Red Flags On The Aisle
Beneath the glittering surface
Gul sits by the beach on a winter evening, taking pictures with her DSLR of the beautiful sea, the sunset, and the wedding decor. Her hair flows with the mildly nippy but soothing breeze. As her hands grow stiff from the cold and the camera’s weight, she sets it aside and rubs her cold hands, trying to shake off the uninviting atmosphere surrounding her, much like the crowd she’s mingling with. Grabbing her hoodie, she seeks warmth in a place that offers none.
Her mind wanders from the serene, picturesque beach to the gorgeous backdrop – the yellow flowers, the elegantly designed pathway with tiny frills of crisp orange organza fabric intertwined with flowers and embellishments. The giant seashell throne for the soon-to-be-married couple, Sanvi and Remy, stands empty, yet it seems to convey feelings; the throne wants to “break free” from the lies as if everyone around it is self-satisfied and doesn’t need them. Gul pauses and chuckles at her mind’s ramblings.
The crowd of snobby, rich people intimidates her, their opulence eclipsing anything she’s accustomed to. Compared to this ostentatious display of affluence, her wealthy friends seem downright grounded.
A familiar, comforting voice cuts through her chaotic thoughts. “Hey baby, what are you doing, my love? I missed you.” Gul turns with a broad smile to her fiancé, Nirav, who embraces her, always knowing exactly how to cheer her up.
Nirav’s sister has married Remy’s older brother, the groom. Remy, the man, is marrying Sanvi – the Sanvi!
She’s a dusky, sweet, simple, and reticent girl from an affluent family. As Gul strolls, she wonders if people in this family always marry for wealth. She wants to linger a little longer, feeling the waves crash against her feet; the sound of the sea invites her to stay and sing the song she hums as she captures the sky turning purple with the sea’s reflection. Nature seems surreal; who paints these colours anyway?
Nirav’s family, notorious for being high school bullies, compares Gul to Sanvi. Both women are impressive in their unique manner, but Gul feels unconfident and uneasy in this environment. Part of her wants to run away, but Nirav’s love reassures her. Nirav often compliments her, and Gul falls for the same extravagant phrases and gestures.
Nirav considers himself lucky to have a trophy fiancée like Gul, adding to the unspoken competition between Sanvi-Remy and Nirav-Gul.
“How many images will you click, Gul? Nirav’s sister shouts, “You realise we’re here for a wedding, not a tourist escapade where your camera is aimed at everyone and anyone,” making Gul apologetic.
Gul looks to Nirav for support. Before Nirav can say anything, his sister orders him to get ready, and Nirav surrenders like an obedient child. Did Gul expect Nirav to talk back to his snooty sister? Gul stands like a silent spectator, wondering if her body is telling her to speak her mind as usual. She doesn’t listen, perhaps enamoured or even scared.
Gul dresses for the cocktail party, arriving stunningly in a backless fuchsia pink and gold gown. “What are you wearing, hon? What will my family say? Please take a shawl to cover,” Nirav’s sister says with a snarling look.
Gul barely registers the comment as she anxiously looks around, and Nirav’s eyes meet hers. “Look at my lady,” he calls, extending his arms from a distance. Nirav continues talking loudly but doesn’t walk toward her, saying, “Mah baby, I love you! You look pretty as eff.”
Feeling buoyed, Gul walked awkwardly. Her ankles wobbled, and her heels ached, something she had never felt. It was like she was indeed walking on eggshells in heels. She sat beside Nirav, her safe haven amidst the petty comments.
Gul had a refined upbringing. She was confident, with her manners intact, and believed in doing good things, but she remains unsure of her abilities here. Nirav’s compliment inexplicably lifts her spirits, and she momentarily forgets the poor behaviour of his sister and relatives that’s been troubling her.
“What am I doing here? Is beauty the only merit I have?” she ponders, watching Nirav chew a bite of some animal-based snack. She turns her head to find someone friendly to talk to. Her feet ache in those heels.
