“What?” Mehek asked the Naqse, who sat beside her while she was having her mehendi on her palms. He tilted his head at her and then smiled. Something melted inside her, and then she rolled her eyes. “Mumma” he said, and she let out a sharp breath.

“I am not your mumma," she said, and he grinned. There was no fear in his face. His eyes resting on her henna hands, admiring them with his soft, innocent eyes. His fingers curled to touch the henna once because he never did before. But he takes his hand back, resting it on his lap because he doesn't have any idea how she will react to his sudden touch. So he is quiet. Mehek noticed his fingers curled and then uncurled. The slight dip in his brows. She let out a breath, a soft one, and then nodded to the henna artist, who was done applying the henna on her other palm. It was the minimal design just for the ritual for being the bride's sister. The henna artist moved to the other side towards the other woman who was patiently waiting for her to be free from Mehek.