Page 61 of Knot So Romantic

I’m taken aback by their words. Are they talking about a match for Kavita? From their words, it seems like it.

I’m surprised that Kavita didn’t mention anything about receiving a proposal.

I glance at the young man. He is tall and handsome. Probably has a prestigious job. He seems all right for her.

“Their family was looking for someone settled here, and they were so glad to hear that you were back.”

Suddenly, the young man turns around and sees me. “Excuse me, Uncle. Do you know where the restrooms are?”

Uncle?

Do I look like an uncle? Sure, I’m older than this guy, but to think that I look like an uncle to him?

Just as I recover from that rude shock, somebody bumps into me, and the chutney in the man’s hand spills on my shirt. Great, now I have chutney running down my shirt, and someone just called me Uncle.

As I try to wipe off the chutney with a napkin, I only smear it further across my shirt. Frustrated, I turn to find a water fountain or restroom, but in my haste, I bump into a server carrying a tray of drinks. The glasses wobble precariously, and though I manage to steady the tray, one of the drinks sloshes over the rim, adding to the mess on my shirt.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the server apologizes, looking mortified.

“It’s fine,” I mutter, though it’s anything but. I spot a restroom sign and make a beeline for it, hoping to salvage what I can of my appearance.

In the restroom, I frantically try to clean up, but the hand dryer isn’t working, leaving me with a large wet patch on top of the stains. As I exit, still dabbing at my shirt with paper towels, I nearly collide with an elderly woman who gives me a disapproving look.

I make my way back to the event area. As I approach, I overhear snippets of conversations.

“Did you see that young doctor? He’d be perfect for my daughter,” one woman gushes to her friend.

“I heard the Mehras’ son just got promoted to VP. He’s only thirty-two!” another exclaims.

I try to shake off these comments, but they hit a little too close to home. Suddenly, I notice a group of young men laughing and joking. One of them catches my eye and nods politely.

“Uncle, would you like to sit down? There’s a chair right here,” he offers, gesturing to an empty seat nearby.

I force a smile, declining politely, but inside, I’m cringing. Twice in one day? Do I really look that old?

As I move away, I overhear an elderly couple discussing their granddaughter’s upcoming wedding.

“You know, it’s so much easier for the young women and men these days,” the grandfather says. “Back in our time, we did not have all these apps. There’s so much choice for arranged marriages.”

His wife nods in agreement. “True, but it’s still important to marry at the right age. You don’t want to wait too long.”

Their words hit me like a punch to the gut. Am I too old for this? For Kavita? Just as these doubts start to overwhelm me, I hear a voice behind me.

“Neel, right? How are you, son?” It’s Kavita’s mother. I don’t see Kavita with her.

“I’m good, ma’am,” I say.

“You can call me Mrs. Moorthy,” she gushes.

Before I can ask her where Kavita is, she pulls a woman in front of me and whispers, “This is the girl I told you about at the Dandiya. Her husband died in a car accident, poor thing. She doesn’t have kids. Do you have kids, Neel?”

“No, I don’t.”

“See! I knew it! Talk to her,” she smiles, nudging the woman forward, and disappears before I can say another word.

The woman in front of me smiles coyly. “Hi, I’m Vanitha.”

“Neel.”