The Colors of Mehndi
1204 Words
By the next morning, Choudhary Mansion had transformed again. If yesterday’s haldi was drenched in gold, today the mansion blushed in emerald and henna green. Curtains of genda flowers draped the entrance, green dupattas fluttered like banners of celebration, and silver trays of mehndi cones glistened under fairy lights strung from tree to tree.
The household hummed with excitement. Women sang folk songs in courtyards, their claps echoing against marble walls. The fragrance of eucalyptus leaves and mehndi paste filled the air, mingling with laughter.
In her room, Reet sat before her mirror, draped in a deep green lehenga with zari borders. A dupatta veiled her hair, and her wrists jingled with glass bangles. Smita perched beside her, giggling as she tested mehndi cones on paper.
“You’ll have his name written so small he’ll spend nights finding it,” Smita teased.
Reet blushed, tugging at her dupatta. “As if Raghav would bother.”
“Didi, please. He’d search even if you wrote it on the sole of your foot.”
Reet’s laugh spilled out, light and nervous. Dhruv knocked and entered, stopping mid-step. His eyes softened when he saw her.
“My sister looks like… someone’s dream,” he said quietly.
Reet smiled, swallowing a lump. “And you look like a bodyguard who won’t let anyone touch me.”
“Correct,” Dhruv said flatly, adjusting his kurta. “Today I’m stationed right here. One scratch on your hand and the groom will deal with me.”
“Overprotective,” Smita muttered.
“Professional,” Dhruv corrected.
By noon, the Suryavanshi family arrived again—Raghav in a jade kurta with cream embroidery, his sister Unnati in a playful green sharara, and their grandparents in regal attire, carrying silver thalis of gifts.
Reet’s grandparents greeted them warmly. “Come, come! Today is for colors and joy.”
When Raghav’s eyes found Reet across the courtyard, time seemed to stagger. Her palms rested on a silver cushion, waiting for mehndi, and yet she looked like a queen awaiting coronation. She dared a glance at him—then immediately looked away, cheeks burning.
Unnati nudged him. “Don’t stare like you’re already married.”
“I can’t help it,” he murmured, and Unnati rolled her eyes.
Not long after, Aryan arrived—this time in a dark green bandhgala with minimal gold work, sharp and deliberate. His presence rippled through the courtyard, though his demeanor was polite. He touched the elders’ feet, greeting them with folded hands.
“Welcome again, beta,” Reet’s grandfather said, though his eyes held caution.
Aryan inclined his head. “Your blessings are mine, sir.”
But his gaze had already found Swasti.
She stood near the dais, instructing decorators about the mehndi trays, her saree a forest green silk with golden border, her poise unshakeable. When she noticed Aryan watching, her chin lifted in challenge.
“Don’t,” Raghav muttered at Aryan’s side.
Aryan smirked faintly. “Too late.”
Reet was seated on a decorated swing, strings of marigolds framing her. The mehndi artist prepared her palms. Smita hovered close, already planning mischief.
As the designs bloomed across Reet’s hands, aunties sang teasing songs:
“Hide the grooms name in her mehndi..”
Reet smiled shyly, cheeks glowing more than the henna. Dhruv leaned against a pillar, arms folded, glaring at anyone who came too near.
Raghav’s grandmother placed a hand on Reet’s head. “Your hands will carry the fragrance of love for a lifetime. May it never fade.”
“Dadi,” Reet whispered, “don’t make me cry.”
“Cry today,” the grandmother said fondly. “Laugh tomorrow.”
Smita grinned and motioned Raghav over. “Jiju, tradition says you must pay to see your name in her mehndi.”
Raghav raised a brow. “And if I find it without paying?”
“Impossible,” Smita declared.
Reet shook her head quickly, embarrassed. “Don’t listen—”
But Raghav bent, studying her henna-stained hands with an intensity that made her heart stutter. He traced a pattern with his eyes, then pointed.
“There,” he said softly. “Raghav.”
Reet’s breath caught. Smita’s jaw dropped. “Cheating! How did you—?”
Raghav only smiled at Reet, eyes speaking everything words couldn’t.
Meanwhile, Aryan drifted closer to Swasti. She noticed immediately.
“You shadow me everywhere?” she asked dryly.
“I stand where I see light,” he said smoothly.
“Flattery again,” she replied, adjusting a tray. “Find a new tactic.”
“Not flattery. Observation.” He lowered his voice. “You shine differently than anyone here.”
Swasti looked at him sharply. “And you’re dangerous differently than anyone here. Don’t bring it into my sister’s wedding.”
Aryan leaned slightly, respectful of distance yet unwavering. “I promised to behave. But I didn’t promise to stop feeling.”
Her gaze didn’t soften, but something unreadable flickered in her eyes. “Control it. Or leave.”
Aryan’s lips curved faintly. “Leaving isn’t in my nature.”
At that moment, Dhruv appeared, narrowing his eyes at Aryan. “Problem?”
“None,” Swasti answered quickly.
Aryan smiled politely. “Your sister is formidable. You should be proud.”
Dhruv’s jaw tightened. “I am. And protective.”
Aryan chuckled softly. “So am I.”
The tension hummed until Swasti broke it. “Focus on Reet. This is her day.”
Aryan inclined his head, stepping back. But his gaze lingered on Swasti, a vow glinting unspoken.
As the sun dipped, the mehndi darkened on Reet’s hands. The cousins broke into dance, pulling Raghav in despite his protests. He ended up twirling Reet gently, laughter spilling between them.
“Careful,” Dhruv warned from the side.
“She’s safe with me,” Raghav replied seriously, and Dhruv—after a long pause—nodded.
Unnati and Smita danced together, filling the courtyard with laughter. The elders clapped in rhythm, joy spilling like wine.
Aryan watched, strangely still, until Swasti crossed his path again.
“You don’t dance?” she asked.
“Only when it means something,” he said.
“And this doesn’t?”
He looked at her, voice low. “Not until you’re in it.”
Swasti’s breath hitched—just a fraction—but she turned away, refusing to give ground.
When the function was complete, Reet sat admiring the deepening stain. Her grandmother whispered, “The darker the mehndi, the stronger the love.”
Reet smiled softly, glancing at Raghav across the courtyard, his laughter mingling with cousins’. She believed it already.
As the guests began to leave, Aryan paused near the gates. Swasti happened to pass him.
“Good night, Mr. Gujral,” she said coolly.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “The night begins when you enter my thoughts. Which is… now.”
She didn’t reply, but her steps faltered for the first time. Aryan’s smile deepened.
From the balcony above, Reet watched this silent duel unfold. A shiver ran through her—half worry, half wonder. Because she knew now: Aryan Gujral didn’t desire lightly. And now, his desire was her sister.
- Writer
