Ryan and I sat down for the Puja, both of us cross-legged in front of the sacred fire. The priest was chanting mantras, the air around us thick with the scent of incense and the warmth of the fire. But midway through the ritual, I could feel beads of sweat trickling down my back, the heavy fabric of the saree clinging to my skin. The jewelry was pressing down on my neck, making it even harder to breathe.
Ryan noticed my discomfort almost immediately. Leaning in, he whispered, “What’s the matter?”
I tried to brush it off. “Nothing.”
But he wasn’t convinced. His eyes searched mine, his brow furrowing with concern. “You sure?” he asked again, his voice soft but insistent.
I sighed, finally giving in. “You wouldn’t understand, Ryan,” I muttered. “You’re a boy. This is nothing to you.”
His curiosity only deepened. He nudged me lightly, silently asking for more.
“The saree is so heavy,” I admitted, my voice a little shaky from the effort of keeping my composure. “And the jewelry -- it’s suffocating. And on top of that, the smoke from the fire…” I trailed off, feeling utterly drained. “It’s like adding salt to the wound.”
He looked genuinely concerned now, his eyes softening as he gazed at me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I warned, though there was no real anger in my voice, just exhaustion. “I’ll get upset if you keep giving me that pathetic look.”
As the Puja continued, the priest took a brief moment to answer a call. Ryan extended his hand towards my neck, catching me off guard. Instinctively, I snapped at him, “What are you doing?”
Without flinching, he replied calmly, “You can argue with me later. For now, sit properly. I’m just loosening your necklace.”
I muttered under my breath, “But I’m all sweaty.”
He didn’t seem to care and gently loosened the necklace around my neck. The momentary relief made it a bit easier to breathe.
Thankfully, the Puja was nearing its end. Pandit ji handed me the large, ornate aarti lamp, instructing me to lead the final part of the ritual. As I rose to my feet, balancing the heavy lamp in one hand while clutching my saree in the other, my foot caught on the fabric. In an instant, I lost my balance, and the lamp slipped from my grasp, crashing to the floor. Hot ghee splattered across the saree, and the room fell silent, all eyes turning toward me.
I felt my heart race with embarrassment and panic. “I’m so sorry,” I blurted out, my voice shaky.
Ryan's mother, ever the calm presence, reassured me. “It’s okay. She might’ve just lost her balance,” she said, turning to the priest. “Please arrange for another lamp.”
Despite her comforting words, I could feel my nerves fraying. But just then, Ryan quietly reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice soothing.
When the new lamp was ready, Ryan stepped in beside me to perform the aarti together. This time, he held the bulk of the lamp’s weight, making it feel as though I was barely touching it. His subtle help brought a wave of relief over me. I managed to offer the aarti without another mishap, grateful for Ryan’s support. As the flames flickered, I couldn’t help but feel a little lighter.
As soon as the Puja ended, I hurried to my room, desperate to change out of the heavy saree and jewelry. The moment I stepped out of the washroom, feeling a little more like myself in comfortable clothes, I froze. My parents were sitting on the bed, their faces stern.
Dad spoke first, his voice heavy with disappointment. “When will you stop embarrassing us in public?”
I blinked, taken aback. “What did I do now?”
He sighed, clearly frustrated. “Everything was going smoothly, and then the aarti... I don’t know what happens to you, but you always manage to create a mess. Your life was going well, and then out of nowhere, you let your studies slip. Then you were living quietly, undisturbed, and suddenly you got married. Even after that argument with us, you seemed to settle into this new life. And now today -- another disaster.”
Mom joined in, her tone softer but still laced with disappointment. “What will they think? That I didn’t even teach you the simplest, holiest things? You know it’s a bad omen if a diya falls during a Puja. You couldn’t even manage to hold a lamp properly.”
Their words stung. I stood there, biting my lip, trying to swallow the knot forming in my throat. It felt like no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape their disapproval.
YOU ARE READING
Love Rivals: The Day I Saw Your Tears
RomanceSarah, the youngest daughter in a humble, middle-class family, has always been the embodiment of her parents' dreams. With two elder sisters already established in their lives, the weight of expectation rests heavily on her shoulders. After experien...
