Vows of Misfortune

9.

It was awkward and so so stuffy that I wanted to get out of there. At this point, I'd rather the humid air outside than the tension in the air of this house. My parents, my aunty, and my uncle were out speaking to the family that had come; I didn't even bother taking a peek from the swinging door.

If this guy was a mechanic then he was probably nothing exciting. Alright so just recite what you've said to everyone else. This was going to go exactly as I'd planned it. I wasn't even going to tell him about myself - why waste so much valuable time - and get straight to the point of why I was even doing this. He'd have less to lose than I did right? I mean, he wasn't from a 'good' family or anything.

"Arshia!" I heard my mum call out. "Come out, sweetie."

Here goes nothing. I twiddled the shawl of my Anarkali and walked out, watching my feet as I walked. I probably gave off the air of the good Indian girl but really, I just didn't care enough to see the man I was going to be lugged upon. But if it was a bald old man, then a bald old man it would be. I didn't care and mum was desperate.

"She seems very shy," came a very light, slightly higher male voice. Was that the man I was meeting?

"Oh, she isn't," my dad said. "Once she gets out of her shell, she becomes very talkative. Can't get her to shut up!"

A rumble of laughter fluttered around the group, but I stayed silent even as I sat down on the long bench couch. Someone nudged my side and I clicked my tongue. It was mum who was smiling with all her crooked teeth on display. She leaned into me as the adults began to speak.

"Look at him, at least."

"Why?" I whispered. Her face was flushed and her eyes glazed over like she was about to cry. My dad on the other hand seemed so elated, he was bouncing around the place, bringing out plates of snacks. Wasn't he the one that was upset about this match? Now here he was, excited like he was the girl that they were coming to meet.

My aunty ushered for me to follow her and so I did; it was to bring out the coffee. Holding back a sigh, I did as was instructed. I placed the coffees that my aunty had made - the ones I tried to make for my very first meeting didn't end up so great - onto the tray. I did a double-take.

"Why're there only two?"

"Because there are only two of them here."

Two of them? Did he come with his friend? But the man that spoke sounded a little old. Interesting. I took out the tray toward the front, the cold tiles warming under my damp feet. No matter how many of these I did and the little I cared for them, I never failed to sweat because of the attention on me.

Once upon a time, I liked the attention.

Now I wanted to get away from it.

"Give it to his uncle," my aunty whispered, ushering me over.

As I leaned over with the tray to hand them the coffee, my eyes caught the glint of a wheel. Two wheels. Huh, that's weird. The sofa doesn't have wheels — my slow brain didn't make the connection that it was a wheelchair until I saw his legs in front on a raised bar of the chair itself.

Unintentionally, I glanced up. The older man — the uncle I presumed — smiled back at me as if he knew what I'd been staring at. My ears burnt but I tried to keep my expression steady. He had thin, wispy black hair on an otherwise shiny bald head; his rectangle glasses showed me my reflection which was pale and twitchy.

Attractive.

I let out a shaky breath and forced a smile of my own. "Please, take one." 

"Thank you, sweetheart," he said, taking one cup and blowing on it. "You made this?"