Sagar doesn't know German. But now, if someone scolds him in that language, he'd confess everything. He's not good at this like he guessed.

On the other hand, Bhumika is fearless. She's taking gifts, posing for pictures and stepping on his feet every two minutes.

The reception started at sharp eight p.m. Dreading and sweating, Sagar walked onto the dais and settled in the cushion chairs as if someone's pointing a gun at his head.

"Can you Scooch to your right?" The cameraman gestures to him.

That man is supposed to record everything about his perfect wedding. Now, he's just irritating the life out of him.

Sagar moves left, but Bhumi grabs him by his hand. "He said to the right," she says and drags him to her.

He grunts at the closeness between them.

A family stands on both sides of them, posing with the gift they brought to the wedding.

"That's perfect," yells the cameraman and the family steps down.

Sagar exhales and sits in his chair. His charcoal grey suit is taut, tugging his shoulders down every time he sits. It was comfortable when he tried it in the shop. He remembers it well since Sakuni and he wore the suits, posing as MI6 spies in the mirrors.

"Why are you so grumpy?" Bhumi asks, settling down.

"I'm sorry if I'm not happy with my fake reception."

She whispers. "It's not fake. The arena is jam-packed. No chair is empty. It's happening now."

"Still, I know. It is fake. So, stop manipulating me into thinking it's not."

Bhumika opens her mouth to say something, but he clicks his tongue and looks away. She's hopeless anyway.

Sakuni is nowhere to be found. Sagar pictures his best friend strolling between dinner tables, insisting guests eat a bit more. He could use him right now; he can use a scolding or a smack to keep it together.

"That's the last." The cameraman sets his equipment down and switches off the yellow light that's been blinding Sagar for a while now.

Then he walks forward and says, "You guys rest for ten minutes. Then I'd take a few more shots and be done with the reception."

The couple nods and rests back in their chairs, pressing their cheeks for smiling nonstop.

"Thank you for going through with this," Bhumi says, turning to him.

Sagar purses his lips and nods. He is out of options and words.

Someone walks to them, holding a tray and offers the couple a drink. One of her aunts asks them to share the same glass, but he swiftly grabs one for himself. He can't afford cliches now.

He sees his parents standing at the entrance, shaking hands and thanking the people for coming. His father is wearing a white silk shirt. His mother's neck is gleaming under the diamond necklace. That's why his maternal aunt is standing behind them, smiling along and monitoring the necklace.

Bhumika's father is roaming the place, talking to his guests and making sure no one's left out. He wears a plain green coloured shirt as if he's not an important person in the ceremony.

It's all feeling too real to mess it up. Everyone looks so happy. What a shit show this place becomes in an hour!

"Is there no other way?" He mumbles.

Bhumika swallows a mouthful and says, "What do you mean?"

"Any option other than hurting all these people, I'd take it. We can always prefer divorce."

She shakes her head. "That's too risky. And too far away."

"Why didn't you tell your father?" He's losing his patience for every reason she gives.

"You think I didn't? I found a flaw in every guy he set me up with. But you came along, Mr Perfect, and I got nothing. Still, I said I don't want to marry."

Bhumika stops and takes another two sips of her drink.

"What did he say? Don't stop the story in the middle."

"He said he'd drink the phenyl if I don't marry you."

Sagar exhales. "Phenyl drinking batch, huh? I rest my case."

Then he says again, "Won't he drink that if you run away?"

That seemed like a good question. He doesn't want a dead body on his conscience for helping this girl.

"All my aunts said that he used the same dialogue for several situations in his life," Bhumika says, her eyes beaming for the weakness she found in her father.

"You don't change your mind now. We agreed only for the reception."

Sagar scoffs. "That's easy for you to say."

"What do you mean?" She bends to him.

"I mean," he says, eyeing around. "It's a grand waste. All of this."

"Don't you worry about it?" Bhumika gulps the last of her drink. He didn't even touch his. "It's my father that's paying for all of this."

"I think you still live in the '90s. We are sharing the bill. For everything. I spent a fortune on this wedding."

Bhumika takes a minute and asks, "How much?"

