Under My Body

chapter four

      The coffee shop was buzzing with the low hum of chatter, the occasional clatter of ceramic mugs against tables, and the soft, melodic strains of indie music playing in the background. It was the perfect place for me to get some work done, or so I thought when I first arrived that morning. Now, as I sat hunched over my laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard and my notebook filled with frantic scribbles, I wasn't so sure.

I was wearing my favourite straight-cut mom jeans, the ones that were snug in all the right places but loose enough to keep me comfortable during long working hours. I paired them with a white tube top and a cosy cardigan that I'd thrown on when I left the house earlier, knowing the air conditioning in the coffee shop could be unpredictable. My curly hair was pulled up into a messy bun, with a few rebellious strands framing my face.

Four glasses of iced coffee sat on my table, three of them empty and the fourth still half-full but rapidly approaching its demise. I was jittery from the caffeine, but that was the least of my concerns. My focus was on the screen in front of me where a particularly frustrating email from my current client, Ratha, stared back at me.

Ratha was a bride-zilla, no other way to put it. She was getting married in a month—a South Indian wedding with all the traditional grandeur. Her husband-to-be, a white guy named Oliver, was easygoing, but Ratha more than made up for it with her endless demands. They were both born and raised here in Canada and while they wanted to keep some traditional elements, Ratha had a very specific vision that was proving impossible to fulfil and I am saying that. Places she wanted were already booked, vendors were either unavailable or too expensive, and yet she wouldn't budge on her budget. Not even the slightest.

I let out a frustrated sigh, pushing my notebook away from me and leaning back in the chair. My back ached slightly from the hours I'd spent hunched over, and I closed my eyes for a moment, willing myself to relax. It wasn't easy, though. I could feel the stress knotting up in my shoulders, the weight of this wedding pressing down on me.

"Vili?"

I opened my eyes to see Thali standing in front of me, his usual composed self. He was holding a glass of frappe, the top piled high with whipped cream, and a thick storybook under his other arm. Thali had a lean, lanky build with a boyish look that made him seem younger than he was. His Ray-Ban glasses were perched on his nose, and his fluffy hair was tousled in that effortless way that made him look like he just stepped out of a magazine shoot.

"Thali, hey!" I smiled back at him, gesturing to the empty seat beside me. "What are you doing here?"

Thali set his frappe down on the table and slid into the chair with a graceful ease that belied his lanky frame. "Oh, you know, just grabbing a drink and settling in with a good book," he said, holding up the thick tome he'd brought with him. "Needed a change of scenery, and this place has the best vibes for reading."

I glanced at the book in his hand, the cover worn and well-loved. Xavier told me Thali was always reading something, and it wasn't uncommon to find him in some cosy corner with his nose buried in a story.

"How about you? You look like you're in the middle of something intense," Thali said, his voice laced with concern as he looked at the mess of papers and the open laptop in front of me.

I sighed, leaning back further into the chair. "I'm trying to plan this wedding, but the bride is driving me up the wall," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck where the tension had settled in. "She's got all these impossible demands, but her budget is way too tight for what she wants. It's like she thinks I can magically make things happen." I can but not with her budget.