"What is this?" the woman shrieked, her voice echoing in my ears as she flashed photographs of her man with another woman. The scene was gripping—he remained composed, guilt flashing behind those calm eyes as he uttered the words that made my heart race: "I can explain. It’s all a misunderstanding."

"Like seriously?" I whispered to myself, leaning closer to the screen, completely enmeshed in the emotional whirlwind. The moment escalated—the woman stood up and hurled a glass of water at his face; her fury was palpable. I gasped dramatically, utterly enthralled by the betrayal blooming on screen. Yes, screen. I was watching a drama. Just as the tension twisted tighter, a voice suddenly interrupted my focus.

"This is the last call for passenger Kim Ishika, booked on flight 352A from Seoul, South Korea to Rajasthan, India. Please proceed to gate 4 immediately. The final checks are being completed, and the captain will order for the door of the aircraft in approximately 5 minutes. I repeat, this is the final call for passenger Ki—"

Oh, shoot! Panic surged through me. "Coming, coming! I’m here!" I shouted as I sprinted toward the counter, giddy from the sudden adrenaline rush. My heart raced not just from the urgency of the boarding call but also from the drama still playing in my mind.

I’m Ishika, Kim Ishika. My name, a perfect blend of my Korean and Indian heritage, often intrigues people. I rushed to the counter, fumbling with my passport and boarding pass amidst deep breaths meant to calm my accelerated heartbeat. The staff member gave me a knowing look, one that felt like a silent reprimand for causing a commotion.

I passed her my documents, all while the faces of the other passengers watched with mild irritation and curiosity. Was I that much of a spectacle? I tried to suppress a grin—flushed with embarrassment.

"This way, ma’am," the staff directed, leading me toward the boarding area. I stepped onto the plane and immediately felt the weight of a hundred eyes on me, as if I were the star of a most perplexing show. "What the hell are you doing, Ishika?" I reprimanded myself quietly. "Stop smiling like an idiot and sit down!"

I hurried down the aisle, making my way to my assigned seat—my moment of grace shattered as the air hostess stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Ma’am, I apologize for the inconvenience, but there’s been an issue with the seat management," she said, her forehead adorning beads of sweat that seemed to mirror my rising frustration. "Your seat has been double-booked, and unfortunately, someone else is currently seated there."

Bravo, Ishika, just brilliant! "I paid for business class!" I snapped, trying to project some semblance of authority, though I knew well how ridiculous I must have sounded. "I expect to sit in business class!"

She offered another apology, but her words fluttered uselessly in the air like a balloon slowly deflating. "I understand your frustration, but we need to board the other passengers. We will issue a refund for your trouble."

"Refund?" My anger pulsed again, igniting a fire within me. It wasn’t about the money—it was about principle, about wanting to know my worth was acknowledged. "This behavior is unacceptable. I booked early for a reason!" My voice maintained as much calmness as I could muster, but the orchestra of disappointment and agitation played fiercely inside me.

"Ma'am, I truly apologize, but we need to wrap this up…" The urgency in her voice heightened. I felt a swell of rationale and frustration. There was no resolution at hand, and her insistent politeness only aggravated my ire further.

Ultimately, left with little choice, I relented. "Fine! I’ll sit in the economy!" I replied, pressing my lips together to maintain my composure, but inside, a tempest raged. The flight attendant’s smile seemed too cheery for my mood as I trudged down the narrow aisle, dodging elbows and oversized bags, my heart pounding not just with frustration but also with excited anticipation. I had to be on this plane, desperately, because this wasn’t just any flight; it was the last one to India today. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Why was I so determined? Well, I had two reasons, both woven into my life’s fabric. The first one was monumental: I was finally meeting my mom after exactly two decades. Can you imagine the kind of weight that carries?

Let me take you back for a moment. My parents fell in love in a world that didn’t want them together. My grandfather was adamant that the firstborn son of his house should marry a Korean, and my dad, despite his deep love for my mother, defied tradition for that love. But after everything settled—after countless tears, whispered promises shattered, and goodbyes echoing in the empty spaces of my childhood—there I was, a five-year-old girl standing in a courtroom, burdened with the impossible choice of picking between two perfect parents.