"What?"

She sits straight. "How much did you spend? I'd phonepe you once I get this month's salary."

He blinks at her, surprised by how her tone has changed. But he doesn't hold back as his mind races with numbers. He's losing her. There's no shame in getting the money back.

Bhumika takes a few extra breaths like it's a chore.

"Two lakhs," he says.

Bhumika freezes. She doesn't move, and her earrings gently move for the sudden stop of the breathing.

"Are you making it up?"

Sagar throws back his neck, offended. "Who do you think you are?"

"I need more details. I will not spend it because you said so."

He clenches his teeth, putting his drink on the floor behind the chair and says, "I'll give you a damn list."

"We shared one-fourth of the bill of this venue. I took care of the lighting and decorations on the dais." Bhumika lifts her head and looks around. He finds it selfish of her for not checking her surroundings until now. He continues, "I brought the chef to cook, and I paid for him."

Sagar opens his mouth again. But meanwhile, Sakuni walks in front of them, asking if they want to eat. His voice breaks the tension amidst them.

Of course, Sagar is famished. However, this wedding isn't happening to starve him all night. Hunger can wait.

"Sakuni," Sagar calls. "How much did we pay that chef?"

His best friend gives him a calculated look and says, "First, don't call that idiot a chef. I dragged his drunken ass from Gandhi Nagar Second Street because you said he's underrated. He cooked alright but passed out on vodka the next second. Now, who'll drop him back?"

Sagar shuts his eyes and massages his forehead. He can hear Bhumi giggle with a hand across her mouth. Not once during this wedding preparation did Sakuni answer straight. How did he expect that to change?

"How much did we pay him?" Sagar asks again.

"I paid him 5k upfront. We still gotta give 5k."

"Thank you."

Sakuni rubs his hands together. "So, no dinner for you both?"

They both nod, and he leaves. His absence brings the uneasiness back. Sagar adjusts on his chair; the cushion feels rougher on his skin.

"And my mother bought the golden thread for the Mangalsutram." Sagar drops the last detail.

Bhumika nods diligently, running a finger down her right cheek. "That's a lot."

"I'm glad you realised."

"Don't you think it's odd asking the girl that's running away from the home to pay two lakhs?" Bhumika asks, swallowing half of her words.

Sagar shakes his head. "You offered, remember?"

"I thought you'd decline. How will I know you'd be this inconsiderate?"

A current of anger flows through Sagar. Hair on his skin stands, ordering him to stand up for himself. And he does.

"Inconsiderate?" He knows he isn't whispering anymore. He doesn't want to. "I'm the one who agreed to this stupid agreement. I was the one who arranged all those meetings thinking you'd share your feelings about this wedding." Bhumika gestures to him to calm down, checking if anyone's listening. "I'm the one who's being mature. I . . . I fell for you for the minute I saw you."

Her forehead creases. "All of this since I'm pretty?"

"Don't you dare go feministic on my feelings. You aren't the prettiest girl on the earth. But I felt like I could share my life with you. Every time we met, I came prepared. What do you like to eat? What places do you prefer?"

They don't even notice the cameraman coming back to his position, adjusting the lenses.

Sagar turns toward her. In all this drama, he forgot to look at her. Her eyeliner extends onto her face like a feather. The dot of Kajal on her cheek grabs his attention, drawing his tears out. She's supposed to be the one.

Now, he takes one glimpse at her and he's free. Free to accept this hurt. He can grieve over it. No more half-beliefs that she'd change her mind.

"Do you even know me? A single thing? Have you ever tried to know about me? I spent too much time with someone who only thinks of herself. But I guess you should realize that I'm here because I loved you. I did, even when you had a ladder against the wall, wanting to escape."

Then he leaves the dais. As far away from her as he can. He pays no ear to the calls of the cameraman. His feet falter. And he hardly can see anything, given his tears are almost out.

Bhumika is alone in the camera's frame. The yellow light is back on her clueless face. Even her avocado-toast shade of lipstick doesn't hide the quiver in her lower lip.

#####

Thank you for reading the third part. What do you think is going to happen?

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