MARRY YOUR KILLER
Chapter Ninety-Three: The Mehendi
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The morning came soft and golden.
The sun rose over the palace gardens, painting the fountains in shades of honey and rose. The flowers were fresh. Marigolds. Roses. Jasmine. The air was sweet. The birds were singing. The palace was awake.
Percy was in the courtyard before the sun. He had been waiting for this day for weeks. The third ceremony. The mehendi. The henna. The patterns. The stories.
Honey found him sitting on a bench, his hands in his lap, his face turned toward the sky.
"You're up early," Honey said.
Percy looked at her. "I couldn't sleep."
She sat beside him. "Nervous?"
He shook his head. "Excited."
She took his hand. "The mehendi is for the brides."
Percy smiled. "I know. I'm excited for them."
Honey kissed his cheek. "You're sweet."
He pulled her close. "I'm yours."
---
The ceremony was in the courtyard.
The walls were white. The floor was marble. The fountain was blue. The chairs were gold. The canopies were silk. The cushions were velvet. The tables were low. The trays were silver. The cones were filled with henna. The scent was rich. Earthy. Sweet. The scent of weddings. The scent of new beginnings.
The brides sat in the center. Lyra in deep rose, the color of dawn, gold thread catching the light like morning rays. Care in soft peach, warm and gentle, like the first blush of summer. Rakki in coral, bright and fierce, copper details flickering like embers. Mica in sage green, calm and steady, bronze patterns hidden in the folds.
The women gathered around them. Jay in pale blue, soft and cool, like the sky after rain. Ella in mint, fresh and bright, like new leaves in spring. Freya in silver gray, sharp and elegant, like moonlight on water. Grace in wine red, deep and bold, like the heart of a warrior. Tita Gemma in butter yellow, warm and soft, like the sun on winter mornings. Tita Rachel in cream, timeless and steady, like the earth beneath the flowers. Honey in lavender, calm and graceful, like the last light of day.
They carried trays. The trays were silver. The cones were filled with henna. The patterns were waiting. The stories were waiting.
The mehendi artist was a small woman with quick hands and bright eyes. Her name was Meera. She had been painting brides for forty years. She had painted the hands of princesses. She had painted the hands of farmers. She had painted the hands of women who came from across the world to sit in her chair.
"Mehendi," Meera said, "is not just decoration. It is the story of the bride. Her past. Her present. Her future. Her hopes. Her dreams. Her fears. It is the map of her heart."
She looked at Lyra. At her blank face. At her steady hands. At the scars that marked her skin.
"Your story is long," Meera said.
Lyra's face didn't change. "It is."
Meera smiled. "Then we will tell it."
---
Lyra sat in the center. Her saree was deep rose, the color of dawn, gold thread catching the light like morning rays. Her hands were in her lap. Her face was blank. Her eyes were on the henna. The cone was in Meera's hand. The tip was fine. The paste was dark. The scent was sweet.
Meera took Lyra's hand. Her fingers were warm. Her touch was light.
"Your story begins in shadows," Meera said. "In darkness. In silence. In the space between life and death."
Lyra's hands were steady. Her face was blank. Her eyes were not.
Meera began to paint. The lines were fine. The patterns were ancient. Peacocks and flowers. Vines and leaves. A sun rising over mountains. A river flowing through valleys. A woman standing at the edge of a cliff. A man reaching for her hand.
"The shadows were long," Meera said. "But the light found you. The light always finds you."
Lyra looked at her hands. At the patterns forming on her skin. At the story Meera was telling. At the story she had been hiding.
"I died," Lyra whispered.
Meera's hand didn't stop. "And then you lived."
Lyra's eyes were wet. "I lived."
---
Care sat beside Lyra. Her saree was soft peach, warm and gentle, like the first blush of summer. Her hands were in her lap. Her face was soft. Her eyes were on the henna.
Meera took her hand. Her fingers were warm. Her touch was light.
"Your story begins in running," Meera said. "Feet on the ground. Heart in your throat. Always moving. Always searching. Always looking for home."
Care's hands were steady. Her face was soft. Her eyes were not.
Meera began to paint. The lines were fine. The patterns were flowing. Waves and currents. Rivers and oceans. A boat on the water. A lighthouse on the shore. A woman standing at the door of a house. A man waiting inside.
"You ran across oceans," Meera said. "But the water always brings you home."
Care looked at her hands. At the patterns forming on her skin. At the story Meera was telling. At the story she had been living.
