Maithili

The reporter's microphone is practically shoved under Romil's nose as he steps onto the literal red carpet in a black tux with silver daisy embellishments. Big, bold daisies. The kind that make a statement. The kind that say, I know I'm hot, but I'm also whimsical. The kind that I sketched myself and stitched on—well, helped stitch on, thanks to Sheela, who Helen Aunty swore was a miracle worker with embroidery. And she was. We transformed the no-name, slightly sad tuxedo I snagged for 500 rupees at Bapu Bazaar into something that could've come from a Paris runway.

'Mr. Jain, congratulations on the launch of Roameo's new branch here in Hyderabad. What inspired you to choose this city for expansion?' The reporter's voice rises over the relentless pop of camera flashes, each one bright enough to fry my retinas. But Romil? He doesn't even flinch. He stands there like he's carved from marble, cool and unfazed.

Romil slips one hand into his pocket, nods, and smiles brilliantly before speaking. 'Thank you, everyone, for coming and joining us in this celebration of Culture, Craft, and Creativity—three things Hyderabad embodies and what we aim to celebrate at Roameo. We've chosen this city because it perfectly blends the old and the new, much like our vision for Roameo. From the historic lanes of the Charminar to the vibrant tech scene, Hyderabad is a place where tradition meets innovation, and that's exactly what we want to do with this new location.'

'But honestly, the real reason we chose Hyderabad? Its biryani. It's the kind that makes you question every other meal you've ever had. Now, before I get accused of using biryani as a PR move,' he adds, winking at the crowd, 'I'll stop right there.'

Laughter ripples through the crowd as he grins.

'Well, no one blames you, Romil!' The reporter turns to me next, her gaze appraising my blue velvet gown with its silver daisy embellishments—just like Romil's—before finally meeting my gaze. 'And speaking of stories, Maithili, tonight also marks the official launch of Mai by Maithili. You must be thrilled! Can you tell us about the brand's essence and what inspired it?'

I lean toward the mic, nerves fluttering beneath my ribs. I let my smile grow, genuine and full of pride. 'Thank you! Well, thrilled is an understatement. Mai isn't just a label; it's a philosophy. Every piece is handcrafted, one-of-a-kind, and created with purpose. No two designs are alike, because no two people are alike.

'At its heart, Mai is about celebrating individuality and sustainability in luxury. We take what's forgotten or overlooked and transform it into something extraordinary. It's not just about fashion— It's about carrying a story of revolution, a statement of individuality, a sense of self. The collection is bold, unapologetic, and deeply personal—like tonight itself.'

I glance at Romil, who gives me the smallest nod of approval.

'Well said! And your gown tonight?' The reporter's voice lilts with curiosity.

'Custom, of course,' Romil cuts in before I can respond, his grin widening. 'The designer herself, Maithili, is wearing Mai, and I can vouch that it's not just stunning but meticulously crafted.'

The reporter's eyes gleam as she presses further. 'Romil, you're wearing Mai too, aren't you?'

He shrugs in mock modesty, adjusting the lapel of his tailored blazer. 'I'd be a fool not to. She insisted I stay in theme,' he says, glancing at me. 'And as you can see, I'm not complaining. We are matching.'

I laugh lightly, taking over. 'The menswear line is part of Mai's future plans, so Romil gets to be my guinea pig.'

'A very willing guinea pig,' he adds.

The reporter chuckles, looking genuinely impressed. 'A hotel launch and a fashion line debut at the same event. What's it like to share the spotlight with each other?'

Romil doesn't miss a beat. 'We don't share it. We just make it bigger together.'

I bite back a smile and add, 'Plus, it's easier when the spotlight's shared with someone who genuinely believes in you. He's been my loudest cheerleader since day one.'

'Well, wanted to become an assistant but cheerleader is good too...' Romil adds an inside joke and I laugh.

The reporter looks between us, clearly charmed. 'Well, congratulations to you both. Tonight's a triumph on so many levels. Hyderabad is lucky to have you.'

Romil flashes her a winning smile before we excuse ourselves and move away, blending back into the glittering crowd. He leans in, voice low enough just for me. 'How was it?'

'I don't believe I did it!' I say, throwing my hands in the air like I've just won an Oscar. 'In front of cameras, no less! It's unreal! I've only ever seen people do this at award functions on TV—wait, is that Garvit Agnihotri and Myra Singhania?' I slap his arm, like that'll help my brain process the fact that two real-life celebrities are currently breathing the same air as me.

'Yeah. They're both from Hyderabad. Come on, let's go say hi.'

Before I can protest—or even process—he grabs my hand, weaving us through the crowd with the enthusiasm of a kid showing off his secret world.

*****

Romil doesn't hear me the first time, so I tug at his sleeve and lean in, shouting over the thrum of bass, 'I'm starving.'

He glances down at me, grins, and flags over a server carrying a tray of appetizers. That's when I see her.

Sakshi.

It takes me a second to recognize her—not because she's unrecognizable, but because everything about her feels both startlingly familiar and brand new at once. Her eyes still gleam like they're seeing magic in the most ordinary things, her gummy smile as brilliant as ever, but she's grown into herself. Seven years have softened her face and curved her body. She looks radiant, healthy, her wolf-cut framing her pink cheeks and olive skin in a way that's both edgy and effortlessly her. She's wearing a black bodycon with a thigh-high slit, her hand loosely looped around the arm of a man I don't know but immediately recognize.

The guy from Tinder. Full lips. Model jaw. The one she couldn't stop talking about that day in class.

