Page 74 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

I pulled out a bright smile, as sunny as I could manage. “He was talking to Mike,” I said, not wanting to lie but not willing to divulge the truth either. “I think he’ll return in a bit.”

At least, I hoped he would.

I looked forlornly at the empty chair next to me, then focused on the glowing faces of Tara and Sameer instead. They looked spectacularly happy, and it warmed my heart to see the love they shared. Some of us were luckier than the rest.

The couple stood and began the pheras, the circles around the pious fire, while the priest officiating the wedding recited vows. Some of them were dated, as Tara had told me during one of our pre-wedding chats. She and Sameer had paid the priest extra to change the vows to something that suited them both. Instead of saying that Tara would be devoted and obedient, they both promised their love and trust to each other. Instead of Sameer vowing to provide for the family, they both promised to work hard in their own capacities to care for their family.

I smiled at the thought. Despite Mihir’s staunch conviction, sometimes you needed honey to trap the flies. Tara and Sameer knew they would have displeased their families if they didn’t agree to a “proper” wedding—a grand and lavish one. They worked around it with two conditions: one, that they would pay for the wedding themselves. And two, that they would either forgo the rituals that were antiquated or change their tone to their liking. It had worked, apparently.

I looked at the happy faces before me. Then my eyes drew back to the empty seat by me.

“What’s weighing on your mind, my child?” Sneha aunty asked. “Is it Mihir? Did he mess it up like he always does?”

I fake smiled again. “No, Aunty. We had a small disagreement, that’s all.”

She put her hand on mine. “You’ll tell me if he bothers you, yes?”

I laughed aloud. “I definitely will. Will you scold him for me?”

“Oh, I will,” she said just as I smelled a familiar cologne with distinct tobacco notes and felt a sudden warmth near me.

Mihir retook his seat without a word, and a gush of dejection deluged me.

“Hi!” I braved a tentative smile.

But he threw me a disinterested glance and returned his attention to the wedding.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered quickly, knowing full well that Sneha aunty had her eye on us.

I reached out with my pinkie to caress his arm. “I didn’t mean to—” I attempted.

“Yes, you did,” he interrupted gruffly, his eyes still on the ceremony unfolding before us.

I sucked in a breath at his allegation. Maybe I did, but so did he! I fumed.

I leaned toward him. “I’m trying to apologize,” I said with a smile for pretense in case anyone was watching us.

“And you aren’t doing great,” was his curt reply. He saw his mother watching us both and responded with a quick death glare. “I hope you are not tattling on me to my mom.”

“If you don’t accept my apology, I will. She said she’d reprimand you for me,” I threatened.

He ignored my words to gaze lovingly at the newly married couple, now on a tour around the mandap, touching the feet of all the elders and seeking their blessings. When they came around to us, Aunty stood as they touched her feet, and she showered them with kisses and blessings.

Tara grabbed me in a warm hug, and I offered them my congratulations.

“You better touch my feet too,” Mihir said with every bit of sincerity as they turned their sight to him.

“In your dreams, dude,” Sameer teased.

Then, as he hugged them both, Mihir got the most magical look on his face. It was all the love and tenderness I’d seen before, when he was feeding Riya the previous evening.

But I was determined not to let my emotions get the better of me. I was mature. Of course, I was capable of resisting a handsome, charming, considerate man, who was currently mad at me. Surely.

Mihir did his best to avoid me for the rest of the night until we gathered around the dinner table set up for us. Sneha aunty sat beside me, enjoying her chaat items. She hadn’t bothered with the main course at all.

An American friend in grad school had once asked me to explain chaat to him, and I was at a loss. How might one explain something so amorphous and tantalizing? Primarily a street food, chaat is savory, sweet, tangy, and spicy perfection that comes in all shapes, sizes, and textures.

I watched as Aunty relished her pani puri and papdi chaat with pure delight. By this time, I had clearly developed a girl crush on her. I admired the woman so much. She enjoyed her food like one really should.

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