Page 3 of Knot So Romantic

“Shoo!” I wave my hands vigorously, hoping to frighten the bird. But no such luck.

The bird has perched on a rack that only has fabric samples, thankfully. My latest bridal outfit, a work-in-progress, hangs safely at the back. For now.

The bird pecks noisily at the metal rack.

“Shoo! There’s nothing to eat in here.”

I edge my way sideways into the pantry to look for food, anyway. A packet of chips? Cookies? There’s got to be something I can use to bribe this bird to leave.

A sudden sound of fluttering wings alarms me, and I freeze beside the cabinet. My heart leaps out of my chest as the pigeon takes a shallow flight and lands on another rack. Still, not the precious one, but close! Oh God! I can’t afford to have bird droppings ruin weeks of hard work.

“Ramu!” I yell. I will fire this man, I promise!

My fingers reach into the cabinet, and something rustles under my finger. I pull it out: a packet of cookies. I guess this will do.

I crouch and edge my way toward the back door, careful not to startle the bird into another takeoff. As expected, the door is ajar. I crumble a few cookie crumbs at the exit, hoping the bird will take the bait and fly out.

But the bird stares at me, its neck twitching from side to side, making short grunting sounds like, “Guttar… Guttar…,” eyeing the crumbs but still not moving.

It seems we’re at a stand-off. It’s probably scared, just as I am.

The bird is holding the fort right between the front door, through which a customer could walk at any moment, and the back door, where I am. I realize if I could get closer to the front door, I might have a better chance than with just cookie crumbs. But not too close—I have a gorgeous lehenga ready for delivery by the front door.

I try to call out to Ramu again, but fear locks my throat, and my voice squeaks. So, I fully open the back door and duck-squat my way over to the front. Luckily, the bird hasn’t moved, and it’s eyeing the back door, which is a good sign. I search for some piece of clothing I can use to… I don’t know, maybe wave in front of it? Think waving a red cloth in front of a bull, except I want the bird to fly away from me, not at me. Whatever! My heart is pounding, and my vision darts between the outfit I want to save, hanging on the right side, and the bird on the left.

I’ve got to do something!

My eyes land on a dupatta hanging on a side rack. It’s a beautiful mustard-yellow mulmul piece with mirror work and lace trims. I mean, everything in my boutique is beautiful. I wouldn’t throw any of my pieces at a bird, but it’s the closest thing I can find. And it’s kind of perfect for what I have in mind.

I pull it off the rack and wrap one end around my fist. The bird senses something and takes off from the rack, suddenly making a right turn—Oh no! We have a do-or-die situation. I shoo and wave the dupatta at it, screaming as loud as I can.

The racks are in a maze-like structure. The bird seems confused, its wings fluttering rapidly as it flies around the racks as if lost in a labyrinth. Meanwhile, I dash around, whipping the dupatta in the air, my voice hoarse from shouting.

I’m almost successful with my crazy act, or so I think, when suddenly, the newly installed brass bell at the front door peals. My heart leaps out of my ribcage, and I trip on the dupatta, falling flat on the floor and sending a few racks careening across the room. The pigeon takes a low flight straight toward the exit and disappears.

I look up to make sure it’s gone. It is. I sigh with relief.

“What the hell was that? A pigeon?” a voice yells.

My back hurts as I twist slowly to the side. “Why didn’t I think of the bell?” I manage, relieved to see Khushi standing with her hands on her hips while I stand up.

Khushi points to the bell. “Isn’t this hung too low?”

I’d bought it from a cute thrift store recently and just got it installed, but I agree that it’s too low, with a rope dangling even lower. I’d told Ramu to hang it higher, but he hasn’t gotten to it yet.

“It’s going to hit a tall person’s head,” she laughs.

Tall person? There’s one who comes to mind, one whose head would definitely hit that bell. But the likelihood of him walking into my establishment is very slim.

Khushi’s pink, flowy dress swishes around her hips, and her eyes scan the room, her cheeks turning red. “Any more pigeons?”

“No, just that one! This is the first time a pigeon has come in.” I flash her a triumphant smile despite the pain, standing with one hand still on my hurting hip.

“I was going to ask,” she laughs.

“It’s so good to see you!”

“You too!” She pulls me into a tight hug. “Are you okay?”