Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating(85)

We spend all of the next morning preparing for the holud. Hani strings up flowers on the walls of Nik’s sitting room. Nik and I push the couch to one side and lay down a throw, pillows, and cushions on the floor to make a seating area. With the mattress and an old bedsheet, Hani and I create a makeshift stage just in front of the seating area. We decorate the wall of the back of the stage with flowers and glitter and balloons.

While Hani prepares the turmeric paste and mehndi and creates a holud playlist, Nik and I work together to cook a large pot of biryani.

“You have to go get ready,” I tell Nik once the biryani is done. “The guests will be here soon … make sure you wear holud, okay?”

“You guys have to get ready too,” Nik says.

“We will. You’re the bride though—you’re kind of more important.”

“Okay, okay,” Nik concedes, before finally disappearing into her bedroom.

Hani disappears into the bathroom to get changed, so I pull out my own set of clothes: a delicate yellow and green lahenga. Lahengas are not usually my thing—but you can’t really go wrong with them during a wedding. I even slip on some green churis that jingle with every movement of my arms.

When Hani steps out of the bathroom, I feel like my lahenga can’t compare. She’s wearing a dark red kameez that’s as long and wide as a ballgown. There are subtle hints of green splashed onto the dress. The two colors shouldn’t go together— but they do. And it makes Hani’s bronze skin look more beautiful than ever—though that might also be the makeup.

“You look amazing!” I exclaim. Stepping forward, I take her arms in mine. Both of our arms jingle with churis. That sound has never sounded better to me.

“So do you,” Hani says.

I reach up to brush back a lock of her hair before leaning forward until our lips touch. Hani leans into me, and I thread my hand through her hair and—

“Ow!”

I jump back.

“Your churi …” Hani says.

My bangles are caught in the strands of her hair. I lean forward, trying to unclasp the churi.

“Bengali clothes are really not designed for kissing, are they?” I sigh. This isn’t the first time we’ve been caught up in each other awkwardly while wearing Desi clothes. You would think we’d learn by now, but I suppose we’re determined.

“How does Bollywood make it looks so effortlessly romantic?” Hani asks, pulling at the threads of her hair.

“I guess we’re no Deepika and Ranveer, huh?” I sigh.

Thankfully, we don’t have to be a Deepika and Ranveer to take a picture together in front of the stage we decorated. A photo where we’re pressed together a little too close and Hani is kissing my cheek. After all of our old fake photos together, we’ve gotten pretty good at taking the cheesiest real couple photos together.

Nik’s guests start pouring in by seven o’clock. They’re mostly her friends from university, but also a few friends from outside university. They ooh and aah at the décor, and I can’t help but feel pleased that the three of us have pulled this all off in just a few hours.

When Nik comes out of her bedroom, dressed in a bright yellow salwar kameez that makes her glow, the room descends into silence. She blushes a pretty pink and comes over to greet everyone and give them huge hugs and thank them for coming.

“Okay, okay.” I step in when the hugging has gone on for a bit too long. “We need to get started. Come on, Nik. Up on stage.” I guide Nik onto the mattress. Someone dims the light, and a kind of fairytale glow descends onto the room. The music comes on, and the speakers begin to thump out a Bollywood song: “Mehndi Laga Ke Rakhna.” I can’t help the grin on my face—Hani couldn’t have chosen a more perfect song to start off the evening.

It’s not until hours later that I finally manage to find my way back to Hani. She’s standing at the edge of the room, leaning against the wall, watching as Nik’s friends dance to “Bole Chudiyan.”

“Hey,” Hani says, resting her head on my shoulder as I wrap an arm around her waist.

“This is nice, huh?”

“It is. Nik looks … happy.”

I watch Nik smiling and laughing with her friends. She looks happier than I have seen her in a long time. I just wish Ammu and Abbu were here to see this too.

“This has been a tough few months for her,” I say in a low voice. “I just … wish I could have convinced Ammu and Abbu to come, you know?”

Hani picks her head up off my shoulder and turns to me with a frown. “You’re not allowed to think about that stuff today,” she says. “Or … well, for this entire trip. We’re here to celebrate your sister and her wedding. Not to think about all the stuff that’s gone wrong.”

“I just—”

“Shh.” Hani reaches up her finger and presses it against my lips. “It’s easy to get caught up on the negative stuff. But this. This is a good day. We deserve to enjoy it.”

“You’re right.” I nod, because she is. We do deserve to enjoy this day. Hani slips her fingers into mine and, for the umpteenth time, I’m surprised at all of the ways the two of us fit together. All the ways I never expected us to fit together in a million years. “I’m glad you’re here to share it all with me.”