Love ain't pretty faces and all flowery, it's pain and sacrifice, yet the immense need to never let go.

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"I, Cassandra Gomes, take you Paul Britts to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish —"  

I lean back on my chair not bothering to look up, studying my nail paint or its lack thereof on my perfectly trimmed nails. My profession doesn't really allow me to grow nails, not that I want to.

A sigh escapes my lips as the bride finishes her oath, another wedding done and dusted. Thirties, the time when you find your 'the one' and finally to settle down. And hence my colleagues are getting married every other day, having found their 'the one' which ultimately proves to be 'not the one' after the honeymoon period is over. 

My hours at the hospital doesn't allow me much time to attend parties, not that I want to.

"You may kiss the bride." The priest declares.

I look up only to find the groom pull her veil revealing her face before gently taking her face in his hands and dipping down to kiss her. The move is so fluid and tender, I wonder how it must actually feel. Maybe the drama that's to follow is worth this one moment of silent promise of togetherness.

I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy and the clench in my chest.  I taste my plum flavoured lipstick and realize I have been nibbling my lips slightly on the corners, a habit I picked up only recently.

Applause breaks around me, drowning the soft melody of the violin as the priest announces them man and wife.

Finally an end to this tedious ceremony. I can now bolt without letting this affect me any more than it already did. 

The newly married couple stare at each other in somewhat silent adoration. They remind me of a time, of a person with dark grey eyes. The similar ache in my chest ignites again, making me hate my very existence. 

As a drop of tear slips my eyelids and I move my eyes away, the speaker booms again with the voice of the groom reverberating in the open space, "Everyone here, we are thankful that you all took the time to come here, to celebrate our holy union. I would request you all to enjoy the party. Thank you."

I cringe slightly at the words 'holy union.' Sure my colleague loves medieval romance novels, but I can't help cringing at the cliche.

"Hey, Dr. Singh. How come you are here?" A sugary sweet voice asks beside me interrupting my moment. I turn to find a woman dressed in a strapless burgundy gown staring me down with her hazel eyes. My eyes harden immediately, the twinge in my chest vanishes as I note her  her lips are titled and unnaturally puffy indicating the use of Botox. Her nose bridge is too high to be natural, again rhinoplasty.

I have her weaknesses now. Let her say anything crass and she will get the answer.

"Using my two legs, I suppose," I answer the woman. I can't recognize who she is, I just don't care enough to recognize people. It started right after that incident. I think my brain doesn't just want to function anymore, it's so lost for him.

"Ah, always sarcastic are we? It's a surprise to find you here. You don't usually attend weddings." She states as a matter of fact.

"I do. No one notices me." I shrug. That's not true though. I bolt right after congratulating the couple after the wedding vows are taken. So, it's kind of hard for anyone to notice me. I wouldn't be here if not for propriety's sake. After all its rude to turn down a wedding invitation. I might have a tongue as sharp as a sword but I prefer not to talk to too many people. If I do talk I come out as rude, so better yet they consider me shy. I wasn't always like this, I was quite well behaved and spoken.

But life happens and always leaves an impact.

"I guess so." She's at a loss for words as her eyes move around the space looking for somebody or probably an excuse, "Hey!" She yells looking at someone else before turning to look at me, " Excuse me," she mutters with a polite smile. She doesn't even wait for me to excuse her, not that I mind.

My eyes scan the stage looking for them, to find them standing below it, swamped by guests. 

I can just quickly congratulate them and rush out. But more people means more conversation. I discard the idea as soon as it comes and instead decide to have a drink and wait until they have finished congratulating the couple.

Instead of sulking, I look around the open space. The bride wanted a wedding under the open night sky. Something about stars being the witness to their bonding. Ah, but there are no stars today. The corners of my mouth crinkle slightly but I immediately smoothen it out looking around to see if anyone was seeing me. Seeing that everybody around me is busy in their world, I return back to analyze the stage that's erected in the middle where the oaths were taken. Dozens of white-clothed chairs are laid in front for the guests. A red ribbon is tied around each chair in a perfect bow at the back. The backdrop of the stage is formed by white and cream-coloured curtains bordered with fresh peonies, white lilies and carnations. Strings lights are strewn across the tops making up for the starless light. Space is lined by tall pine trees on either side of the stage about a hundred meters away, giving it the woodsy vibe.

On the other side there's a fountain and beyond it lies rows of rectangular tables. Several items of British cuisine are arranged on it with an array of fine cream cutlery, napkins and spoons.

I see a waiter nearby as I holler for him. He's here in no time as I pick up the glass of champagne muttering thanks.

"What's up?" I ask, looking at the fresh glass of amber liquid, bubbles clashing on the glass rim before bursting. "How do you feel about going into my stomach? " I whisper, smirking at it as if I am the devil about to consume innocent beings. "Happy riddance," I say before taking a gulp.

