"Ma! Zara idhar aana!" Faajal called out, holding the failed pleats in her hand. She had been accustomed to carrying sarees in movies and theatres, but wearing it? She had no experience. Firstly, it felt smooth like penning shayaris until she inserted her hands in.

She swirled to uncoil the saree off her. Gurbani came in. "Maine tujhe pehle hi kaha tha. Sikhle phir koshish kar."

"Ma, abh iss lecture fecture ka time nahi hain. Dekho zara woh aajayega!" Faajal whimpered. Gurbani tucked the saree in her petticoat and folded the pallus rapidly. Her swiftness and impeccable scaling stirred Faajal. Had she also possessed this speed!

Gurbani wrapped the pallu around Faajal's chest, letting the end dangle loosely on her back. She folded 5 bleats of equal length and shoved those in Faajal's petticoat. Attaching safety pins and smoothening the creases, Gurbani dragged Faajal before the mirror. "Haye, meri gudiya." She cooed. Faajal couldn't deny the cotton saree looked fascinating on her. She had purchased it last year— a pale white base with embroidered red hibiscuses gracing the blank backdrop and minimal red patterns imprinted on border. 

Faajal combed her curls, letting them flutter loose and headed outside to find the gateway empty. He was supposed to stop here by now. Dusk would need no time to approach and welcome darkness. If they belated, the chance to delight the occasion in the afternoon would slip out. The adorned stalls formed a bewitching sight with the backdrop of the afternoon.

10 minutes passed but he didn't arrive Faajal was to phone him when a roar thrummed in her back. "OYE!"

"Itni der?" She snapped, squeezing her brows together.

"Itna bhir laga tha aur rickshaw nahi mil rahi thi." He offered a hand from the rickshaw. She clutched it to clamber but the coils of saree around her legs prevented from doing so. Gurbani fronted for help. "Maaze karna thik hain, par sambhal ke rehna."

"Aunty ji, aapke iss nadaan beti ko main sambhal lunga." Yusuf convinced before their course to the fair commenced.

"So, my mehbooba, how are you feeling riding with your sajan?" He suspended a fist before her mouth, imitating a news reporter.

"Not bad. But, I am scared too." She spoke amid the constant jerks.

"Why?" He frowned.

"Because wearing a saree is as dangerous as denying baba in his face. I am afraid it may mess up anytime."

"We men have an advantage in this. Just slip into pants and a shirt, and done! And you–" His speech was cut off by the abrupt lurch that sent them off their seats for a brief moment. Faajal seized his wrist to steady herself. Retrieving balance, he aligned his left arm with her waist and wound her firm. Bolts electrocuted her veins from head to toe. Even after years of togetherness, his touches, his smell, his spell were complicated to cope with. A vivid rose pink dusted her cheeks.

She wreathed her fingers with his and kept them on her lap, rolling gentle strokes. They advanced through the uneven roads, enduring continuous jerks.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

When they finally reached the spot, a sober blend of pink and violet had scattered above. Fairy lights strung atop the stalls blinked against the subdued backdrop of dusk, setting a pale glow on their faces.

They showed their tickets to the guard positioned at the entrance and entered the enormous gathering, buzzing with people chattering, children bustling around and sellers negotiating.

A turban-wrapped boy jumped in front, rings of chameli dangling in his clutch. "Chameli loge?"

"Kitne ka hain?" Faajal asked.

"1 anna,"

"2 dedo, chhote pa'aji." She smiled and received the fragrant bands in exchange for 2 coins. She slid one into Yusuf's wrist and another through hers. "Pehla tawfa mereko hi mila? Accha hain." Yusuf snickered.

"Aise hi bane raho, aapko milta rahega, mere rangrez." She winked.

He arched a brow. "Itne dinon ke baad mujhe bhi ek naam mil gaya. Vaise yeh naam kyu diya?

"Agar khopri hain toh samajhle." She jeered.

