The last time you saw him was at the mandap
After that, he was absorbed. Into the baraat, the pheras, the uncles who needed photographs, the cousins who needed directions to the hotel. You were absorbed too, into the makeup chair at 4 a.m., the dupatta that kept slipping, the line of women who held your face and wept and told you things they had been saving for this moment. By the time the sindoor was applied, you had already been separated for hours. You were standing six inches apart and completely alone.
