I frown as I watch Afshi throw an orange dupatta with gold embroidery over the drawing room sofa. "Is all this necessary?"

Afshi gives me a look and says, "Yes, it is most definitely necessary. You're only getting married once."

"Not if I can help it," I scoff under my breath.

"Plus, you have to give everyone a false sense of pure happiness, otherwise log kya kahenge?" She puts down the golden thali filled with ubtan she had in her hands and wiggles her fingers at me spookily as she says that wretched phrase I hate so much. "I know this isn't the most ideal situation, but why not make the most of it? Prince Rafay is paying for everything, you might as well empty out his vault."

"Money doesn't buy you happiness," I remind her.

"Well, in this case, it does," she counters back. I roll my eyes at her and go to the kitchen to make myself a cup of chai.

It is crazy to think how much my life has changed in the past two weeks. My father had agreed to the terms of his verdict, and within hours, wedding preparations had started. Dress fittings and beauty parlor appointments were scheduled for every day. I'm sure I still have pins in places they shouldn't be.

In an effort to protect my father from any further damage to his reputation, Afshi had insisted I have a proper Surajistani wedding to deter people from their prying questions as to why the prince suddenly chose me as his bride.

Which brings me back to today: my Haldi. The house was decked out in yellow and orange decorations, and not a single surface in the house was left free of flowers, candles, or thalis.

"It looks good," I begrudgingly confess to Afshi. I regret it instantly.

"What was that? Could you say it a little louder, I couldn't hear you over the sound of the amazing musician I arranged for," she says smugly. "Admit it, I'm a genius and you're blessed to have a cousin like me."

"A sister," I correct her.

I see her eyes water, but in an effort to hide her tears from me, she starts pushing me down the hallway to my room. "Stop being sentimental, it's already hard enough planning your wedding knowing I'm never going to see you again."

"Oh, don't be dramatic," I say, giving her a look. "I'm sure I can come visit. Rafay can't keep me locked up."

"Prince Rafay to you, and how do you know that? What if he does keep you locked up? What if he uses black magic and turns you into a dancing peacock?" She says in a frenzied way, throwing her arms into the air.

"Afshi, please," I say alarmingly. "First of all, he's not a prince to me. He lost the respect that comes with that title when he forced me into marriage. Second, where did your optimism go? Did you leave it at the door when you came in?"

"I know, I'm sorry. I just don't think I can lose anyone else after Mama, Baba, and Sofyana," she whispers, her face grief stricken.

I pull her into a hug. "I'm not going anywhere. Even if I become a dancing peacock, I'll still be here. You know, maybe I could ask Rafay to turn you into a peacock too. We could start a traveling circus and become rich and famous," I tell her in an effort to cheer her up.

"Yeah, forget medical school! It doesn't matter that our parents threw their life's savings into our education," she laughs, the unshed tears long gone from her eyes. "Come on, let's get you ready."

* * * * *

I weave the last sprigs of yellow carnations into my dense braid and pin my yellow dupatta onto the crown of my head like a veil. I stand back to look in the full-length mirror one last time.

It almost hurts how much I resemble my mother. Thick, waist-length, jet-black hair and big, doll-like brown eyes. We were identical down to the shape of our noses. The only trait I inherited from Abbu was my golden-tan skin.

My eyes fall to the broken picture frame on my dresser. Abbu, Ammi, Raza, and I are linked at the arms, all of us with huge smiles full of laughter. It was the last picture we ever took as a family. I was about twenty-two, so it was right before the war. We had gone to Roshni Beach because my parents had a day off from the hospital. The weather was unusually beautiful, as opposed to the typical sweltering heat that plagued Surajistan. It was, what most people would call, a perfect day.

"Roosa, are you ready?" Afshi asks, breaking me out of my stupor.

"Yeah, just give me one moment, please," I say over my shoulder.

I turn back to the picture just as the door shuts. "Ammi, Raza, I wish you both were here for this. Even if this isn't the most ideal situation, it still doesn't feel the same without you two."

"Mahroosa!" my father yells down the hall, interrupting our talk. "Your friends are waiting!"

"Coming!" I yell back. I smooth out my yellow anarkali and recenter the floral teekah on my forehead before heading out of my bedroom.

As I enter the drawing room, I'm showered in gulabi rose petals. I look around the room and see my closest friends all holding colorful thali trays with various assortments of mithai, mehndi, and ubtan. Almost everyone has a big smile on his or her face and is completely unaware of my appalling situation. Of course, there are a few people with pitying looks.

Poor girl, they're probably thinking, she has to spend the rest of her life with a monster.

I take a deep breath in and put on a warm smile. "Thank you all so much for coming, it means the world to me that I am surrounded by people I love and trust on this happy occasion."

I take care not to falter on those last two words.

Just as I finish greeting the last person, Abbu announces that food is ready. Everyone rushes to the dining room in hopes of being first in line. I start to follow, but I feel a tap on my shoulder.

"Can we talk for a moment?" Zohair asks.

Please, no. Not this. Not now. It's almost as if I can read his mind, and I'm not sure I want this conversation to take place.

"Actually, I was going to get—" I start, turning my body in the direction of the dining room.

"It'll only take a minute," he insists.

I look at him warily and let out a small sigh, gesturing to Abbu's empty office.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, after I shut the door, avoiding his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He demands, forcing me to lock gazes with him. "Why did I find out about your wedding from a random third-year who was gossiping to her friends about how lucky you are to be marrying royalty? Did it not occur to you that maybe you should tell your closest childhood friend?"