He was to retort but an intense scent claimed their attention. Malai chai. They galloped toward its source, unable to resist the temptation. Recognizing the stall where the fragrance swirled from, one thing was clear: they had to wait an eternity to savour this. A relentless mass stirred before the stall, striking their demands, tiding on each other.

"I shall go." Yusuf kept her aside and strode in the crowd. Two was better than one. Faajal also slid through the merciless feet, fighting with tramples and functioning her breathing amid the clashing bodies. She slithered her way forward when a call pierced in. "I told you not to move, Faajal." Yusuf groaned from the slit between two Pathan males.

"Don't worry, you just try to squeeze forward." She cried.

After 15 minutes of wrestling, they collected 2 cups. "It felt like surviving in Jehennam." Yusuf exhaled with relief. They took sips of malai chai. Seamless sugar with a thick blend of skimmed milk. One sip was enough to ease out tension, cooling the mind with a healing spell. They clinked their earthenware cups and downed the rest.

At a far corner, a woman was selling craft supplies. They drifted to the stall where canvases of different sizes were displayed across the fabric walls. Paintbrushes, pencils, pottery tools and other crafting tools laid in front. Yusuf's face kindled in an instant. He scrambled near and eyed the pieces of equipment.

His attention fell on the paint bottles of varied shades. "You want those?" Faajal jostled his arm. "Let me check." He clasped a bottle of baby pink tint and assessed it, lifting it against her cheek. His eyes narrowed as she shifted, tentative of his intention.

"Hmm, that's good." He muttered to himself and gathered hues of the same range. "What are you thinking?" Faajal finally disclosed her curiosity as he scrutinised a shade of brown with her hair. "About a portrait I will make. You know, precision is important in shading a painting."

He purchased a load of 8 paint bottles, 3 brushes and a moderate-sized canvas. "It's been years but you haven't taught me painting yet." Faajal sulked, recalling her earlier request. "I don't kind teaching, but a student like you requires special guidance and enough forbearance to tolerate you. I don't have it."

"What did you say?" She grunted, tucking her fists on her waist when her pallu glided off.

"Manage your honour first, mehbooba." He tittered, correcting her pallu. "Then, fight." He started walking ahead, whistling in blatant disregard. She shoved a rim of pallu in her blouse and stomped along, steaming in mock rage. You will pay for this–she hissed in mind.

Besides the food corner, rides were installed, amusing spectators with their vibrant exteriors and joyful functions. The most enthralling one was the Ferris Wheek Faajal experienced twice in her life; both in her native village. Those Ferris Wheels were ants compared to this—so gigantic that the person swinging topmost seemed like a dot. "Hey! Let's try this one!" Faajal shrieked. The sheen of his face dimmed instantly. His lips wobbled to answer but paused.

"Are you scared of this?" Faajal probed. "It's nothing just, a spin or two. You'll enjoy it!" She bounced on her feet. Yusuf cast an unnerved smile, but the lingering tension stirred Faajal. "Just hold my hand and close your eyes. It'll be a great moment, I swear! I also used to be frightened of this." She raced to the ticket counter, dragging him along and grabbed two seats. Entangling their fingers together, she asked him to inhale coolly and drop his eyelids. When the Ferris Wheel squeaked to life, Faajal also closed her eyes.

The speed was controlled at first, but soon, it quickened to slam wind on their faces. Barely able to breathe midair, a frenzied holler left her mouth followed by his anxious one. Their grip strengthened as the pace oscillated. When their seats peaked, she felt like sailing in the bare sky, toward the dazzling orb in the heavens, toward the gleaming freckles of the universe.

The wheel reeled thrice perhaps before lastly screeching to the end. Faajal and Yusuf touched ground. "How was it?" She chuckled with short exhales.

"Terrifying at first, but good." He wiped his sleek temple. Beads of sweat streamed down his hairline.

