Wedding, PhotoShoots and Dinner

Ishan sat on the sofa, taking a long, deep breath.

"Okay, calm down, it's just a pretend wedding," he thought to himself, trying to shake off the nervous energy coursing through his veins.

He glanced around the opulent room, taking in the intricate decorations and the expectant faces of the guests. His gaze lingered on Aryan, who was making his way towards him in his wheelchair.

Aryan's approach was accompanied by three servants: a fat old lady, a man in his 30s, and another woman in her 30s. Ishan noticed the servants' subtle condescending tone and gestures towards Aryan.

The old lady adjusted Aryan's sherwani with a bit too much force, her hands lingering on his shoulders.

The man standing behind her cleared his throat, his eyes darting to Aryan's wheelchair before quickly looking away. Ishan sensed Aryan's discomfort and felt a pang of annoyance towards the servants.

'Great, they're treating him like a fragile vase. Newsflash: he's still a person,' Ishan thought.

As Aryan reached the sofa, the man helped him settle in, but his grip was slightly too firm. Aryan's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. Ishan could see the tension in his body, the way his shoulders stiffened.

The servants seemed oblivious to Aryan's discomfort, their faces expressionless. Ishan wondered if anyone else noticed the subtle dynamics at play.

The priest continued chanting as Ishan performed most of the rituals, given Aryan's paralyzed body. The 7 pheras were skipped, and instead, Aryan was handed a small, round golden box filled with vermillion powder.

Ishan watched as Aryan's eyes locked onto the box, his expression unreadable. Ishan's thoughts raced:

"What's going through his mind? Is he as uncomfortable as I am?"

Ishan glanced at his family, expecting to see them stifling giggles. Instead, they beamed with pride, their faces etched with warm smiles.

His younger brother, Rohan, mouthed "All the best" with genuine sincerity. Ishan's heart swelled with gratitude towards his family. They were in this together, after all.

The old woman helped Aryan pick up the vermillion powder, bringing his fingers near Ishan's forehead.

"OH SHIT! OH SHIT! IT'S HAPPENING."

His heavy breathing made his chest feel constricted. Some vermillion fell above his eyelashes, irritating them. Sandhya quickly handed Ishan a handkerchief to wipe away the excess powder.

As the old lady released his hands, Ishan's Sindoor-filled finger brushed against his sherwani, spilling red powder on the white fabric.

The old lady's smile faltered for a moment, her eyes flashing annoyance. "Oh...Aryan baba, control your hands."

Ishan's anger simmered.

The priest handed Aryan the Mangalsutra to tie around his neck.

The man behind the old lady stepped forward. "Let me help Aryan baba with this."

"No," Ishan said firmly, trying to make his voice as feminine as possible, "I'll help him myself."

Ishan's hands, adorned with painted nails and intricate henna designs, sparkled as he moved.

The bangles on his wrists jingled softly. He gently took Aryan's hands, guiding them to his neck. Aryan's eyes locked onto his, gratitude flickering. Ishan smiled softly, trying to reassure him.

As they tied the knot, Ishan felt a surge of protectiveness towards Aryan.

He noticed the servants' subtle annoyance, their faces pinched. Aryan whispered, "Thank you" under his breath, his eyes never leaving Ishan's. Ishan's heart skipped a beat. He felt a pang of regret for Aryan, who had to endure such treatment.

"You're welcome," Ishan mouthed, trying to convey his support.

As they exchanged vows, Ishan realized this pretend marriage might be more complicated than he initially thought. He glanced at Aryan, wondering what the future held for them.

As the ceremony concluded, the photographer requested Ishan and Aryan to strike different poses for the camera.

"Well, this is a first. Me, in a bridal lehanga, posing with a Photo who probably charges more for a single photoshoot my entire family income. Mom will frame this and put it on the mantel."

Both looked visibly uncomfortable, but the photographer's gentle guidance helped them relax. They posed with Aryan's wheelchair elegantly incorporated into the shots. Ishan sat beside him, his lehenga draped elegantly around them.