In the end, as it often seems to happen in messy divorces, my custody went to dad. After the split, my mom returned to India, where she built a thriving small business—one she sacrificed everything to create. That was where she shone the brightest. She was my inspiration, teaching me that no matter how much love you give to someone else, you must never forget to save a little for yourself.

I thought I was immune to the concept of love; I held firm to that notion like a shield. Love was nothing but a battleground—one that left you vulnerable and exposed. I became my own fortress, refusing to hand over my fragile heart to someone who might shatter it into tiny, unrecognizable pieces.

I pulled out my phone, scrolling through pictures of the past, reminding myself how long it had been — two decades since I had last seen her. Back then, my world revolved around my mother’s gentle stories, her laughter, and her warmth, until the tumultuous divorce drew a jagged line through my memories and left little trace of her in my life. All I wanted was to understand why she left, why love hadn’t been enough to keep our family together.

The flight took off smoothly, and as we climbed into the clouds, I tried to calm my fraying nerves. Through the tiny window, I saw cities begin to fade into a patchwork of green and brown below. My heart raced with anticipation...

Oh! I forgot to tell you the second reason for my excitement, right? Drum roll... My best friend Ruchi is getting married in India!

Ruchi isn’t a mix breed like me. She’s pure Indian, her roots buried deeply in the soil of her homeland. She grew up with her diplomat father and a mother whose laughter echoed in our school halls. They moved to Korea for his posting, and that’s when our paths crossed in the most peculiar way. I was a star student, and Ruchi was the top of the class, making me feel both challenged and threatened. In a normal world, rivalry might have brewed contempt, but life had more in store for us.

When my world came crashing down—when my mother left for India after the divorce and I felt utterly and hopelessly alone—Ruchi stood by me like a steadfast lighthouse in a raging storm. Classmates who once laughed and fought with me slowly turned their backs, but Ruchi didn’t just stand up for me; she marched right to the frontlines, a rebellious soldier armed with kindness.

That's when our friendship bloomed. We went from competition to allies just like that, helping each other through the turbulence of adolescence, shared memes about nonsensical teenage drama, and after-school hangouts that stretched into the night. We went from sitting next to each other as strangers to concocting plans for our futures as soul sisters.

Fast forward, and here I am, stewing in a mix of excitement and confusion about her wedding. It’s been a year since she relocated back to India after graduating, and last I knew, she was in a relationship with someone named Jun Ho. I thought, perhaps naively, that when she finally tied the knot, it would be with him. So when she called to tell me she was getting married, I was stunned.

I remember the day vividly. Dad burst into my room, faces lit with excitement. "Ruchi’s getting married!" they declared, and I swear my brain is short-circuited. I couldn't comprehend what I was hearing.

"What? Who’s the groom?" I blurted out, my mind racing through myriad questions.

"I can’t tell you everything. You have to let me breathe a little!" Ruchi laughed into the phone.

"But Jun Ho—what happened?" I asked, a tinge of disbelief coloring my voice.

"Let’s just say I’m not doing an arranged marriage. I’ll explain everything once you’re here! Chill out!" She hung up, leaving me with a hundred questions bouncing around my head. Just four months earlier, she had drunkenly dialed me while sobbing about Jun Ho. What has changed? Who was this mysterious new fiance?

_________________

Picking up my luggage, making my way out of the airport, I whispered, “Mom.” Time stood still for me. Ten years had slipped by since I last saw her, a decade marked by silence and distance, all stemming from the divorce. I wouldn’t count the video calls as 'seeing her'; they felt more like fleeting instances in a time warp. As anticipation coursed through my veins, a wave of realization crashed over me: why hadn’t I done this sooner? I could have visited her during my vacations. The thought lingered painfully, but there she was, standing beneath the flickering fluorescent lights of the airport, a smile gracing her face. Beautiful as I remembered.

Rushing to her, I enveloped her in a hug, my arms wrapping around her tightly, as if trying to erase the years of separation. Her grip was firm, almost desperate, and all the pent-up emotions of a decade poured into that single moment. As we stood there, the world faded away. I could feel her warmth, the smell of her favorite perfume—a comforting mixture of vanilla and jasmine. Pulling back, I noticed a tear sliding down her cheek. Her voice trembled as she said, "I missed you."

