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5 Spoiled Brat

Amayra

After almost half an hour, I heard voices of welcome and 'namaste' from the drawing-room. My mother, called the maid for water, and heavy running steps of Sheetal (maid), perhaps into the kitchen. So, they had come now. I didn't know how many were they in numbers but with the heavy voices, I predicted, they might be four to five members. I then got to hear the chattering of my mom; she was telling Sheetal to bring sweets and sherbet from the kitchen.

"I mean, just now you give them water, now you are giving them sherbet.... how can be they so thirsty?"

On the other hand, I was walking into my room, biting my nails, and thinking about how the boy would be? Definitely not a Prince of England, I laughed at the idea of that.

"Does he look like a charming one? Or he is bald with a hanging stomach .... I have seen different categories of men, some short heightened, then extremely tall but very thin, then there are a few having a good psychic but then some promoting obesity. What if he is not human at all? What if I get a werewolf as my groom or what if on my first wedding night he howled? Oh, no no! what if he is a vampire and instead of kissing me, he just sucks my blood?" I giggled, suppressing my laughter. These random, stupid thoughts circled in my head like spirits revolving.

Well for me height, size, and weight does not matter, as long as he is not a drunkard. I am intolerant to drunk dicks.

I inhaled, waiting for my mom to open the door. I knew now it was time for me to fashion myself.

So almost after waiting half an hour, my mom opened the door and came to me. "They have come dear,"

"So, what do you want me to do? Wash their feet?" I smiled, galling, looking at my mom and she grudged. I complained about my dress being so untiring all she said was "stop fussing". All over my body, I felt itchiness. The dress contained excessive sparkle and net. The dupatta was more like a torture device. It was very irritating.

"Time to fashion me," I said and walked out of the door. My face had taken a shape of a diligent student who is going out to try her luck in the field of impression. There were interviewers waiting on the couch. My mom murmured in my ear "bring a pleasing face".

How can I bring a pleasing face? I am not an emoji.... not a smiling Buddha.

LOL

My steps were mild, as I approached near, I beheld the guests. All were presenting a smiling face. There were three in number, a lady in her fifties his husband, and their one only production, sitting on the couch. His expression seemed very unpleasant. But I soon shifted my eyes to others. My hands slightly trembled while holding the tray. I brought the tray near to the lady, next to her husband, and then to the boy.

"I hope you choke on the tea I made for you" I whispered in my mind while serving the tea to the boy.

I folded my hands as my mom taught me, and touched their feet, amiably. Then I sit next to my parents making a gentle face as if I am a cow. They began to ask the interview type questions, for example, what's my name, education and then they shared how they know my parents. All I had to do was nod my head as if I was enjoying the conversation. All were sipping tea but my eyes fixed on the samosas kept on the plate. The lady asked me "say something."

"If you people not eating samosas, can I have one?" I asked and everyone was shocked. Although I knew my mom might have shoot daggers at me. She replied may be due to shame, "Please forgive my daughter...she is sometimes senseless."

"It's totally fine." The lady replied. "Otherwise, girls these days are so shy."

"If only you could see how much shy I am." I sniggered. The mother of the boy seemed to be keenly interested in me. She flattered about my beauty, my hair and my education. She was so impressed to hear that I completed business studies and that his son was on the same stream. I looked at the son, he appeared to be unenthusiastic, his dead expression annoyed me a lot when I first saw him.

"Arrogant little prick"

The conversation among elders carried on for a few minutes when the father of the boy intervened and said "I think we should allow our children to talk to each other."

His line gave me a different level of solace. I just wanted to get up from here and needed fresh air, plus this dress was so backbreaking. Anyways, we both got up and I showed him the way to the terrace.

"After you." He said and then followed me. I don't know why my heartbeat got erratic. I was going to talk with him, but thoughts like rejecting, lying, and pretending to be not interested in you, were circulating in my head. He was indeed handsome but my mind was not accepting it. The first accidental look where he showed his damn dead expression, just infuriated me.

Reaching the terrace, we stood by the railing, facing the sky. The weather was fine, my kind of favorite sky; less scorch and slight drizzle. While we both looking at the sky, worried about who was going to utter the first-word coz my mom had trained me not to say a word until anyone utters so I was calmly waiting for him to begin a conversation.

"So, your name is Amayra?"

No! my name is Rose Dawson of titanic, lover of Drown Jack, I was about to say this but I skipped saying it and just nodded my tiny little head.

"So miss Amayra, what are your hobbies?" He asked plainly, a question most familiarly asked. My hobbies include sleeping and singing, most passionately, I wanted to say this but a sudden whim hit my tiny brain. If my parents could force me for the marriage to this nerd then why can't I indirectly make him marry me not to me?

Well, I can scrupulously do that.

"My hobbies include some indoor activities......like talking to cats and hunting spirits," I said.

"What?" He exclaimed.

"Yes, it's a fun activity to call a spirit."

"Interesting!" He replied unaffected by my witty answer. "If you are thinking to make me believe in your stupid hobbies, do not try in vain.... I don't get impressed by these."

"Really? You think I am impressing you? Who are you even?" I reciprocated, turning my face at him, making my burrows tight.

"Common, girl.... you can talk straight.... you chose me for my money and that I am the hottest dude, you can never find.... for sure." He arrogantly said.

"Hottest?" I laughed. "So hot but no girlfriend, your filthy hotness didn't work anywhere? That you have to come here and ask my hand?"

"Consider yourself lucky that I come to ask your hand otherwise no one even asks a girl like you." He replied still bearing the same attitude. But this time his voicing sounded a bit rude. He was insulting me but I could not respond to him back as it would lead to a commotion between us. He was the guest and I was so bounded by my powers to throw words at him. I could not just.... I didn't know how my parents found this one a suitable mate for me. His qualities were shallow, nothing in him was remarkable to notice or wander. He considered himself the hottest and perhaps all the heat of his body was coming from his rich dad's pocket. He was impertinent, born in the lap of rich parents, he lacked compassion.

"Spoiled brat"

A few minutes later I heard my mom calling us. She suggested that I should show this cocky head my bedroom. I looked at her in disagreement but her sharp eyes were enough to change the direction of my mood. I gagged my mouth and spoke gently again with the ill-mannered. He swaggered along the corridor which led to my room and I felt like kicking at his bums. He entered as if it was his room. He watched each corner of my room with disgust stare but after a while he stopped, picking up my guitar, his expression fell.

"You play?"

"No, it is kept to impress a dickhead like you." He chuckled restoring my guitar back to its place.

"The size of your room is similar to my washroom you know?" He said while sitting on my bed.

"And you know the size of your brain is equal to a dog's poop," I replied back crossing my arms. The man deserved answers in his own style and I was doing the same but his reaction was unchanged. He seemed to be unaffected by my statement which meant he accepted his brain, similar to a dog's poop.