Not a Stranger (2)

The rain had been falling since evening, steady and unhurried, turning the drive of Saffron Palms into a mirror of puddles and light. Inside, though, it felt far from damp. The venue glowed. Strings of bulbs reflected in every wet surface, the air heavy with smoke from the tandoor counters, and the chatter of relatives rising like waves against the roof.

I moved through it easily, nodding to faces I had known for years. This wasn't the kind of wedding where one could stand aside unnoticed. Families overlapped, voices pulled you into conversation, cousins dragged you toward the food counter. A samosa disappeared from my plate, a cousin smirked, and a moment later spilled chutney down his kurta, his mother's glare following him across the lawn.

Near the gate, an aunty shifted restlessly, her eyes fixed on the entrance. I brought her a paper cup of sweet corn, steam rising between us. She smiled absently, already turning back to wait for the groom's arrival.

The magician had drawn a crowd in the corner. Children ringed him, squealing as balloons twisted into swords, flowers, dogs. Coins vanished into sleeves and reappeared behind ears. Even the older cousins clapped, and for a while, I clapped too.

Later, I slipped into the bride’s room. She was surrounded by her friends, adjusting dupattas, fastening jewelry, their voices a rush of excitement. She looked radiant, a little weary, but happy.

“Just one picture,” I said, lifting my phone. “I’ll tag you on Instagram. Who knows, maybe it’ll improve my own marriage prospects.”

Her friends laughed, and she shook her head, smiling. I clicked the photo and left them to their world.

Outside, the music tested itself. The DJ let out small bursts of beats, but the dance floor remained empty. Guests clustered near the food stalls instead, children darted between legs, and rainwater slid off the tarpaulin roof in clear sheets.

And then the music changed. The dhols struck deeper. Horns cut through the rain. The baarat had arrived.

People surged toward the entrance, umbrellas colliding, voices rising in cheer. I went too, caught up in the tide.

That was when my chest tightened. A quickening in my pulse, sharp and restless. The kind of racing that once had a reason.

I laughed it off, clapped along as the groom’s friends stamped their shoes into the wet ground, the rain making their joy wild. The dance floor came alive, taken over completely by their side.

But my eyes kept drifting back. To the gate. To each new guest pushing past the umbrellas, shaking off the rain.

Slowly, I understood.

Another night, another wedding. The same rush of music, the same restless noise. And her, walking in with the baarat once before, dancing as if the night belonged to her, carrying a kind of calm inside the storm. That moment had steadied my heart then, without her ever knowing.

Now, the habit returned. At every opening of the gate, I looked again. Not really expecting her. Just chasing the echo of that impossible stillness.

The rain thickened, drumming steady against the roof. Inside, the celebration only grew. Children splashed in puddles. A cousin pulled me toward the chaat stall where the papdi was already running low. Uncles cheered over the dhol, stamping in rhythm, their shoes sliding dangerously across the wet floor. Waiters weaved through it all with trays of juice, spilling drops as they moved.

And still, in the spaces between laughter, between the beats of the dhol, I searched the gate. A habit now, nothing more.

When the bride finally stepped out, her veil shimmered under the fairy lights. Applause rose around her, louder than the rain, cameras flashing from every corner. She was radiant, and for a while the night was only hers. I clapped until my palms stung, shouted her name with the cousins, smiled at the way she glowed.

For a moment, I was just another guest in the crowd.

And yet, as the cheers faded into new songs, as the families blended into dance and food, the ache remained. Quiet, familiar, stitched somewhere inside the noise. My eyes slipped once more to the gate, found nothing.

The wedding carried on, bright and beautiful. The rain fell without pause. Everything was perfect.

I smiled, blended into it all. But somewhere underneath, a part of me still waited, not for her, but for that impossible calm she had once carried into the chaos.