Romil holds a piece of paneer tikka in front of my mouth, and I absently open up for it, still watching her as she moves through the hall.

'Who are you staring at?' Romil follows my gaze, and the second he spots her, a grin spreads across his face. Without hesitation, he walks halfway up to her, waving her down.

She lights up like a sparkler, whispers something to her guy, and makes a beeline for Romil.

'Big man!' she exclaims, throwing her arms around him in a bear hug that sends them swaying from side to side like kids. 'Tenth branch, huh? Amazing, aren't you?'

Romil laughs, about to reply, but she's already looking around, eyes darting through the crowd. 'I heard about Mai and Maithili—where is she? I have so much to—'

And then she spots me.

Her whole body freezes, and for a second, I wonder if she's about to run away or burst into tears. Instead, her hand flies to her mouth, her jaw dropping into a perfect O. Her eyes glisten, and my chest tightens as I swallow hard against the lump in my throat.

Before I can think, I'm moving, closing the space between us in a heartbeat. We crash into each other, hugging so tightly I can feel her tears soak into my shoulder. I don't even try to hold back the ones spilling from my own eyes.

When we finally pull apart, her face is streaked with mascara, and Romil—because he's Romil—hands her his pocket square like he's some kind of 19th-century gentleman.

'What—where have you—How are—' she stammers, laughing through her tears. 'I don't even know what to ask first! I braced myself, you know! I knew you were going to be here, but still!'

She wipes at her eyes and blows her nose, glancing at the black smudge left behind. 'Shit! My foundation and mascara!' She groans, laughing, and then grabs my hand. 'Romil, sorry, we need the powder room. This is a code red.'

Without waiting for a response, she's pulling me through the crowd.

We step into the sleek black-tiled powder room, and Sakshi pulls a foundation, a mascara and sponge from her clutch, setting it down on the vanity like she means business. She turns to me, her red, slightly runny nose aimed at me like I'm a criminal under investigation.

'Why did you have to disappear like that, huh?' A dry hiccup follows as her voice wobbles. She turns to the mirror and applies the foundation in furious dab dab dab motion. 'Gargi and I were devastated. You didn't even bother to stay in touch!'

I shrug, and there's this sharp thing rising in my throat—not bile, something worse. A raw ache that might crack my voice if I'm not careful. 'And then do what?' I say, my tone more defensive than I intend. 'Stick around and watch you all move forward while I stayed behind? I finished school a year late, Sakshi. Everyone went to college, and I... I ended up here. Getting married to the first person who was willing to marry a person like me.'

Her hand freezes mid-dab with the sponge. 'A person like you?' she repeats, her tone climbing into outrage. 'Maithili, don't you dare blame yourself for that mess! Romil and you were blameless. It was all that—' she stops to spit the word out like it tastes bitter—'swine Vatsal's fault. And he paid for it. Believe me, everyone who encouraged it paid for it.'

'How so?'

She smooths down a few flyaways in the mirror, her fingers moving absently. 'Oh, Romil didn't just sit back and do nothing after what happened to you. He went full-on head-boy-from-hell mode—had every captain and prefect searching bags for phones, confiscating anything banned. He made sure everyone deleted the video. And he got Vatsal sacked because of what he did to you.'

I frown. 'But Vatsal got expelled because he molested me in the classroom.'

She turns to me, her eyes wide, disbelieving. 'What?'

'Yeah,' I say softly. 'He and Chhaya Birla both got kicked out because of that.'

She inhales an agitated breath and lets out a string of swear words so inventive, I'm certain they're far from anything resembling ordinary profanity.

'You didn't tell me,' she says, her voice breaking slightly, her lips twitching in a strange, almost foreboding way—a sure sign that tears are on their way.

I step forward, wrapping my arms around her tightly. 'I know. I'm so sorry, Sakshi. I should've told you.'

She exhales shakily, pats my back, and then pulls away, more composed than I'd expected. 'Well, Romil told everyone that Vatsal was expelled for distributing your video, probably to scare them. And then—he told everyone that it was him in the video. He said if anyone has dared to keep a copy, he'd make their lives hell. "Living hell," actually. His exact words.'

'What!' I breathe, my mouth falling open in shock. A certain space inside me feels lighter, as though a long-occupying stone has finally been lifted from my chest, allowing me to breathe freely again.

'Yeah. He wasn't the same after that. You know, you two were made for each other.'

'Why the past tense?' I ask, the words barely louder than a whisper.

She frowns. 'Because you're married?'

'Not anymore.'

'No!' She gasps, clutching at her chest like she might burst.

'Yes!' I laugh.

'So, you're together now?'

'Yes.'

Sakshi beams at me like she's won the lottery. She throws her arms around me, hugging me so tight I can barely breathe. 'I'm so, so happy for you, Maithi.'

'Me too,' I whisper. 'And for you. I saw him, by the way. You and your Tinder guy are stunning together.'

'Isn't he? Shobhit. I am glad I didn't heed Gargi's advice and proposed first. Guys these days are just too shy!' She sighs dreamily. 'He works at a publishing house, and I'm interning there as an editor. It's like... we're building into something. Something great, you know? Touch wood.'

'Touch wood,' I echo, grinning.

Sakshi suddenly brightens. 'Do you want to video call Gargi? She's in London now. Might pick up if she's not too busy styling models or whatever she's doing for fashion week.'

'Wow,' I say, shaking my head. 'A stylist.'

As she dials, she smirks at me. 'You don't say, designer of Mai by Maithili yourself!'

*****

A/N

So, the penultimate chapter is here.

Thank you for reading this story. 

XOXO

Shailey