"I found home," Care whispered.
Meera smiled. "Home found you."
---
Rakki sat beside Care. Her saree was coral, bright and fierce, copper details flickering like embers. Her hands were in her lap. Her face was bright. Her eyes were on the henna.
Meera took her hand. Her fingers were warm. Her touch was light.
"Your story begins in fire," Meera said. "Flames that could burn or warm. Anger that could destroy or protect. A heart that could harden or soften."
Rakki's hands were steady. Her face was bright. Her eyes were not.
Meera began to paint. The lines were fine. The patterns were wild. Flames and embers. Sparks and ash. A phoenix rising from the fire. A woman standing in the center of the storm. A man walking toward her through the smoke.
"The fire burned," Meera said. "But it did not consume you. It forged you."
Rakki looked at her hands. At the patterns forming on her skin. At the story Meera was telling. At the story she had been living.
"I chose to be soft," Rakki whispered.
Meera smiled. "The softest things are often the strongest."
---
Mica sat beside Rakki. Her saree was sage green, calm and steady, bronze patterns hidden in the folds. Her hands were in her lap. Her face was focused. Her eyes were on the henna.
Meera took her hand. Her fingers were warm. Her touch was light.
"Your story begins in patterns," Meera said. "Numbers and shapes. Equations and theories. A mind that never stops moving. A heart that beats in rhythm."
Mica's hands were steady. Her face was focused. Her eyes were not.
Meera began to paint. The lines were fine. The patterns were precise. Fractals and spirals. Sequences and sums. A Fibonacci spiral in the center of her palm. A golden ratio in the curve of her wrist. A woman standing at the edge of a formula. A man walking into the equation.
"The patterns were safe," Meera said. "But the heart cannot be calculated."
Mica looked at her hands. At the patterns forming on her skin. At the story Meera was telling. At the story she had been living.
"I learned to feel," Mica whispered.
Meera smiled. "And the world became more beautiful."
---
The men gathered at the edge of the courtyard.
Alex in deep rose, matching Lyra's saree. Cole in soft peach, matching Care's. Ci N in coral, matching Rakki's. Calix in sage green, matching Mica's. Aries in mint, fresh and bright. Erdix in silver gray, sharp and elegant. Denzel in wine red, deep and bold. Ion in butter yellow, warm and soft. Kuya Angelo in cream, timeless and steady. Keifer in pale blue, cool and calm, matching Jay's saree. Keiran in pale blue, bright and eager. Keigan in pale blue, darker, steadier, like the deep ocean beneath the sky.
Percy stood in the center. His kurta was white. His dhoti was gold. His arms were crossed. His face was soft.
"They're getting henna," Percy said.
Honey stood beside him. Her saree was lavender, calm and graceful. "They're getting henna."
Percy's eyes were wet. "It's beautiful."
Honey took his hand. "It's beautiful."
---
Jay sat at the edge of the circle. Her saree was pale blue, soft and cool, like the sky after rain. Her hands were in her lap. Her bangles were gold on her wrists. Her stomach was flat. The twins were hidden. The twins were moving.
Meera knelt beside her. Her eyes were bright. Her hands were quick.
"And for you?" Meera said. "The mother of twins? The woman who came back from the edge? The one who has already told her story on her skin?"
Jay looked at her hands. At the scars on her palms. At the calluses on her fingers. At the ring on her finger. At the life she had lived.
"I have no story left to tell," Jay said.
Meera smiled. "Then we will tell the story of the ones who are coming."
She took Jay's hands. Her fingers were warm. Her touch was light.
Meera began to paint. The lines were fine. The patterns were small. Two figures, side by side. Two hearts, beating together. Two stars, shining in the dark. Two roots, growing deep. Two branches, reaching for the sun.
"The twins," Meera said. "They have been listening. They have been waiting. They have been learning your story. Now you will learn theirs."
Jay looked at her hands. At the patterns forming on her skin. At the story Meera was telling. At the story she was living.
"They're coming soon," Jay whispered.
Meera smiled. "They are."
---
The sun was high. The mehendi was drying. The patterns were dark. The stories were told. The brides sat with their hands in the air, their palms turned toward the sky, their hearts open.
Lyra looked at her hands. At the peacocks and flowers. At the sun rising over mountains. At the man reaching for her hand. Alex was beside her. His hand was in hers.
"It's beautiful," Alex said.