Suddenly, Gul feels a tinge on her bare back. She knows the hand has evil intent.
Turning, she hears a voice say, “Hello dear, I am Lalit, your soon-to-be brother-in-law.”
Shock and disgust fill Gul as Lalit’s fingers slide down her back like a swarm of spiders. She wonders whether affluent people also molest or touch inappropriately. She wants to slap Lalit but remains alert enough to know she must inform someone. “Tell Nirav, you silly,” her inner voice urges.
“How dare this uncouth fellow Lalit lay hands on my girl?” Nirav screams, informing the family elders, who call an emergency meeting to reprimand Lalit.
Gul feels a surge of happiness. “Oh, girl, you couldn’t have asked for a better deal. Nirav and his family love you dearly. Be grateful,” she proudly thinks before going to bed that night.
The beach wedding of Sanvi to Remy buzzes with cheerfulness but exhausts with its artificial laughter.
“It’s your turn to walk the altar now, Gul. What designer are you wearing at your wedding?” someone asks Gul in a loving yet condescending tone.
“Ah, I don’t know, honestly,” Gul murmurs timidly, having never stepped inside a designer store, let alone purchased such exorbitant clothing.
These women, adorned in labels, look so ugly; Gul smiles inwardly, and Nirav finds her perfect, which is all that matters.
Today, as she approaches the aisle, Amara’s words echo in her head, warning her not to marry into this family, a warning she dismissed long ago.
Gul smiles as she walks past the flower decorations, the lights, the flowers, her relatives and friends all smiling at her, the music of her choice playing. She can smell the roses all around her. Someone comments, “Best-looking bride, Gul.” Gul beams with joy and smiles with certainty that she’s making the best life decision, marrying Nirav, a man she believes is her best match.
Heaving a heavy sigh, she scrutinises her reflection in the fancy hotel bathroom mirror, looking radiant in the red satin nightgown. Gul now hides shame and embarrassment at the thought of someone being treated so poorly by Nirav that she hides in the bathroom while Nirav berates the polite server for delivering cold pizza.
“Boss, this order is too late. It’s been half an hour since I placed the order.”
The server responds, “Sorry, Sir. Can I get you another pizza?”
Gul recalls the same sensation in her body the night Lalit touched her. Nirav is yelling, just like he yelled at his family and Lalit. It dawns on her that perhaps Nirav only objected to protecting his image. “My girl” is a statement he used to claim her as his possession. He wasn’t angry at Lalit for any immorality or injustice done to Gul, but what truly angered him was someone dared to touch his prized possession.
Pretending to adjust the straps of her nightie, she admires her shoulder bones jutting from her fair, supple skin, but her soul whispers, “Darling, it’s just you and me now; the show is over, my love.” Gul grips the counter slab. “It’s so sad, Gul,” the reflection says. “What have you done, Gul? Why didn’t you listen to me or Amara?” Gul stares with a pit in her stomach. She recalls everything before her, yet she walked on the red flags.
She recalls Nirav’s mother taunting her parents for not meeting Sanvi and Remy’s standards. The comments about the designer outfit were inappropriate patterns and behaviours, and Gul ignored it all.
Nirav’s sister rudely questions Gul while she walks to the altar. “Hon, have you taken pills?”
Gul remembers the panic and frenzy, wondering what pills she had forgotten, and the sister says, “Unless you want a baby in nine months.”
Nirav stays quiet, and Gul reels, shocked by the audacity of such an intimate question.
Gul’s intuition and friend had urged her to ditch this family and run. But she ignored her poor intuition, and now she’s trapped.
Gul stands frozen, deaf to Nirav’s yelling. It is clear to Gul that she fell for the manipulation and the love bombing. There were red flags, but she ignored them; she walked past them on her aisle. Now, it’s her and her reflection.
This is a personal account weaved with some fiction, taking creative liberty and using different names. If you enjoyed reading the story, consider following, clapping, highlighting, and commenting, as these are always great ways of engaging and communicating with readers. Love to hear your thoughts.