"We'll ride on this one every week. What do you think?" She grinned, struggling to hide her laughter. He fired her a look, sharp and disdainful that would be fresh forever in her memory. "Awe, afraid already? Don't worry, it happens. Admit that you are a little ba–"

He didn't react. His focus was oriented to a stall afar. A smirk edged the side of his mouth. "Want a contest, then? Let's find out who's a baby." He imitated her baby voice and they dashed to the stall he had pointed. Golgappa van.

They occupied two stools, face to face. "Owh, now you want to beat me in this? How many times will you get yourself embarrassed, Yusuf?" Faajal tucked her aanchal inside the petticoat, throwing him a challenging eye. He traded her look, folding up the sleeves of his shirt.

"Bolo kya chahiye? Bombay mirchi, imlee, mitha ras yah normal waala?" A tuban-headed waiter boy approached.

Faajal stole a glimpse of him and dared, "Bombay mirchi." She rolled her eyes, wearing a blatant smile. She was accustomed to spices since birth and entering adolescence, chillies were regular additions to her meals.

"Kitne plate?"

"Oye chhote pa'aji, bas tum laate raho. Aaj," Yusuf eyed her from the corner before snapping his finger confidently. "No limit!"

"Whoever gobbles the most will be the winner and the loser has to give him a treat of rasgullas tomorrow." Yusuf declared. His confidence was praiseworthy but Faajal's self-belief overshadowed his boasting.

A minute later, the boy brought in two small plates consisting of 5 golgappas. Faajal drew in a lungful of air before dunking her hands in the first take. By the time, she swallowed the first one, he chewed on his second one. Quicken, Faajal!

She left the second golgappa unchewed and gobbled. Their paces almost matched, but her goal was to outpace him. They emptied the first plates simultaneously. When the second batch was presented, Faajal took the lead. He furiously dipped his golgappas in the flavoured water provided and mouthed two together.

Finishing the second plate, her stomach was already stuffed with 10 golgappas. She let out a burp, oblivious to mannerisms and fetched another plate. Now, he snatched the head place. Faajal inserted each spontaneously in her mouth, her stomach already clenching. He completed the third round when she had two left to finish.

"Aur chahiye?" The waiter boy gasped.

They nodded, exchanging poking glares. Faajal wondered if the 4th round was too heavy for her uncomfortably swollen stomach. The saree even felt tight around her abdomen, but she accepted. She couldn't spare him to feast on rasgullas alone.

She steeped a golgappa in flavoured water, letting the ball thin down and downed in one swallow. She lifted another to her mouth, but the urge to stop provoked her. The snack she had admired minutes ago lost its attraction. She no longer wanted to challenge him.

He gobbled the last one of his plate when she accepted defeat. "Kaal phir rasgulle pakka?!" He stood on his seat, flexing his arms. "OYE HOYE!"

She slumped on the table, weary of constant eating. If she hadn't taken tea, perhaps her winning could have gained more possibility. But, she was appeased witnessing his contentment.

Night dominated the sky. Stalls started to wrap up, the fairy lights flicked off. Searching for a rickshaw, Yusuf and Faajal scuffled on the footpath, tedious by their bloated stomachs. Suddenly, a rickshaw gushed aside. "RICKSHAW!" Faajal yelled, waving her hand. They trotted behind despite the clench in their bellies. "Rickshaw!" They cried together till the rickshaw halted. They mounted on, passing addresses and the driver motioned further.

Tonight, the moon emanated its brightest aura, or she presumed. When we share moments with our beloved, meagre sights seem clad in splendour. She wished the night never ended, it stretched as long as an eternity, till she set free her final breath. 

A/N: I know! Quick update, right?! Well, brace yourself for some storms though. Because thunders will be bolting in our Yusuf and Faajal's lives. By the way, suggest me a jumble name for them, pretty people. 

FaaYus or FaaSuf or Yujaal? 

Let me know, immediately!