Lyra looked at him. "You can't touch it. It has to dry."
He smiled. "I know."
She leaned against him. "I love it."
He kissed her forehead. "I love you."
---
Care looked at her hands. At the waves and currents. At the lighthouse on the shore. At the man waiting inside. Cole was beside her. His hand was in hers.
"It's perfect," Cole said.
Care looked at him. "You can't touch it. It has to dry."
He smiled. "I know."
She leaned against him. "I love it."
He kissed her hand. "I love you."
---
Rakki looked at her hands. At the flames and embers. At the phoenix rising. At the man walking toward her through the smoke. Ci N was beside her. His hand was in hers.
"It's badass," Rakki said.
Ci N laughed. "It's badass."
She grinned. "I love it."
He kissed her cheek. "I love you."
---
Mica looked at her hands. At the fractals and spirals. At the Fibonacci sequence in her palm. At the man walking into her equation. Calix was beside her. His hand was in hers.
"It's mathematically perfect," Mica said.
Calix smiled. "It is."
She looked at him. "I love it."
He kissed her forehead. "I love you."
---
Jay sat at the edge of the courtyard. Her hands were in the air. The mehendi was drying. The twins were moving. Keifer was beside her. His hand was in hers. Keiran was on her other side, his face close to her hands, his eyes wide.
"Ate Jay," Keiran whispered. "There are two hearts. Two stars. Two trees."
Jay looked at her hands. At the patterns Meera had painted. At the story of her twins. At the story of her future.
"Those are your cousins," Jay said.
Keiran's eyes went wide. "They're in your hands?"
Jay smiled. "They're in my heart."
Keiran touched her stomach. His hand was light. His face was soft. "Hello," he whispered. "I'm your cousin Keiran. I'm going to teach you everything. I'm going to show you the garden. I'm going to take you to the Ferris wheel. I'm going to—"
Keigan pulled him back. "Let them dry."
Keiran pouted. Keigan's face was cold. His eyes were soft. He looked at Jay's hands. At the patterns. At the story. He nodded. That was all. That was everything.
---
The sun was setting. The mehendi was dry. The patterns were dark. The stories were told. The brides held their hands in the air, their palms toward the sky, their hearts full.
Percy stood at the edge of the courtyard. His arms were crossed. His face was wet. Honey was beside him. Her hand was in his.
"It's beautiful," Percy said.
Honey looked at him. "You're crying."
Percy wiped his face. "I'm not crying."
Honey smiled. "You're crying."
He pulled her close. "I'm happy."
She kissed him. "I know."
---
The family walked to the dining hall. The tables were long. The food was South Indian. The coffee was strong. The tea was sweet. The laughter was loud.
Jay sat at the end of the table. Keifer was beside her. His hand was in hers. Keiran was on her other side, his face bright, his voice loud. Keigan sat across from them, his arms crossed, his face cold. His eyes were on Jay's hands. On the patterns. On the story.
"You're staring," Jay said.
Keigan's face didn't change. "I'm observing."
She almost smiled. "Same thing."
He looked away. His face was cold. His ears were red.
Keifer laughed. Keiran laughed. Jay laughed. Keigan's ears got redder.
---
The night came. The palace was quiet. The family was sleeping. Percy was dreaming of elephants. Honey was beside him. Aries and Ella were curled together. Lyra and Alex were in each other's arms. Care and Cole were holding hands. Rakki and Ci N were tangled together. Mica and Calix were arguing in their sleep. Freya and Erdix were silent. Grace and Denzel were still. Kuya Angelo and Ion were reading. Tita Gemma was crying. Tita Rachel was holding her hand. Keiran was asleep, his face soft, his hands open. Keigan was awake, his eyes on the window, on the garden, on the fountains, on the place where his family was happy.
Jay stood at the window of her room. Keifer was behind her. His arms were around her. His face was in her hair.
"You're thinking," he said.
She leaned against him. "I'm thinking about the mehendi. About the stories. About the twins."
He turned her to face him. "What about the twins?"
She looked at her hands. At the patterns. At the two hearts. The two stars. The two trees. "They're coming soon."
He put his hand on her stomach. The twins moved. Two small flutters. Two small lives. Two small hearts.
"They're coming soon," he said.
She looked at him. "Are you ready?"
He kissed her forehead. "I've been ready my whole life."
She pulled him close. "I love you."
He held her. "I love you too."
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END OF CHAPTER NINETY-THREE