The fox got a glass of champagne at least.

I take another gulp of it, taking a bit longer to swallow it as I let my tongue revel in the flavours of the champagne before drowning it in a single gulp.

"Whoa there, what is the hurry?" A voice says.

Not again.

"Excuse me, why do you care if I'm in a hurry?" I ask, turning to look at the second intruder but words get stuck in my throat as I stare at a pair of sapphire  blue eyes.

His eyes. It's the colour of his eyes.

For a moment I freeze, momentarily paralyzed. Air fills my lungs, inflating them and I am thrown into the whirlpool of memories.  My vision floods with his memories, his eyes, the perfect tilt of his lips curving into a rare smile directed my way, my fingers tracing his sharp jaw, me slightly giggling at the sensation of his beard scratching my palm. I gulp closing my eyes for a split second as those images flash in my mind, eliciting goosebumps on my bare flesh.

I haven't been more thankful to the concealer and my skin tone for hiding the blush at his remembrance. I never used concealer before, but now I do even in my hospital hours to hide the dark circles under my eyes from the lack of sleep.

I open my eyes to find his eyes tracing the goosebumps breaking out on my bare arms. It's not for him, I hope he knows that.

I don't recognize the man standing before me. I don't identify him.

A stupid part of me wishes it was him. Oh if it was him, I would forever hide him in my heart trapping him in my left ventricle, never letting him go.

He regards me with curiosity, "I think that came out wrong. I was just making a conversation. The night is as young as we are. Why waste it when I have someone as beautiful as you standing before me?"

"I am not interested. Find someone else for your young night." I assert, placing the empty glass on the table with an impact, before strolling away. Stronger this time.

Flirts! What does he take me for?

And why the heck was he standing so close?

"I would request all the lovely people here to come up and dance with us to the tunes. Let's dance the night away to our happy union." The groom's voice breaks out through the speakers.

And then soft music starts to spread through the room as people make their way to the dance floor. I turn to look at the stage when my eyes focus on a pair of hands entwined with another as the man leads up his date to the stage.

If only he was here with me. Oh, how I wish it was us dancing on the floor. The very thought makes me want to break down here and question everyone, seeking justice as to why I am alone here without him.

Oh don't be stupid, dancing is for stupid people with no jobs. Right?

I  don't like dancing anyway. And the fox never liked the grapes.

Unconsciously, I stare at my hands, folding it close into a fist feeling the roughness of my own hand against my palm, somehow wishing it was him holding them, caressing them.

Stop it! He's gone, out of reach.

I need to get the hell out of this place. This is why I hate anything related to love, it opens old wounds. I must get out of here.

"A dry martini please," I ask the bartender. The bar lies to the right of the fountain. I take a seat, keeping my eyes on the married couple dancing on the stage.

As soon as I take a gulp, I cringe at the bitter, strong taste drowning the slight taste of olives

"Care for a dance?" Someone asks beside me. For a moment I am elated thinking it's him.

But, it breaks as soon as I find myself face to face with an unknown face.

"Do I know you?" I turn to look at the source of the voice. Irritating.

"We just met a moment ago."

It's then I notice the colour of his eyes, sapphire blue. Why didn't I recognize him then? I have really got bad with faces now.

"I don't remember insignificant people."

"You hurt me."

 "Get lost if it hurts?" I suggest, quirking up an eyebrow.

"I can't, never, " he whispers almost to himself but I hear it.

Why can't you?

"So uh, dance?"

I look back at the couple still dancing. If I stand here someone else will come to bother me again.

"Okay, fine," I say, as a sigh escapes my lips at his persistent nature.

He smiles obviously happy with my answer as he forwards his hand for me to hold. I regard his hands with hesitation. Its just a dance. Just a dance. As I put mine in his, acetylcholine through every nerve ending making my body sizzle with energy. When he presses his hands on my clothed back guiding me to the floor, a certain organ tries to hammer its way out of my chest. I am distinctly aware of my ears that are red hot by now. 

Serotonin too, I feel. . . happy. My body relaxes much against my own will as he twirls me around, all the while holding me close.

I am way too much aware of the arm that winds around me as he pulls me close, his fingers splaying on my waist and the heat emanating from his chest.

"So, what's your name?" He asks, his voice a deep male as he lets me twirl around his finger once before pulling me back to him. The momentum of force makes our chests collide before I move back to put some space. I feel nervous, why? 

The only mistake I make is to look up into his sapphire blue eyes. My breath is drawn out of me in a whoosh as my heart goes into a frenzy again. I am again swayed back to the past where his dark grey eyes stare down at me with love, admiration and something more that I could never decipher.

There's something lingering in the depths of the eyes of the man standing before me, something I am familiar to, but can't put a point to. I squeeze my eyes shut tight trying to focus, to remember it, but only see stars exploding in the darkness behind my vision.

My stomach knots in frustration at the unfamiliar sensation.

