Page 119 of Everything She Wanted

Rachel peeks her head out the door. “Nisha.”

I don’t even have the energy to respond. “Nisha?” She looks down at me on the steps. “Are you okay?” Her voice sounds desperate.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again, Rachel.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, and my whole body goes cold.

I feel so betrayed and angry at myself, at Nick, and at Rachel. I feel guilty that I have a decent guy waiting for me inside, and for months I’ve been messing around with someone else. I’m confused, wondering if Nick meant those words he said or if it was just a last-ditch thing to do because he wouldn’t have another ‘chance’ as he called it. And my body betrays me because all it can remember is him—his lips, his touch, his eyes, his solid strength—and without him, I feel like I can’t even exist.

I look up at the only person I felt like I could ever count on—the one who threw me into the flames.

Now all I want to do is burn.

I follow Rachel out to the now almost empty hall lobby where my mom sits on an armchair that’s tucked away in the corner, with Preeti bringing her some water. My sister shoots me an intense glare, her jaw tight and eyes narrowed. A heavy knot forms in my gut as I realize I must have given my mom quite a scare.

I look away just as my Bhua approaches me.

“There you are, darling. We were all so worried.” Her kohl-lined eyes glint with kindness.

“I just needed some fresh air,” I lie.

She nods and grabs me gently by the elbow and walks me closer to the hall entrance. I glance at the pink-and-gold glittery sign: “Welcome to Eshaan & Nisha’s Engagement Ceremony.” It all feels surreal, a mock-up, a trial run. This can’t really be happening.

I peek inside the hall to see the tables filled with hundreds, and my pulse thunders in my ears. I recognize a few of the faces of my aunts, uncles and cousins, but there are so many people I’m not sure I’ve ever seen before.

“Everyone’s already inside. We’ll head in now, and Aman will walk you in.”

“I’m ready, Massi Ji. I’ve been practicing a lot at home with Mom and my stuffies watching.” Aman grins with pride. His large, innocent brown eyes shine at me, and I smile softly just for him. I don’t need to be walked in, but Aman insisted after seeing it in a Bollywood movie, and all of us thought it was adorable.

My mom approaches. Her eyes drawn, yet relieved.

“Tu bahut sohni lagdi aa.” She’s never told me I look beautiful, so I take it.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say as she adjusts my necklace—her wedding necklace—and I take her fingers and give them a squeeze.

I can do this for her.

This is the right thing to do. I don’t know why this sense of wrongness is short-circuiting my system and constricting the air flow in my chest.

“We need to go in now.” Preeti grabs my mom by the shoulder and leads her inside, while my Bhua follows closely behind. Rachel gives my shoulders a squeeze and goes in, glancing back. She mouths, “I’m sorry.” Her eyes look sad, and I know she means it. I’m sorry too. For this whole crazy mess of my life.

“Let’s go, Massi.” Aman tugs at my hand, but I glimpse movement on the engagement sign and turn to see a monarch butterfly that’s somehow made its way inside. It lands on the corner and then suddenly it flies away toward the front door, a sign that I could still run away from all of this, that maybe it isn’t too late. I fight the urge to follow it outside and instead grip Aman’s tiny fingers in my own as he walks me inside.

The first line of my dad’s favourite song floats in: Ek ladki ko dekha... It’s the song I chose to walk in to, and a tear escapes my eye. I wish he was here with me now so I wasn’t so alone in all of this, in these intense waves of emotions I can’t make sense of.

I pass through a floral archway bursting with peonies, cascading orchids, and pink roses. It’s so ornate and lavish, it’s like we’re exchanging vows and not just a ring. My family is clothed in extravagant outfits in varying shades of pink, while Eshaan’s is in gold. The two colours blur together as tears coat my eyes, and I desperately try to hold them in.

The crowd turns toward me, with loud whispers of how adorable my nephew is and how stunning I look. I feel nothing for a moment, and the numbness is a welcome reprieve from the torturous emotions running through me.

If this were anyone else’s ceremony I would be gushing over the exorbitant yet tasteful touches, but now, all I see is excess. Too much care for the things that don’t matter and too little for what does.

Every step is heavy like I’m slogging through mud, not walking on a plush carpet in the Louboutins Eshaan bought me just for today. I stare straight ahead. Eshaan stands near the beautiful gilt-edged loveseat at the front of the hall, but all I see are Nick’s eyes. All I sense is his anguish and my own, all I hear is his voice saying, “I love you.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and fight back the tears as Aman tugs me forward. I must have slowed down as I look up to see Eshaan’s brow furrowed with concern, followed by a flash of annoyance. I force my feet to move.

I have to do this.

I’ve been going to parties like this for two decades. When I was a child, I loved every moment of it. The dimmed, romantic atmosphere. The gorgeous traditional clothes and bold, glamorous makeup. The centrepieces and tables. The speeches and laughter. A simple hall transformed into a magical fairytale.

All I ever dreamed of was a happily ever after for myself.