If You Could Stay

17. Kartik

I walk into the venue while looking through the last of my pending emails. A bright flash has me squinting my eyes and looking up at the source. The entire rustic palace is crowded with lights, flare screens, and crew hurriedly walking to wherever they needed to be.

My eyes scan the room for one person. Naira texted me last night saying there was an emergency and I had to be present at the shoot. Then she refused to pick up my calls and offer an explanation of what happened. So here I am, in Delhi, first thing in the morning, instead of at my morning board meetings.

"Bhai? What are you doing here? I thought you said you weren't coming." Shubham walks up to me with a large camera around his neck.

Shubham is naturally gifted with cameras and he was one of the most skilled photographers I had ever seen; thus, I had asked him to be the photographer for this shoot. His visions are magnificent. I know he has a true love for photography and I would do anything to help my little brother achieve his dreams. Anything, except for this.

If he followed a path in photography, Shubham would leave the family business. And I couldn't let him do that. As much as it breaks me to cage his free-spirited soul, I have to make sure he's suited to inherit the family business. And I don't have much time.

"Naira called me. She said there was an emergency. What's the emergency?" I asked briskly.

Shubham's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Bhabhi is here? Bhaiya, are you sure? I haven't seen her yet."

"What are you--" My words are cut off by the soft sounds of ghungroos.  I turn around and it's as if my lungs cease to breathe.

Naira.

The silky, midnight-black lehenga that she wears sways back and forth as she gracefully walks toward me. The black, translucent dupatta slung across her chest and over her shoulder, one side neatly tucked into the side of her skirt. The entire outfit was so intricate, I didn't known where it began and ended. Yet, it fit her so perfectly as if it was made just for her. The only splash of color on her outfit was the large gold kamarband that wrapped around her delicate waist and the matching golden ghungroos which peeked out from under her skirt as she walked.

Every step she took had her dupatta swaying, giving the occasional peek at her naval. She looked devastating.

She nears me and my chest burns as I realize I was holding my breath this entire time. Her long, brown hair is pulled up into a low bun, a few strands  loose to frame her face. And her lips. Those full, majestic lips. They were adorned in dark red lipstick. My breath catches in my throat again.

Inhaler. Yup, I need my inhaler. That was the only reason I couldn't breathe properly.

A low whistle has me turning my attention towards Shubham, breaking the strange oxygen-deprived trance I was in.

"Bhabh--I mean, Naira ji, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Naira gives Shubham a bright smile. "It's great to meet you Shubham. Thank you for coming at such a short notice. I didn't know you were a photographer."

Shubham shrugs bashfully. "It's just a hobby."

"I've seen your work Shubham, they're amazing." Naira smiles softly at him, and something warm blooms in my chest. My palm starts rubbing my sternum; it must be heartburn. What the hell did I eat this morning?

Then she turns to me and gives me an equally bright smile. Huh. Strange. She never smiles at me like that. Her eyes dart to Shubham briefly and then back at me.

Oh. My lips turn up into a tight smile.

"What was the emergency, darling?" I grit through my teeth.

Her back stiffens slightly at the term of endearment. "The models couldn't come. But I found replacements."

I glance around. "Okay, where are they."

Naira twists the end of her dupatta as she looks nervously at me. "In front of me."

"In front of--" Wait. My eyes widen and Naira winces.

My spine goes rigid as my hand holds a death grip around my phone. "No. Absolutely not."

"Come on Mr.--uh Kartik. It's a just a small shoot. Your face won't even be in the pictures. It's going to be mostly focused on the jewelry."

"Darling, you know I don't do things like this." My voice is calm, but deadly. Shubham looks between us before clapping a hand on my shoulder.

"Oh come on bhai. It's just one small photoshoot. Won't you do this one thing for Bhabhi?"

Naira lets out a choked cough. I don't miss the amused look Shubham gives to Naira.

Shubham shrugs with a roguish grin on his face. "You are going to be my bhabhi so you won't mind if I started practicing the term now right?"

I think I'm hallucinating because I could have sworn Naira's cheeks flush pink.

*********************

"To the right bhai. No no a little left. No that's too far left." Shubham let's out a frustrated breath.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm clad in a black sherwani, matching Naira's outfit, taking orders from my younger brother.

Naira glares at me. "Would it kill you to do one pose properly?"

I roll my eyes and mumble, "yes, if I'm not already dead from wearing this mortifying costume."

Naira feigns shock. "Mortifying?! I'll have you know Mr. Goenka, the sherwani is the pride and joy of Indian culture and if that sherwani is black, then..."

She trails off as she gives me a look up and down, appreciation dancing in her eyes and suddenly I feel an odd heat traveling through my body.

"I don't understand why you couldn't do the shoot yourself. You're the one wearing all the jewelry. I'm just standing here looking like a clown." A bitter note enters my voice.

Naira's expression grows serious. "The theme of this shoot is to break the stigma against married women expected to give up dreams such as dancing. To include a couple as the main subjects of this advertisement and show that if he truly wanted to, a man could support his wife with her passions, instead of forcing her to confine into an airtight box of societal expectations."

I open my mouth to speak, but Naira keeps going before I can get one word out.

"So if you could please just lock away your backdated prejudice against woman, specifically towards the woman in front of you for just one more hour, Mr. Goenka—" she takes my hand and places it on her hip, over the kamarband on her waist"—then we can finish this photoshoot and you can go back to your regularly scheduled brooding in no time."

My mouth closes back up and I have a sinking feeling I would never go back to my regular scheduled anything with this woman now in my life.