Mehar Auntie announced the imminent arrival of the bride and groom and Zara and Parvati joined the crowd near the entrance to the lavishly decorated ballroom. Salena Auntie had gone over the top with the decor. Enormous displays of pink and orange flowers hung from the ceiling over red-and-purple-covered tables and elaborate floral centerpieces. Two pillars bearing replica statues of the Greek goddess Aphrodite flanked the head table, and fairy lights and lanterns twinkled in every corner.
Zara pulled out her phone and snapped a few photos for her wedding folder. Not that she planned to get married, but one day Parvati would meet her special someone and she wanted to be prepared to be the best bridesmaid ever.
Always the bridesmaid. Never the bride. For some reason the words didn’t sit as lightly on her heart as they usually did.
* * *
? ? ?
Jay pulled out his chair at the singles table and cursed every bhangra band that had ever existed.
If Tarun hadn’t hired a bhangra band for his baraat that morning, Jay would have skipped the boisterous, colorful, music-filled groom’s procession and put in a few hours of work at the office before the ceremony. But Jay’s mother loved the upbeat rhythmic music and there was no way he could make her go to the celebration alone.
If not for that bhangra band Jay wouldn’t have noticed that one of the musicians bore a striking resemblance to Zara. The trim, middle-aged man with thick dark hair and a wide smile had amped up the energy with his dhol beats, banging out a rhythm for the dancers in their matching red and purple outfits. He wouldn’t have asked the man beside him if he knew the drummer. The man wouldn’t have introduced himself as Ajay Singh and they wouldn’t have struck up a conversation. Ajay wouldn’t have mentioned he was a widower and had planned to skip the reception because he felt too old to be seated at the singles table. Jay’s mother wouldn’t have offered him Jay’s seat beside her. And Jay wouldn’t have had to take Ajay’s place with the lonely singles.
It was definitely the band’s fault.
A woman in a frilly pink dress initiated a round of introductions. A distant cousin with a pointed goatee. A college roommate who looked like he’d been at the bar since it opened. Tarun’s colleague from work who had been separated from the rest of her work friends and couldn’t sit still. He shook hands with Kamal before he took his seat. The dude had hunted him down at the bar after the paintball game to apologize for shooting him in the back and had bought Jay a shot of whiskey to make amends.
“Zara must be sitting in one of those seats,” Kamal said, gesturing to the two empty chairs beside Jay. “I saw her name on the list for our table.”
Jay’s heart skipped a curious beat. Leaning to the side, he read the fancy script on the nearest card. Zara. The fates had conspired; whether for or against him was yet to be determined.
Where was she? He searched the banquet hall and spotted her taking pictures of Tarun and Maria in front of the head table. She stood out, even in a room filled with color. It was her spirit, he decided as he watched her dashing back and forth to take pictures from different angles, a sparkle that made her shine.
With her free hand she waved Tarun and Maria into position in front of one of the pillars flanking the table. Tarun took one step back and then another. His back collided with the pillar, knocking the statue out of place. It rocked violently, teetering on one edge before toppling over and hitting the floor with a deafening crash. The statue’s head separated from the body and rolled away with the momentum of the fall.
“I’ll catch it.” Zara’s voice echoed in the stunned silence of the ballroom. Pushing past a frozen Tarun, she chased after the rolling head, her skirt hiked up to expose two long, shapely, tanned legs, silver stilettos pounding across the tile floor.
Jay couldn’t tear his eyes away. This morning, he’d been dreading the evening. Now his heart pounded with the thrill of the chase, and he felt utterly and blissfully alive.
“Got it.” She grabbed the head mid-roll and held it aloft with one hand to the cheers of the crowd.
It should have struck him as odd when she brought it to the table, but he was already expecting the unexpected when it came to Zara.
She introduced herself to their dining companions before placing the head beside Jay’s water glass, its vacant pupil-less eyes staring into his soul.
“You again,” she said without even the hint of a smile. “I shouldn’t have cut my nails this morning.”
“I beg your pardon?” Jay was a logical man. Conversations usually started with a greeting, followed by pleasantries and then the small talk he despised but had to learn in order to function as the CEO of a national business.