I am wearing a red Banarasi saree. My mom wore green on her wedding day. Two makeup artists are doing my face and fighting with my hair. I am super-stressed with tons of things happening today. It’s all lit up, from the windowpane to the building floor. It’s my wedding. The Wedding. However, the brightness is coming from the furthest distance because the star, my hero, is coming in a white Ambassador car. So Bengali as I wanted it so bad. I try to take a few deep breaths as instructed by my therapist and light a cigarette. That was not recommended by her. Rules are arbitrary. Nomita just gave me a cup of coffee. It’s chalky, but it straightens my mind and wakes me up. I am supposed to be happily tense. It’s my wedding day.