143 | the haldi ceremony and more bengali rituals.

SHAYLA'S P.O.V

Tomorrow was my wedding day. It was tomorrow and it was official — it was officially my wedding day.

This morning, Cameron and I had dressed up — courtesy of Caira, who insisted on buying us new outfits for our legal wedding, aka the registration of our marriage, or otherwise, she'd throw herself in front of a flashy car and meet her instant death right in front of us to forever change the direction of our lives. Her words, not mine. But either way, none of us took any chances and we followed her to the boutique either way — where Caira already had arranged a galore of more casual wedding dresses for me to try on. After two hours of sifting through racks and racks full of absolutely insanely pretty dresses, I settled on a white jumpsuit with a flourishing train that hung down my waist. The sleeveless jumpsuit was edgy, with a dramatic neckline and shiny white leather straps running down the waist, but the train of cloth provided it with a much appreciated elegance. In
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