"I missed you too… Mumma," the word felt heavy on my tongue, a languishing echo of the bond we once shared.

As we slid into her car, the initial awkwardness of our reunion wrapped itself around us like fog. There was so much to say, yet we both stumbled over our words, weaving through small-talk with the dexterity of strangers. She asked about my life, about Dad, and I reciprocated, sensing the tremor of unfulfilled questions beneath the surface.

"Would you like to stay with me while you’re here?" she ventured, hope shimmering in her eyes. The question hung in the air, thickening with my hesitation. The truth? I wanted nothing more than to say yes. Yet the idea of waking up every morning, perhaps finding her with someone else in the kitchen—her boyfriend or whatever was new in her life—felt like confronting an abyss I wasn’t prepared to face.

"Oh, I can’t," I stumbled, feeling guilt quenching the desire. "Ruchi will be hurt if I don’t stay with her," I lied, though part of me was thankful for the excuse.

Mom’s slight smile told me she understood more than I wanted her to. I felt like a traitor denying her the chance to reconnect fully, and it pained me to think that I might be the one keeping us apart. But I wasn’t ready yet.

The car rumbled to a stop in front of a sprawling estate that took my breath away. A magnificent gate loomed before us, ornate and imposing, echoing the grandeur of a bygone era. As we stepped out, my heart thudded with anticipation. Ruchi’s parents were there to greet us, their warm smiles visible from a distance.

"Welcome, welcome!" they chorused, and after saying bye to mumma, we crossed the threshold into their home, I felt overwhelmed by its opulence. The front yard sprawled out before me, fountains dancing and shimmering in the dusky light, and an impressive architectural marvel loomed to my left, the Mehel—oh, how stunning it was!

Ruchi's mother, sensing my awe, launched into a detailed history lesson about the house, built during her grandfather’s time. She informed me that Ruchi had been counting down the moments until my arrival, asking repeatedly if I had reached. As she gestured toward the expansive mansion, her enthusiasm was contagious.

"Come on now, let’s go find her," Ruchi's mother urged. She instructed a staff member to lead me to Ruchi’s room. My heart raced as I followed the discreet, silent aide through a series of corridors adorned with historical paintings and floral arrangements.

As the staff member of the house help continues to lead me through the winding corridors and grand archways of the Mehel, I couldn't help but think that Ruchi and her family should really consider a map for newcomers. This place could make anyone feel like they'd just wandered into a bhoolbhuliya—a labyrinth of twisting paths and hidden doors. The aroma of incense mixed with the scent of marigolds enveloped me, creating both a sense of anticipation and festive.

At last, I arrived outside Ruchi's room. I signaled for the staff member to leave, a hint of mischief dancing in my eyes. I wanted to surprise her. The door was ajar, and I heard her voice, focused and authoritative. "I want you to put a focusing light over there—"

On impulse, I wrapped my arms around her from behind. "Ruuuuuuu!" I exclaimed, squeezing her tightly. Instant recognition flashed across her face, softening her once serious demeanor. She turned, arms engulfing me back with equal vigor, her laughter infectious. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the third person in the room, granting us our moment.

After breaking our hug, I stepped back to marvel at the changes in her life. "I can’t believe you’re getting married!" I said, still in disbelief. She looked at me, her eyes sparkling with excitement and just a hint of disbelief herself. "Sometimes, I can’t believe it either. It feels like a dream," she admitted, a hint of nostalgia in her tone.

"You just moved back to India a year ago! I never expected you to settle down this early," I protested. It was a whirlwind. She had dived headfirst into her new life here, and now she was about to marry someone—the right guy, according to her.

"Why waste time? I found him, so I might as well book him permanently," she said playfully. She chuckled, and my laughter bubbled up as she mentioned a bet we’d made during our first year of college.

"Wait, does this mean I owe you honeymoon tickets?" I asked, feigning shock.

She grinned broadly. "Oh, absolutely! But not just yet; I need to discuss our destination with my fiancé first." My curiosity about him piqued at her mention, yet she maintained the suspense, teasing me that my wait would only be a few more hours until their engagement later that day.