What he doesn't know is that I hadn't told anyone, because I didn't want people inquiring about the sudden nature of my nuptials. The prince had sent a letter earlier this month stating that it was probably in our best interests if we didn't tell anyone about the bazaar incident or the terms of my father's punishment. Abbu, Afshi, and I had agreed. My father was a well-respected man in my community, and I didn't want his minuscule lapse in judgment to affect his status.

Afshi had some invitations made to bring some normalcy into this bizarre situation, and the distribution of those is what notified everyone of my wedding. The story we were telling everyone was that my mother was the late Queen Tania's physician, and that Prince Rafay had taken a liking to me the one time I had accompanied my mother on her routine visits.

A complete lie. But no one needs to know that.

I stay silent for a moment, trying to think of a passable excuse. "I'm sorry," I say after failing to come up with a rational explanation.

"I'm sorry? That's the best you could think of?" He says angrily, his hazel eyes flaring. Hurt is written all over his face. I reach out to touch his arm to calm him down but he pushes me away.

"I don't know what else to say," I say exasperatedly.

"I've been in love with you for two years, and don't say you didn't know that, because I know you do. There can't have been a more obvious person in the world than me. If I had known you were open to marriage, I would have proposed!"

A small jolt goes through me as he says words no one has ever spoken to me. Although I have never liked Zohair as more than a good friend, it disheartens me that I would never have the freedom to meet the love of my life on my own.

I try to comfort him as he sits down in Abbu's armchair behind the desk. Medical books are scattered all over the top, evidence of my rummaging two days prior to my Haldi. "Zohair, you know I've never had feelings for you," I reason with him softly.

"You probably don't have feelings for the Prince, either," he says sourly.

"That's not true," I say through my teeth, the lie physically causing a pang in my chest. "I wouldn't be marrying him if I didn't like him."

"It doesn't matter," he says dismissively. "The point is, you never gave me a chance. Maybe you could have developed feelings along the way, but I guess we'll never know because you're running off like some desperate materialistic tramp to the first guy who proposes to you."

"Zohair, stop it." I glare at him. "You have no idea why I'm marrying him."

"Oh yeah?" Zohair challenges. "Enlighten me."

"I—," I stop, not wanting to give away the real reason. "He's a good man," I lie.

"Right," he scoffs, "Because raping women, stealing from market owners, and beheading criminals makes him a good man. You really know how to pick them."

His sharp words cut slashes in my chest. I back away in disbelief, not recognizing the man who stands in front of me.

"I'm not sure what you were hoping to accomplish with such harsh words, but you definitely succeeded in tarnishing our friendship," I leave the room anger and hurt swirling in my heart, but not before turning back and adding, "I forgive you for insinuating that I'm a money-hungry prostitute, and you're welcome to stay for the rasm, but if you speak to me like that again, I will ignore you for the rest of time."

I make my way back into the drawing room and see that everyone has finished eating dinner. I hadn't realized that I was gone for that long.

I make my way over to the main decorated sofa and sit down on it, playing the part of a happy, blushing, bride-to-be. My friends instantly surround me, wanting the details of the Prince and I's love story, the details of my wedding dress, and where I would be going for my honeymoon. My head begins to hurt with the amount of lies I'm telling.

As the night goes on and the rasm begins, I try not to think of my argument with Zohair, but it's impossible to keep his nasty accusations out of my thoughts.

Zohair and I were neighbors all throughout primary school and briefly in secondary school. We used to walk to and from the school grounds together everyday, until I moved to another sector three blocks over. We would sit next to each other in class and always pair up for projects. He was my best friend well before Afshi.

After I moved to my new house, I started attending a different secondary school and we began to drift apart. When we reunited in Rashid Jahan Medical College, it wasn't the same. At first, I was ecstatic that we were attending the same school again, but as the years went on, it became painfully obvious that Zohair wanted to be more than just friends.

Afshi smears ubtan all over my face, which brings me out of my daze. "You need to look as radiant as the sun Surajistan was named after."

"No thank you," I say, wrinkling my nose as the smell of turmeric hits me. "I think I'm content with looking dull."

"Nonsense! Here, have some mithai." She shoves a piece of gulab jamun in my mouth to cease my complaining.

I sigh and lean back on the couch, knowing well enough that there is no point in arguing with her. She finishes plastering on the ubtan and begins to apply mehndi on my hands in intricate designs.

"Why'd Zohair leave?" she asks quietly under her breath as she leans over my hand to finish the pattern.

"I'll tell you later," I reply just as quietly. I look around the room and see that she's right. Zohair wasn't anywhere to be seen. My heart sinks, knowing I have just lost a really good friend. 

Words to be Defined

Log kya kahenge - what will people say?

Drawing room - formal living room

Thali - round platter tray used in the Indian subcontinent (could be used for food or as decor)

Ubtan - a face mask made from different types of flour, turmeric, rose water, milk, etc. (used for eliminating scars, blemishes, dullness, pimples, etc. Gives the skin a natural glow)

Haldi - the actual term means turmeric, but in South Asia, it's a traditional ceremony prior to the wedding day where the ubtan or a haldi paste is applied to the bride's face. It is meant to make her skin look radiant on her wedding day. (It is also done on the groom's side, but in his own house)

Anarkali - a frock-style South Asian traditional dress

Tikka - (pronounced tee-kah) a piece of South Asian bridal jewelry that is pinned down the middle hair parting and set on the bride's forehead

Gulabi - pink

Mithai - a type of South Asian sweet

Mehndi - henna

Rasm - a tradition

Gulab jamun - a type of mithai (a milk-solid-based sweet coated in syrup)