Poses included Aryan's hand on Ishan's shoulder, Ishan's head resting on Aryan's shoulder, and a romantic gaze into each other's eyes.

'Okay, Ishan, you've got this. Just channel your inner Priyanka Chopra and pretend you're not a dude in a dress'

The photographer expertly framed Aryan's wheelchair as a natural part of their embrace. Despite initial awkwardness, Ishan and Aryan began to relax, their smiles more genuine with each click.

"I never thought I'd say this, but Aryan's wheelchair is stealing the show. And my lehanga. And my dignity," Ishan mused.

As the photo shoot concluded, the dinner bell rang, signaling the start of the grand feast. Ishan's stomach growled, famished from a day of fasting except for a solitary sandwich in the makeup studio.

He scanned the buffet and his eyes widened. "Food heaven! And I'm stuck in this corset-like lehenga. Why, cruel fate, why?"

Exquisite vegetarian dishes from around the world adorned the table: Stuffed Portobello Mushrooms, Spinach and Ricotta Cannelloni, Vegetable Tagine, and Quinoa Stuffed Bell Peppers.

"Vegetable paradise! I'm in love. Can I marry the chef instead?" Ishan joked to himself.

His mouth watered, his stomach grumbling in anticipation.

However, his new attire proved challenging. The nose ring made taking bites difficult, requiring constant adjustments. The heavy bangles, jhumkas, and nath demanded attention, distracting him from the food.

"Food! Finally! Now, if only I could eat without choking on this stupid nose ring or spilling anything on this insane outfit. That would be a wedding miracle," Ishan thought.

Ishan struggled to coordinate his movements, his hands trembling slightly.

A glance at Aryan, quietly eating boiled vegetables and soup, filled Ishan with empathy.

"He's always eating like this, isn't he?" Ishan thought, feeling a pang of regret.

Ishan's parents indulged in the feast, savoring each dish with evident delight. His father, beaming with pride, engaged in animated conversation with Harivansh Raichand, their host. Harivansh's warm smile and charming demeanor put everyone at ease.

Harivansh leaned in, speaking intently to Ishan's father, who nodded enthusiastically. Ishan's mother smiled, her eyes shining with happiness.

Meanwhile, Ishan's brother, Rohan, remained silent, pushing food around his plate. Ishan wondered what troubled him.

"Rohan's being weirdly quiet," Ishan thought. "Hope he's not still freaked out watching his brother as a  friking bride I mean, I'm freaked out too, but..."

Whenever Harivansh glanced at Rohan, he offered a polite smile, but his eyes betrayed a hint of unease.

Ishan's mother placed a gentle hand on Rohan's arm, her lips moving in concern.

Across from him, Sandhya savored each bite with elegance, her slender fingers dancing across her plate. Her saree, a stunning emerald green Kanjeevaram, shimmered in the light, accentuating her curves.

"Wow, Sandhya's rocking that saree. And eating like a queen. No struggle, no fuss," Ishan thought, impressed.

The intricate gold embroidery on her saree's border caught his eye, complementing her dangling earrings.

"If I were still dressed as a guy, would I have any chance with this bombshell?" Ishan wondered, intrigued.

Sandhya's poise and confidence drew him in. "She's got that effortless 'I'm-a- boss' vibe. I'm just over here, suffocating in this lehanga."

Sandhya, noticing Ishan's struggle, leaned over and whispered, "Eat slowly, Radhika. You'll get used to the attire."

"Easy for you to say", Ishan thought, "You are not wearing a 30-kilogram lehanga and wondering where it all went wrong."

He wanted to say many things but would only muster up, "Okay, I will"

Ishan smiled gratefully, taking a tentative bite of the Cannelloni. The flavors exploded on his tongue, but his focus remained on adjusting to his new, restrictive garments.

After taking few bites Ishan pushed his plate away, defeated by the tight lehanga.

"Never eat in a corset again. I think I've got a ribcage bruise." He glanced around, envying the others' ease.

The clock struck 9, and Harivansh stood, his eyes scanning the room.

"Shall we?" he mouthed, his gaze meeting Ishan's parents. Ishan knew what it meant,

'Time for My Vidai'