Rolling my eyes at her playful reticence, I took a seat, eager to experience every detail of her wedding preparations. Ruchi led me to her bed, where the vibrant lehenga hung gloriously, each thread shimmering in the afternoon light. My mouth fell open. "Wow, Ruchi! It's stunning!"

"Right?!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining as she spread out the rest of her outfits. Indian weddings were long, layered affairs, and she had procured a palette of outfits that could rival any fashion runway. My heart leaped at the vibrancy and intricacies of every piece.

As I scrutinized the lavishly embroidered fabrics, a faux pout crept onto my face. "You’ve bought so much for yourself! Here I am, coming all the way from South Korea and I didn't find any lehenga shops there—not one that would have something this beautiful. I’ll get lost in your grandeur here!" I crossed my arms dramatically, sure I looked the part of a betrayed friend.

With a playful poke to my cheek, Ruchi laughed heartily. "Stop being a drama queen! I’ve already bought you one!"

"What?! Where? Show me!" I shot up, excitement coursing through me like electricity.

With a flourish, she opened a bag from her cupboard, revealing a rich dark blue lehenga adorned with white stones that sparkled like stars. It felt like love at first sight. "This is it!" I exclaimed. "So this is what love at first sight feels like."

"Do you like it?" she asked, watching me with keen eyes, already knowing my answer.

"Loved it!" I responded without hesitation. The lehenga felt like a garment woven from dreams, or at least fantasies of grandeur.

Next, she presented the accessories she’d chosen to complement the outfit. Rings, bangles, and earrings lined in a delicate arrangement ensconced in velvet. Yet, a thought bubbled up in my mind, breaking my reverie. "But wait," I said, concern etched in my features. "What about the fit? How will it be ready in time?"

She grinned, seemingly pleased with my attention to detail. "Don’t worry; the family tailor is coming this evening to take your measurements. By tomorrow afternoon, you’ll have it fitted perfectly for the engagement. Trust me, it will be ready in time."

Impressive. I was shocked at how effortlessly she managed everything. The excitement of the forthcoming engagement, the marriage, and, of course, my new lehenga made the air almost electrified with happiness.

______________

I gave my measurements to the tailor, and as Ruchi had predicted, my lehenga arrived just in time, delivered to my doorstep in the evening before her engagement function. I was so excited to try it on that I barely had a bite to eat. My mind was racing with thoughts of how elegant I would look, gliding through the venue in that stunning outfit. The only thing interrupting my thoughts was Ruchi’s mom, who scolded me for neglecting my food. "You can’t go starving! Just take a few spoonfuls," she insisted, pushing a bowl of dal and rice toward me. Reluctantly, I obliged, trading a few bites for peace of mind, making sure my stomach wouldn’t interrupt the evening’s celebrations.

Once I was alone in my room, the anticipation mounted. I closed the door and took a deep breath before slowly unzipping the bag that held my lehenga. As I spread it out on my bed, I couldn’t help but admire it—each intricate embroidery sparkled in the soft glow of my fairy lights, and the fabric felt luxurious to my fingertips. After snapping a few pictures to capture this moment of pure joy, I decided it was finally time to try it on.

Oh. My. God. As I slipped into the lehenga, I gasped at how perfectly it fit. The back of the blouse was cut just right, showcasing my skin, while the flowing fabric of the skirt swayed elegantly as I moved. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something that sent my heart plummeting—a small dot marred against the smooth canvas of my skin. Wait, that wasn’t there before! What was it?

In a panic, I decided I needed a quick shower to help me relax—and possibly wash away whatever that mark was. I retreated to the lavish bathroom, where the hot water cascaded over my skin, easing my jitters just a bit. Yet, I lost track of time, luxuriating in the steam and warmth.

By the time I stepped out, the clock taunted me—time had slipped away faster than I could have imagined! I raced against the clock, putting on my lehenga again and accessorizing with careful detail. The heels I chose completed the ensemble perfectly, but they also heightened my sense of urgency; they were a tad difficult to walk in. After finishing my makeup, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Shimmering, radiant, excited, yet terribly late. My heart raced as I practiced a smile, hoping to channel any nerves into excitement before I dashed out.

As I sprinted, I could feel my phone vibrating like crazy in my purse. It was Ruchi—my phone had already received twenty-three missed calls. "I’m coming! I’m coming!" I finally