—that would mean that mum would finally give up and I could live my life solo, right?

Apparently, God didn't think the same.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," my mum whispered. "We don't have to go through with this, of course. We can always try a few years down the track."

"Really? You still want me to get an arranged marriage after this?"

"Only if you want to."

I was never going to trust a guy after Varun. Living alone and moping wasn't an option if my mum had an option and this was the only way I could see things going. But at the same time, I didn't want to be alone.

Life wasn't a dream and I had to come back down to reality. The guy may not be Varun by any means but he was going to help me more than he ever realised.

Well, that was if this went anywhere.