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"Tumhe baithna nahi aata?" Sahaj asked as we stood outside the venue. He had just handed the car keys to the valet and was adjusting his tuxedo when his eyes fell on my dress. (Do you not know how to sit?)
"Aap sikha do," I replied, trying to straighten the folded fabric at the back. (No, you teach me)
He swatted my hands away, unfolding the folds himself before coming to stand in front of me, assessing my look with a critical eye.
"Lipstick khati ho kya?" he asked with a frown. (Do you eat your lipstick?)
"Aapka dhyaan meri lipstick pe kyun hai?" I shot back, fishing the lipstick out of my clutch. (Why are you looking at my lipstick?)
"Because it's half gone," he said, shaking his head. "Let me do it."
I paused, lipstick in hand, a bit taken aback. "You want to reapply my lipstick?"
"Yes," he replied, taking the tube from me. "Hold still."
I stood there, frozen, as he carefully applied the lipstick. His touch was gentle, his focus intense.
It was such an intimate gesture, one that seemed so out of place in our usual dynamic of sarcasm and avoidance.
He touched my mangalsutra that I kept two alarms to remind me that I had to wear it, he turned the small pendant around, fixing it.
I was just controlling my heart when I felt his thumb over my lips, slightly rubbing over them, I looked into his eyes but all his focus was on my lips.
He reached over to my forehead, darkening the almost invisible sindoor I applied while getting ready with the lipstick he wiped off of my lips.
"There," he said, stepping back to admire his work. "Perfect."
He took out his phone and clicked a picture, turning it back to show me.
I glanced at my reflection on his phone screen, and he was right. It looked perfect. "Thanks," I mumbled, feeling a strange mix of emotions.
He smiled slightly, a rare, genuine smile that made my heart skip a beat. "You look beautiful, Seerat."
His words, combined with the way he looked at me, sent a shiver down my spine.
But as we walked into the venue, the weight of reality settled back on my shoulders. This was all for a show, a temporary arrangement. No matter how genuine his gestures seemed, I couldn't forget that this marriage had an expiration date.
His mother engulfed me in a hug the moment we stepped inside.
Sahaj's hand on my back slipped away as she held both my hands, gushing over how 'pretty' I looked. She hugged me twice before calling her sister over to us.
Sahaj was quick to touch her feet as she walked over to us, she introduced herself before giving both of us blessings and clicking a picture with us, standing in the middle.
