Stuck in a Pallu

Chapter 10: The Elopement – The Day Comes

The day arrived like a long-held breath finally let out quiet, inevitable, electric.

It was, coincidentally, another wedding day.

Farida and Zubair’s reception was being held at the same Anna Nagar banquet hall complex two separate wings, two separate crowds, but the same marigold garlands, the same fairy lights, the same scent of biryani and attar drifting through the corridors.

The families were invited to both.

The families moved through the venue like parallel streams smiling, greeting, congratulating while the real plan unfolded in the shadows.

Sameera dressed with trembling hands that morning.

She chose a deep sapphire-blue chiffon saree lightweight, flowing, with intricate silver zari borders that caught light like moonlight on water. Beneath: matching sapphire lace bra and high-waisted panty set (bra lightly padded for gentle lift, lace cool against waxed skin), cream silk petticoat tied snug at the waist. The saree draped low on her hips, exposing a thin band of midriff; pleats sharp and even, pallu cascading over her left shoulder in soft, shimmering folds. Jewellery was understated but bridal: pendent resting in cleavage, long silver jhumkas brushing her neck, glass bangles in blue and silver (eighteen each wrist), slim silver waist chain under the saree, permanent gold anklets chiming softly, small diamond nose stud, maang tikka in the wig parting, large red bindi. Makeup soft but striking: thick winged kohl, rose-gold shimmer on lids, deep berry lips, fresh mogra gajra woven into the braid.

She looked like a bride ready to start over.

Rahim watched her from the doorway quiet, almost reverent.

“You look… perfect,” he said.

She met his eyes in the mirror.

“Thank you.”

He stepped closer, adjusted her pallu with careful fingers.

“Be safe today,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”

She nodded once heart pounding.

Across town, Sajid dressed in a deep navy kurta-pajama set silk blend, subtle silver zari embroidery on the collar and cuffs. Beard oiled, hair neatly combed, shoulders broad under the fabric. He looked in the mirror saw the man he had become: strong, steady, respected.

And still trapped.

Fatima was already ready lavender anarkali, hijab pinned, small suitcase hidden in the car.

Her boyfriend waited outside quiet, nervous, ready.

The plan was simple.

Rahim and Priya would slip out during the reception chaos civil marriage papers already signed online, flight to Coimbatore booked under new names.

Fatima and her boyfriend would leave separately direct flight to England, student visas in hand, marriage to follow abroad.

Sameera and Sajid would stay until the last possible moment then disappear together.

The reversal clinic appointment was set for two days later.

One last night as Sameera and Sajid.

Then back to Saad and Safiya.

Or so they hoped.

The reception was in full swing by 7 p.m.

Sameera stood with Ammi-ji and the aunts saree shimmering under the lights, anklets chiming as she moved to serve sherbet, adjust dupattas, smile demurely at compliments.

“Mashallah, kitni sundar bahu hai!”

“Rahim is lucky.”

“Any good news yet?”

She blushed on cue, lowered her eyes. “InshaAllah soon.”

Rahim stood nearby sherwani crisp, hand occasionally brushing her elbow, possessive even now.

Sajid was across the hall with Fatima’s family Abbu clapping him on the back, Ammi pressing sweets into his hand, Imran calling him “bhaiya” with easy affection.

They caught each other’s eyes once brief, burning then looked away.

At 9:15 p.m., the signal came.

Rahim leaned close to Sameera.

“It’s time.”

She nodded.

They slipped away Rahim guiding her through the side corridor, past the kitchens, out a service exit.

Priya waited in the parking lot simple black abaya, face hidden.

Rahim took her hand tight, desperate.

Sameera watched them disappear into the car.

Across the lot, Fatima and her boyfriend climbed into another vehicle.

They drove off two couples, four lives, heading toward new beginnings.

Sameera stood alone in the shadows.

Then Sajid was there.

He took her hand fingers lacing through hers.

“Come.”

They slipped back inside through a side door, up a service stair, into an empty storage room on the second floor.

The door clicked shut.

They stood facing each other breathing hard.

Sameera lifted her pallu slightly face flushed, eyes shining.

Sajid stepped close.

He cupped her face thumbs brushing her cheeks.

“We did it,” he whispered.

She laughed soft, shaky.

“We did.”

He kissed her slow at first, lips brushing, then deeper mouth opening, tongue sliding against hers. She pressed into him breasts soft against his chest, hips flush, hands fisting in his kurta.

They kissed like people starved months of waiting, pretending, aching pouring out.

His hands slid down her back fingers finding the blouse hooks, flicking them open one by one. The saree pallu fell away; blouse parted. He tugged it off her shoulders revealing the sapphire lace bra, the swell of her breasts.

She unbuttoned his kurta pushed it off, hands roaming over the broad chest she had come to know so well.

They undressed each other slowly saree unwound in whispering folds, petticoat untied, bra unhooked, panty slid down. His trousers dropped; prosthetic phallus heavy, real in its presence.

They stood naked bodies changed, yet familiar.

He lifted her set her on a stack of folded tablecloths.

She wrapped her legs around his waist.

He entered her slow, careful the prosthetic sliding into the prosthetic vagina, realistic friction, warmth, pressure.

They both gasped.

He thrust gentle at first, then deeper, steadier hips rolling, hands gripping her thighs.

She clung to him nails digging into his shoulders, breasts bouncing softly with each movement, anklets chiming against his back.

They moved together months of pent-up longing, grief, love crashing through every stroke.

When he came hot, pulsing inside the prosthetic she held him tighter, kissed his neck, felt his shudder.

He stayed inside her forehead pressed to hers breathing hard.

They stayed like that naked, tangled, hearts pounding until the world returned.

Then she slipped off him.

They dressed slowly saree re-draped, kurta buttoned.

She looked at his clothes tried to slip on his kurta sleeve. It hung loose on her smaller frame, shoulders too broad, sleeves too long.

She laughed soft, sad.

“It doesn’t fit.”

He tried her blouse too tight across his chest, buttons straining over muscle.

He looked at his arms thick, defined from months of lifting.

Then at her bra small, lace, delicate hanging from his finger.

“Cute,” he said dryly.

She smiled tears in her eyes.

“How will I go back to being Saad?” she whispered.

He pulled her close.

“We’ll figure it out. Together.”

They left the room hand in hand until the corridor.

She rejoined Ammi-ji in the women’s section saree perfect, smile demure.

He rejoined Abbu in the men’s side sherwani crisp, nod respectful.

No one noticed.

The wedding continued.

Tomorrow the families would wake to empty rooms.

Tomorrow the reactions would come shock, anger, grief.

But tonight…

Tonight they had said goodbye.

And hello.

To whatever came next.