Page 97 of Better Catch Up, Krishna Kumar

I thought I’d left that sort of feeling behind forever when things worked out exactly how I’d planned.

But I was wrong.

My chest is moving up and down rapidly and my head is spinning. I’m seconds from bursting into tears again.

Rudra closes the space between us with one stride and clasps my cheeks, a worried look creasing his face. “Krishna—”

“The plan,” I gasp.

“It’s okay.” He strokes my hair, my cheeks, my shoulders. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“It is! It is tome, Rudra. We need to get to the weddingnow.”

Rudra scans my face helplessly before realization dawns on him and something fissures behind his eyes. “You still want to go ahead with your original plan.” He says it not like a question but a statement. Hurt laces his voice.

“Of course!” I cry out. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Rudra steps away from me, his hands dropping to his sides, looking crushed beyond measure. My body instantly misses his warmth.

“Okay, then,” he says, and his voice is completely devoid of emotion. His face hardens.

I stare at him, bewildered. My head is aching from anxiety. Why the hell is he reacting like this? Does he not want to do this for Priti anymore?

“Get ready,” he says, his shoulders stiff. “We’ll leave in fifteen minutes.” He walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Hard.

I want to go after him, ask him what’s going on, what’s changed since last night, but I need to be there for Priti. Helping her is mypriority right now. I don’t think I could bear to see her come out the other side of all this even more heartbroken and tormented.

We take thirty minutes more than I thought we would. Which means we’re forty-five minutes late.

I brush my teeth, wash my face, rinse my arms, underarms, and legs, and let Rudra freshen up and get dressed in the bathroom while I get ready outside.

He’s being cold with me, and it stings because I don’t understandwhy.

Horrible thoughts peal through my mind as I chew over why he might be acting this way. Does he regret our kiss? Does he not see a possibility ofusanymore? Or was it not truly serious for him? Has he ascertained I’m getting attached to him and is finding ways to break away? Because why would someone like him fall for me in such a short span of time?

Trembling through the motions and shoving those god-awful thoughts into a mental box, I get into my choli. It’s half-sleeved with a sweetheart neckline and shows a hint of my stomach, while the lehenga falls to my ankles, swirling and rising perfectly when I spin around, just the way I like it. I know this because I’ve worn it once before, at a shaadi, not because I’m twirling right now. I’m neither in the mood nor have the time to twirl.

The chunni goes around my neck, two pallus draping down my back. The whole set is the loveliest shade of beige, patterned with tiny swirls and flowers all over in muted gold. It’s one of my favorites, though I’m always terrified of spilling daal on it. Luckily, it’s easy to hook, even at the back, so it takes me less than two minutes to get into it.

I can still hear water splashing inside the bathroom when I reachfor my makeup bag. I don’t do a full makeup look because that would take way too long. Instead, I just put on tinted sunscreen. I top it off with eyeliner, kajal, lipstick, and a crystal bindi.

I’m clasping on my jewelry—necklace, earrings, and a maang tikka set—when Rudra steps out. This is the fastest I’ve ever gotten ready in my life. It’s a miracle I haven’t screwed up my makeup. The crystals of my jewelry throw flecks of light around the room as Rudra walks out of the bathroom, steam curling around him like he’s in a movie. My mouth nearly drops to the floor.

Because he’s wearing a freakin’black kurta. And... his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

Fuck me.

No. Fuck #desitiktok, actually.Thanks for the corruption, y’all.

Half of his hair is in a man bun again, wisping softly in the mist. Our eyes meet across the room. Then his trail my body, from top to bottom, and I can almost feel invisible hands caressing my form.

When he looks back up at me, I find myself wishing he would just stride up to me, slam me into the dressing mirror, and—

He breaks eye contact. Clears his throat.

“You ready?” he asks, adjusting his sleeves.

“Y-yeah, just a sec.” I pick up my gold highlighter and dab the inner corners of my eyes, needing something to do. “Okay, done.”