I think I just need to go to the bathroom, splash some water on my face.

"I. . . need to use the restroom. Can I?" I ask him mid-dance.

What was that? When did I start asking for permission?

"Sure," he says as his arms move away leaving me bare. I feel bereft at once but ignore the feeling as I rush off to the bathroom.

I stare at the mirror, looking upon my reflection. My knee-length, off shoulder midnight blue cocktail dress, is lined by rhinestones around my waist. My black hair comes down in waves falling on top of my breasts on either side. I cringe at the hollow, cold, barren look in my eyes. It's been days since I looked at myself, truly looked at myself. I hate looking at the mirror. Whenever I look at it a pair of cold eyes, set in a hard glint stares back at me, mocking me for my stance.

The rude sarcastic demeanour I have adapted to hide my true self. My invisibility cloak.

I wash my hands before lightly patting my cheek with the cold water. I don't want my makeup running down in narrow streams down my temple. So I am careful enough so as to not ruin my makeup. A few splashes of cold water would feel nice but I don't want my mascara running down my cheeks in a black stream right now.

I draw in a few deep breaths willing myself to calm down. The rapid beating of my heart calms down and the knot untangles itself. But, there's still a lingering sensation, one that I can't point out. And it's frustrating, to know something's up but not knowing it.

Perhaps I need a cigarette? It's all because of those eyes. Goddammit, I am lucky that blue eyes are genetically rare or I would be hyperventilating every time I see a pair of blue eyes.

Coming out of the bathroom not long after, I scan the crowd for Dr. Britts and his wife. As soon as I point them outstanding near the dance floor, I make my way to them. Save for their dress I wouldn't be able to recognize them in this crowd. I just can't happen to recognize people these days.

"Hey Cassandra and Derek, I am so sorry to intervene but I must say congratulations. Wish you a happy married life." I keep it short and simple. I really don't know what to say. I can't act all warm and compassionate.

"Thank you. It's a gift itself that you came. And you look so beautiful. Please do enjoy the dinner." Cassandra gushes holding my hands between hers. She is dressed in a white Berta gown and her hair tied into a French crown braid and pulled to the back in a bun. She's mesmerizing with her slight makeup and the natural tinge on her otherwise pale face. She is one of the most genuine person I have met and I don't want to subject her to the onslaught of my tongue.

"Thank you," I reply.

I try to reciprocate her smile, but I wonder if it rather comes out as a grimace.

I should get going now. I turn to go back but before I can make it to the exit, a hand pulls me back holding my right arm. I turn back on a whim, colliding with his chest as the distinct aroma of lavender invades my nostrils.

It's him, sapphire eyes.

"You can't walk out on me, Nehali. That's rude." The same voice says.

"I was only going for a smoke," I lie smoothly looking anywhere but his eyes, weddings anyway are nerve-wracking and this man isn't helping it. Why did I even lie?

"I am not done with you, yet." I quirk my eyebrow at him narrowing my eyes, but he clears his throat continuing, "I mean the dance. It was incomplete."

He draws me in his arms with a mere tug pulling me to the dance floor, swaying us on the beats of music. Wait did I agree to this? Did I say yes?

I squint my eyes, as my temper flares giving him the death stare, but that guy only closes his eyes, coming down to nestle in the crook of my neck. The slight brush of his beard on my shoulder feels like a memory a thousand miles away.

Push him away?

A moment or so passes as we dance that way, that close before he pulls up, his face hovering near mine. I can literally feel his breath fan my lips. I am paralyzed, unable to move, drawn into his trance, when I shouldn't be.

Is he going to. . .?

Should I let him?

He is never coming back, right?

Before I can decide, he moves his lips to ears followed by a soft, moist touch in the spot behind my ear, right on the tattoo that reads, 'Bane.' He used to kiss me behind my ears every time. I got the tattoo later, combining the first two letters of our names. He drags his nose right on that spot as shivers break out all over my body followed by flashes of his face, every time he kissed me, he held me and loved me.

Tears prickle the corners of my eyes as I am reminded of him, the time spent with him. How can I ever allow someone else to take his place, kiss me where his lips should have been?

I bring up my hands ready to push this man away, but it's his next words that halt me and pushes my heart into a frenzy, "Sahiba."

A mere breathy whisper is all it takes for me to lose my senses.

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Author's note:

If you are confused about this chapter, this chapter is based on a future scene, the story from here will dive into her past  henceforth.

Hey, there I am with my first part. Do read and comment and if you like the story then hit the star button! Please note: He, his, him refers to a man in her past.

Update: This chapter has been changed all over for the flow of the story. The course will remain the same, the idea is the same , just the way to lay it out has changed. So, all comments meant for the previous version will be deleted, albeit slowly (there are too many).

Did you understand the reference made to 'the fox and sour grapes'?

What do you think about our MC?

Why did the words Sahiba make her stop?

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