“You already hate me,” he wearily sighed. “Now, you can add forcing you to wear a proper bridal gown on the list of grievances you have against me. I’ll be waiting for you downstairs,” he informed her, the catch in his throat audible. “There are a few ladies outside who will help you with hair and make-up, if you care to let them.”
Vera pretended as though she hadn’t heard him, until he slipped a finger into her bracelet, tugging her wrist to compel her to look at him. A world of fear, anger, and resistance lay simmering in her black eyes, and anything else Vihaan may have said died in the remorse he still felt.
He exited the room without another word, nodding at the team of stylists whom he’d hired waiting right outside. A few short breaths later, Vera cracked the door open, clearly having decided to allow the team to assist her that morning. Their eyes met as the last team member slipped in, their link cut off when the door swung to a close.
Barely reeling in his disappointment, Vihaan sighed. Six weeks of him trying to reduce the distance between them, six weeks of Vera refusing to give him any quarter. They’d maintained the image of a happily engaged couple in front of the media, his family, friends, and Nanaji to such perfection that no one suspected anything. Unlike his willful fiancée however, he wasn’t playing a role. She kept acting like this was a charade that would end in a blink, an attitude that made him anxious.
He knew it was futile to hope that Vera would’ve warmed up to him by their wedding day. This was simply the beginning of a long game of push and pull. He’d have to fight with herforher, stand against her in private but stand together in front of the world.
She may not believe any attempts at reconciliation coming from him today, but he wouldn’t accept defeat. With renewed determination, he strode towards the groom’s room where his friends were waiting for him.
This may not be the wedding either of them had once dreamed of when they’d been in the throes of their first love, but Vihaan would be damned if he wasn’t going to find a way to make some memories anyway.
As he donned his sherwani, allowing his proud father to fix his turban and his mom to press a tilak on his forehead, he tried to smile. He posed for the photographers, danced with his friends for the baraat ceremony that took him from his guest quarters to the main wedding hall, and waited at the dais pretending for all the world that he wasn’t terrified that she wouldn’t show up.
For all his assuredness, he knew that Vera would never marry him if she wasn’t convinced of the need for it. So, when the doors opened to announce her arrival, he finally felt like his oxygen supply had resumed. But when he saw her walking in? That’s when he knew that he truly wasn’t a good man.
Because for all the guilt regarding his actions at their SSI interview, he couldn’t regret anything that led to Vera walking down the aisle towards him, dressed as the most beautiful bride in the world. The deep red lehenga complimented the creamy tone of her skin, the stone studded skirt adding length to her already willowy form. She didn’t even look at him as they got closer, but he couldn’t look away. She was exquisite, a dream he’d never dared to dream, and he would sign away every last breath to ensure this dream remained unbroken.
It was only when Nanaji finally leaned in to give her away that her eyes met his. For a moment, they were in their own world, hidden away in a fog of longing for all that they could have in this lifetime. Vera by his side as they grew older, a sassy daughter who bossed everyone around, embarrassed sons who complained about their father shamelessly loving on their mother, a family they’d call their own. Vera looked as moonstruck as he felt, the yearning for these possibilities weaving a gossamer web around them in a way that ensured that neither could exist independent of the other.
In a trance, Vihaan raised his hand to lovingly cup her jaw, his thumb brushing away an errant tear that had escaped her eye. Her lids fluttered shut, her own hand anchoring his to fit the curvature of her face as she sighed, her cheek pressing firmly into his large palm. When she finally opened her eyes to see him again, Vihaan could swear it was love that had caused that heady glaze in her irises. In that miniscule passage of time, she reminded him so much of the young girl who’d loved him fiercely that he leaned in, longing for her to remain with him.
Because hewantedher. He wanted her with every fibre of his selfish being, with a ferociousness that scared even him when he tried to quantify it.
The whoops and catcalls of their friends at this unexpected display of affection broke the hypnotic hold that had befallen them. With a puzzled shake of her head, Vera glanced away, allowing herself to be distracted by the mantras that the priests intoned.
Through the vows and the rituals, Vihaan and Vera stole glances at each other. And as they finished their final circumambulation around the holy fire, their bond forged for seven lifetimes, Vihaan felt a new sense of responsibility towards the woman he loved. He placed a large pinch of vermillion on the parting in her forehead as his final declaration, claiming her in front of the world as his wife. When some of the crimson powder fell onto her sharp nose, his mother squealed and swooned, announcing loudly that this was an indication of being obsessively loved by one’s spouse. Vera’s blush warmed his heart and never had Vihaan loved an old wives’ tale as much as in that moment.
Tale or not, loving her to distraction was his truth. He observed and memorised every smile and sniff that escaped her all through the evening. When he died, he was certain he would remember moments from today, and every memory would be full of her. His wife.
He could only hope that by then, he had more than just a memory to hold on to. That he’d have her hand in his as he breathed his last. That he’d feel her touch, her lips against his as he finally let go.
Before that however, he told himself, determination racing through him as he observed her surrounded by those who cared for them, he had a singular lifetime goal.
To spend the next sixty years making Vera Talwar-Oberoi incandescently happy.
Easy, right?
40
Kintsugi
Vera
Vera hadn’t expected tobe hit with a case of nerves when the noise of the wedding settled. She stared out the sliding glass doors of her new bedroom, into a private garden, wondering if she should take a chance and sleep out there instead of sharing a room with her husband.
Husband?!She shivered. She was a married woman today and it felt nothing like she’d thought it would. Not that she had had reason to think about marriage for nearly fifteen years. But when she’d last done so, she’d been a teenager and had pictured something romantic.
She glanced down at her nightclothes, the simple cotton shorts and t-shirt unlike anything a new bride would don on her wedding night. She’d picked an old pair, deliberately trying to show that tonight was no different than any other night for her. Maybe she was trying to convince herself. Maybe she’d been hoping that Vihaan would say something about her choice of outfit, and she’d have areason to be angry with him. Instead, he’d left her feeling hot and bothered without ever saying a word.
She pressed a hand to her chest, her heart flopping around like a goldfish when she recalled the look he’d shot her as he’d dragged his eyes over her covered body. She may as well have been in lingerie for all the heat in his gaze.
She’d have thought it was just lust. After all, desire had been one of the strongest connections between them. But it wasn’t simply that.
He’d looked. . . satisfied. As if seeing her in her house clothes, in his bedroom, getting ready to spend the night in the same bed, had soothed some ache in him. The more she tried not to feel affected by Vihaan, the harder it got. Especially when he did things like buy a new house in a quieter part of the city and have it readied so that Nanaji could live with them.
Vera was finally living with her grandfather again. She wouldn’t have to make appointments to see him, just to spend a few precious hours together before the visiting window ended. She could wake up and have meals with him, walk down the hall to check in on him as she wished, hear his voice without using a phone, embrace him whenever she felt like it. For all her trying, this had happened because of Vihaan. He’d shown up with papers a few days after their interview debacle, asking for her signatures so that he could begin the paperwork to get Nanu discharged from Shanti Care Center. Every day since then, each time she snarked at him, her guilt would ramp up.