Imlie watched with a smug look as she defeated The Aryan Singh Rathore, at least in one challenge. She knew that this whole wedding was a revenge plan for him, and he had issued her a challenge of trying to stop the functions leading to the wedding, and the wedding itself. He had been winning.
He’s always winning.
So Imlie tried to step back, tried to think of a way to defeat him, she thought of how she could win just one challenge. The only way to win that came to her was to lose first and then claim her win.
So she did this Mehendi Kaandh, and voila, here she is, a clear winner of the unspoken challenge between them. She had managed to stop his name from getting on her hand. She had managed to stop one lie from colouring her hands.
One lie from colouring her life.
She grinned at him, quite evilly if she could say so, though it mostly looked cute on her. Aryan was surprised nonetheless. She was smart, he always knew, but he was underestimating how much she wanted to win.
And win she had, fair and square.
He knew the moment her Mehendi was displayed that she was playing him, he just didn’t know how. But he was impressed. She seemed capable enough to use her brain, at least sometimes.
Imlie turned away from him, and he caught her wrist, turning her back.
Imlie was stunned when she saw the smirk on his face. She liked that she had shocked him. But the way he was looking at her now, it seemed like he had another card up his sleeve. She was always so confused when it came to him. He was making her feel too much, too much anger, too much betrayal, too much— she didn’t recognise what he made her feel when he had won the previous challenge, but she did know she felt too much when he was around.
She exhaled, hoping against hope that this would not be like that.
That this would not be like the time he pulls her closer, says something, hides more, and then goes about, leaving her in a daze.
Aryan was satisfied with the changing emotions he could see on her face. He knew that she was feeling the same things as he was, and if he could feel unnamed feelings when he was with her, she could too.
Imlie’s eyes met his and Aryan, not one to back down even when defeated, said, “You’re right. Tum jeet gayi yeh challenge.(You’re right. You’ve won this challenge.)”
Aryan watched as she grinned again, the one he found so cute, and continued, “But main bhi haara nahi hun Imlie.(But I’ve also managed to not lose Imlie.)”
Her cute little doe eyes were confused and there was a pinch between her eyebrows as she looked at him. He smiled, and answered her unasked questions, “Yeh kahi nahi likha ke Mehendi sirf ladkiyan lagaati hai.(It’s written nowhere that only the girls are allowed to put on Mehendi.)”
Imlie. irritated at his jumbled exclamations, asked, “Kaa kahat ho ABP?(What are you saying ABP?)”
Aryan grinned and showed her his other hand. The one with her name on it, the Mehendi dried and stuck on his hand, because his sister had dabbed the lemon and sugar mix on it. She had smirked when she had seen it, calling him a closet romantic. At that time, he had been thinking that if Imlie had to go through this, then he should too. They were partners after all.
Now he was glad he did it.
Imlie looked at his hand, and then at him.
She was shocked.
He had completed the ritual.
When she had not.
Her surprise at his hand made him bask in the victory he had achieved.
He watched as she stumbled over words, “Ee— Ee kaa konu matlab— Tumka kaa laagat hai ki— Lehki ke haath maan Mehendi hoye ke padi hai. Tohar Mehendi lagaane se kaa howat hai?(This—What is the meaning— What do you think— Mehendi is applied on the girl’s hand. What happened if you applied the Mehendi?)”
Aryan shrugged, and answered, “Kaha likha hai?(Where’s it written?)”
Imlie fumed, “Dekho ABP—(See ABP—)”
Aryan moved again, towards her, and said, “Dekho tum Imlie. Rasam puri ho gayi. Ek jann ke haath mein Mehendi lag gayi. So, bhale hi tum jeeti ho, rasam toh phir bhi puri hui.(You see Imlie. The ritual is done. One person has Mehendi on their hands. So, even if you won, the ritual is done.)”
Imlie pulled her hand from his grasp, freeing herself. Aryan didn’t say anything. He knew that she would be pondering over it for a long long time, and he wasn’t going to interrupt her.
But he could give her something more to ponder over.
He turned before leaving, her back to him, but he could see her because of the dresser. Looking at her in the mirroe, her eyes downtrodden, he stated, as matter of factly as he could, “Waise, tumhare Boss Babu sahi kehte hai.(By the way, your Boss Babu was right.)”
She turned her head slightly, her focus on him, and he continued, “Kissi cheez ko paane ke liye uske liye jagah banani padti hai.(If you have to make space for the things you desire.)”
She turned fully to face him then, and this time, meeting her eyes, he finished, “Main tumhari zindagi mein jagah nahi bana paya hun. That’s okay. But chaahe iss Mehendi kaa rang kaisa bhi aaye, gehra, halka, it doesn’t matter. What matters is ki tum meri zindagi mein apni jagah bana chuki ho.(I couldn’t make a space for myself in your life. That’s okay. But however the colour this Mehendi results in, deep, light, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you have made a space for yourself in my life.)”
Saying this, he left. He knew that she may think of what he said, and she may come to many wrong conclusions, and frankly, it was up to her. He knew she meant more to him. He knew that her life was as valuable to him as any of his family. If she couldn’t see that, she will, in time, but he would not force her to see what she doesn’t want to see.
He was already forcing her enough.
Imlie was even more confused after he left the room. How could he do this to her? Why was he making her feel these things when the only purpose of his life was his revenge? Why confuse her by saying things that made no sense with what she knew now? Was he deliberately doing this?
She huffed as she sat down on the bed.
She couldn’t believe he had written her name on his hand.
She couldn’t believe he could do something like that.
She looked at the cone of Mehendi at the dresser, and got up. Grabbing it, she pondered. If he could do this, can she not? If he could give her a place in his life, could she not?
But that wasn’t the question now, was it? He already had a place in her life. Sometimes, all she could see were his eyes, all she could hear was his voice, all she could rely on were his words, and all she could depend on was him.
What were mere letters to show his place in her life?
She looked at her colourless hands, and then she looked at the Mehendi cone in her hands.
Inhaling, deciding, she took the cone, and she spread her fingers, and right there, on the side of her ring finger, just above the ring he had placed on her finger, she spelled out his name.
Aryan.
She didn’t know whether the colour would be deep, or light. She couldn’t guess if she played right into his hands or she wanted to do this.
But she did know, if he could write her name on him because she held a place in his life, he had all but taken over her life, and the space he held in her life, a name on a hand wasn’t enough to show it.
She did lose, but she didn’t feel like it.
She felt like she won.
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