Part 4 of 5 · 4 minThe Wedding Web

The morning sun beat down on the Mumbai apartment, turning the air inside into a shimmering haze of anticipation and polyester fabric. Meena stood over a mannequin draped in a bright yellow kurta, her finger tracing a pattern of sequins that seemed to sparkle with malicious glee. "This is perfect," she declared, ignoring Amit's squinting face. "Gold borders for the sangeet, but not too much gold. You're a modern boy, after all. Remember what I taught you: balance."

"I don't remember teaching me anything about sequins," Amit muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He felt the weight of her gaze, which had transformed into a laser beam focused entirely on his silhouette. "And this yellow? The groom is wearing blue."

"Complementary colors!" she snapped, then softened instantly when he looked confused. "It represents your golden role in the family, dear. You are the golden thread holding us together. Now, stand still and let me pin this dupatta. Try not to touch it with your hands; use the brush I gave you."

Amit stood rigidly, trying to master the art of the proper 'Namaste' while wearing a skirt he hadn't seen since his college fresher's party. "So, what exactly am I supposed to do? Dance?"

"Sing," she corrected firmly. "And dance, if your heart permits it. But mostly sing. Your uncle Mr. Deshmukh loves your voice."

"And my fake uncle, who has never met me, and this imaginary great-aunt whose name I still can't pronounce without feeling dizzy." Amit sighed, watching the brush glide over the silk. "I've been practicing my steps in the hallway for an hour. My leg is already aching."

Meena patted his shoulder with a hand that felt surprisingly warm despite its stern authority. "Pain is just part of the process, beta. Just like learning to fold a sari properly or remember which auntie brings jalebi and which one brings lassi. It's all about preparation. And tomorrow, we begin the rehearsal for the jokes."

"Jokes?"

"Yes. Family jokes. They are essential." She pulled out a crumpled notepad from her bag and scribbled something quickly before sliding it toward him. The top line read: *Why did the nephew cross the road?* Below that, in smaller print: *To get to the other side of the family tree.*

Amit peered at the note, his eyes widening slightly as a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "That's easy," he whispered. "Because the rest of us are lazy."

Meena nodded approvingly. "Exactly. That one is for the younger generation. They love those. Now try this: Why did the groom's mother bring a ladder to the wedding? And don't answer with 'to climb over your uncle'; that's too cliché."

As if on cue, Ravi burst into the apartment, his laptop bag slung over one shoulder and a look of suspicious curiosity fixed on his face. "Hey Amit, did you hear? The groom's best man is here today. He said he knows every single relative by name, including the ones who moved to Pune five years ago."

Amit froze, the brush hovering mid-air above the sequined fabric. "Does he know me?"

"He knows your brother," Ravi said slowly, stepping closer. "And your father. And your imaginary great-aunt from Hyderabad. But not you. He thinks you're some distant cousin who hasn't visited in decades."

Meena gasped dramatically, clutching her chest as if struck by an invisible blow. "Oh dear! What shall we tell him? That I made up the whole family tree because I wanted a fun afternoon?"

Amit laughed, the sound bright and unburdened. "No, no. Tell him that bloodlines are flexible today. That maybe his DNA got mixed with a little extra imagination."

Ravi grinned, shaking his head. "He'll ask for photos. He'll want proof you're related."

"Tell him I have the most creative lineage in Mumbai," Amit said, finally relaxing into the pose Meena had pinned him into. "I'm part of the family now. Officially adopted by circumstance and a very enthusiastic aunt."

Ravi chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "Well, if anyone can pull off this act, it's you. You've got that look about you—like you belong somewhere even when you don't know why."

Meena clapped her hands together, her eyes gleaming with fresh energy. "Perfect! Then let's make sure he sees the real family spirit. Tomorrow, we start with the traditional games. And after that, maybe a round of chai while discussing your future in this glorious household."

Amit looked down at his yellow kurta, then back up at Meena, who stood proudly beside her creation. For the first time, the absurdity of it all felt less like a burden and more like an adventure waiting to unfold. He adjusted the dupatta with practiced care, feeling the gold border gleam under the morning light.

"Fine," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "But next week, I'm teaching you how to fold that sari properly."

Meena winked, her stern facade melting into something softer and warmer than anything Amit had ever expected from a woman who'd once mistaken him for her son's cousin. "Deal. But first, we need to practice the jokes again. And maybe add one about the ladder."