cold coffee in the evening // niall horan au

II. a priceless reward for minimal effort

Nisha is quickly learning that Maid of Honor duties suck.

It is Tuesday. The wedding is this weekend. Instead of decorating the house and cracking jokes with her cousins, Nisha is stuck in her room making phone calls to vendors. Who knew so many people were needed for the whole event to run smoothly? Neha hired a florist, a decorator for both their backyard and the venue, a photographer and videographer, a DJ, and, most absurdly, four different caterers.

Somehow in this long list of vendors Neha forgot about hiring a damn wedding planner because now Nisha is tasked with the job of confirming and reconfirming with all of these people. And she hates talking on the phone.

It doesn't help that Neha and Harry are having two weddings. As if a Hindu wedding isn't already the most time-consuming and intricate ceremony in the world. Nisha would like to go back to the time she was actually excited about this weekend.

Even though she'd rather be laughing and goofing off with her family, in this safe space, her room, she knows she's somewhat protected from Neha's crazy and stressful energy. She loves her sister, she really does, but if she has to get yelled at again for not doing something Neha didn't even tell her to do then she's going to rip her hair out.

By the time she's done with her phone calls, it's already late afternoon. Nisha sighs and glances out her window, where the tent is already constructed and every square inch is covered with flowers and lights. In the back corner of the yard, where the tent doesn't reach, she can see some of the younger kids are engrossed in a game of some sort. The sight makes her smile. At least some people are having fun.

She taps the stack of papers Neha had given her in a neat pile, paperclipping them for good measure. She'd even written notes on them. It's wishful thinking for Neha to notice, though. She's too busy trying to have the best wedding anyone has ever seen.

When Nisha is finally able to emerge from her bedroom, locking the door behind her, she finds the house looking very different than it did a few hours ago. There is not a dark surface to be seen. The entire space gleams with lights of various shapes and sizes. Garlands of flowers and other fauna line the walls. The air smells like sandalwood and sweets, a telltale sign one has stepped into a wedding house.

The brightness and joyful ambiance lightens Nisha's mood a bit. The sugary scent emanating from the kitchen is calling her name and she fully intends to head down and snag a bit of whatever her mom and aunties are cooking. Her mind is filled with visuals of barfis and jalebis and gulab jamuns when, suddenly, the ground gives a sharp crack just as she turns the corner.

She gasps, jumping backwards only to notice the searing pain on her right heel. To alleviate it, she quickly transfers her weight to her left foot, only to step on something else and lose balance, slipping backwards towards the floor and landing right on her bum. A string of expletives leave her lips at this new pain.

"Nisha, shit! I'm so sorry!" Frantic, breathless, and British. This voice definitely belongs to Harry. Too bad she's in so much pain that she can't bear to open her eyes; she's sure that if she does then the ache will just explode within her. "I didn't see you coming! I dropped one of Neha's lights and it shattered and I was about to clean it but—"

"It's fine, Harry," Nisha grits out, her teeth clenched so tightly together that it's a wonder she's able to speak any words at all. She opens her eyes only for tears to spill over, and she huffs to herself as she looks up in his general direction. "Just help me up, will you?"

Glass. That's why her foot hurts so bad. She wonders how many pieces have spliced through the skin of her heel and the thought makes her nauseous.