Sunday has finally arrived, and it has taken a lot of effort on my part to persuade Mira to join me. On our way to rehab for her weekly drug testing, I reminded her about the engagement ceremony we are expected to attend today, but her reaction was a firm refusal. It surprised me because I thought we had reached an agreement when we went shopping the other day.
You might be wondering why I'm pushing her, but the routine of home to rehab and back again can feel suffocating. Even though she hates crowds, I believe a change of scenery will be refreshing. Besides, nobody will pay attention to us at the ceremony, so she doesn't need to worry.
It's been over twenty minutes since I started waiting for Mira, and twice she has said she needs five minutes. I don't know if she's getting ready or simply stalling.
I knock on the door again. “Are you done?”
“No, I need—”
“Another five minutes?” I interrupt, my frustration evident.
“Yes, please.”
“Fine.” I sigh, sinking back into the couch. I pull out my phone and send a quick message in the WhatsApp group chat to check if my friends have arrived.
Suddenly, the door swings open, and Mira steps out. I do a double take, unable to contain my laughter.
She hurries into her room, shooting me a glare through the narrow gap in the door.
I sober up and make my way to her despite her attempts to block my entry. “You don't know how to wear a saree. Why did you buy it?”
“You asked me to,” she retorts.
“I made a suggestion. You didn't have to, you know?”
“I thought it would be appropriate for the ceremony, and there's always YouTube, but it looks weird,” she explains, her brow furrowed as she gestures towards the non-existent pleats.
I try to stifle a laugh, but it escapes me.
“Stop. It's not easy.”
“Okay, sorry. Why don't you wear something else?”
She gives me a blank look. “That's the problem, you see? I don't have anything decent to wear.”
“Shit.” There's no one who can help her right now. We can go to the mall and buy something else, but the ceremony will be over by then.
“Exactly.” She nods.
“Let me watch a tutorial.”
She snatches the phone from my grasp, directing me to a website. “You can read the instructions.”
“An amateur’s guide to wearing a saree? Why not just watch YouTube?”
“You can't.”
“Why?”
“No means no.”
“Mira, you—”
“Hurry up if you don't want us to be late.”
This woman. With much reluctance, I skim through the article until I reach the section where the steps are mentioned. “Okay, I got this,” I assure her, setting the phone down on the bed. I take a step forward but pause when I realize what I am about to do may be invading personal space.
“Uh, would you like to give it another try?”
She holds out the end of the saree to me. “I have tried at least 15 times, maybe more. This was the best I could manage.”
“No way.”
She shrugs.
I drape the loose fabric over her shoulder as per the instructions. It starts to slide down her arm, so she quickly holds it in place while I work on the pleats. The first few folds are a mess, my hands and mind struggling to coordinate under her watchful gaze. I take a deep breath and start again, folding the fabric over and over until the pleats are of equal length. But honestly, it's far from perfect, and I feel stupid for laughing at her.
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RomanceMira lives like a princess, who has everything and more- until her life takes a turn for the worse when she succumbs to the allure of parties and drugs. Her family, fed up with her train wreck of a life, takes a drastic decision to marry her off. Sh...
