They Don't Know about Us

Chapter 33 - When secrets begin to slip

Chapter 33 – When secrets begin to slip

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The wedding morning had arrived like a hurricane. Every corner of the Malik Haveli buzzed — dhol rehearsals downstairs, decorators screaming about flower shortages, Anjali's cousins running around half-dressed, Rahul yelling at the band-waley to increase the tempo, and Dadi threatening to disown everyone if the mandap lights flickered one more time.

But in the middle of all that madness, Anjali's room looked like the epicenter of the storm. Hair curlers. Lipstick caps. Bindi sheets. A half-eaten toast. Chai cups. Stoles. Safety pins. Broken sandal straps. Lemon water. A random stethoscope someone had left on the dresser.

And in the middle of the chaos sat the bride — Anjali Joshi going full meltdown mode.

Hair half-curled, half-straight, eyes wide as she stared at herself in the mirror. "WHAT—" she screeched, "—IS THIS HAIRSTYLE? WHY DO I LOOK LIKE A FEMALE SALMAN KHAN FROM TERE NAAM?!" She lifted the newly cut bangs, which were too short for her liking.

"Calm down!" the hairstylist pleaded, ready to cry, scared of Anjali's wrath.

"Oh my god she's going to cry," Muskaan muttered, "how is she telling her to calm down. Hell is about to break lose and may the lord almighty save all of us!"

"I AM ALREADY CRYING!" Anjali snapped, pointing at her mascara-stained tissue. "DO NOT TELL ME TO CALM DOWN. FIRST YOU RUIN MY HAIR, MAKE ME LOOK LIKE SALMAN KHAN, THEN YOU LEAVE MY HAIR IN A WEIRD MESS OF CURLS AND STRAIGHTS, AND YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO TELL ME TO CALM DOWN? LEAVE, RIGHT NOW–"

The hairstylist didn't need to be told twice, the girl, struck with fear, ran for her light, faster than a lightning bolt.

Riddhima flinched so hard at Anjali's meltdown that the iron nearly slipped from her hand. "Muskaan," she hissed under her breath, eyes wide. "Go. Fix. Her." Muskaan, who had been peacefully contouring her cheekbone, glanced up, saw Anjali's reflection — and gasped.

"Oh hell no," she muttered, tossing her makeup sponge aside and jumping off the bed. "WE ARE NOT LETTING YOU GET MARRIED LOOKING LIKE A SALMAN KHAN REMAKE!" Riddhima's eyes widened and she smacked her forehead.

"THAT'S WHAT I'M SAYING!" Anjali wailed, gripping her bangs with existential despair. "WHO TOLD HER TO CUT THESE THIS SHORT? THEY'RE SO SHORT I LOOK LIKE I OWN A BIKE GANG!"

Riddhima winced, gently setting the ironed lehenga panel down on the sofa, like it might explode. Muskaan stormed behind Anjali, turning her head left and right. "Okay, what even— why are some sections curled like it's prom night 2005 and others straight like hospital duty? Who booked her?!"

"Sneha!" Anjali barked, tears filling her eyes again.

Muskaan threw her head back in dramatic agony. "OF COURSE. Of course she did. Who else has the talent to find the only hairstylist in Mumbai who specialises in 'before' pictures?!" Riddhima covered her mouth to hide her laugh. Even in chaos, Muskaan was pure comedy.

"Fix it," Anjali begged, clutching Muskaan's wrist like a patient grabbing a doctor before flatlining. "Please, Muski. You're my only hope."

Muskaan clicked her tongue and got to work. "Okay. Listen. We slick-back the front — gel will pin the bangs down. Think Alia Bhatt slick-but-soft look. And these half-curled half-straight strands?" She held one up. "We twist them up into a soft low updo. Romantic. Elegant. Zero Salman."

Anjali sniffled pathetically. "But what if I still look like Salman?"

"You won't," Muskaan said, shoving a tissue into her hand, "because now I am in charge. And I actually like you." Anjali whimpered gratefully.