A Violet, Violent Spring

Chapter 1

Could you imagine a New Year's Eve party running for three days straight? An Indian wedding was essentially that. And an Indian wedding in a foreign country was something spectacularly impossible to conceive. One could ask the basic question, where are we going to find enough space? The City of London, after all, was not the sort of city which had sprawling open land that could be rented for half a week. Then again, if you had enough money, anything seemed possible.

I spent my time marvelling at the fact that I was about to attend my best friend's wedding in Richmond of all places, rather than making an effort to hook my blouse closed. My lehenga skirt weighed a ton and left a four inch train on the floor. I felt like an idiot, half dressed, lifting my skirt with both my hands and hobbling around my apartment like a chimpanzee. My hair was still in curlers and my makeup was only half done. I stopped in front of the mirror and ended up undoing my skirt and retying the nada so tightly that my stomach literally leaked over the waistband. I hunched over and made a face at myself in the mirror. The light pink of the skirt complemented my bronze skin and wavy hair. No amount of makeup was going to hide the smallness of my lips, though.

I reached my arms behind my back, trying to get at the hooks again, moaning in annoyance when they didn't catch.

What a pain in the ass! I yelled at nothing.

I lifted my skirt again and hobbled to the closet to find a pair of shoes. I had a glittering golden pair which made me look like I had questionable motives no matter what I wore with them. They would probably work. I sat on the bed and pulled on the shoes, making ugly grunting noises as I did. I silently thanked nothing that I didn't have anyone watching me right then. After I had my shoes on my skirt lifted off the ground by a millimetre, and I could walk comfortably. That was one thing done. I checked my phone to see if I'd got any messages, and then my bag to make sure I had my invitation and keys and other little things. Everything was in order.

Good.

I sauntered to the bathroom to finish my makeup and remove my curlers. After that the only things left were the top two hooks of my blouse and my dupatta. I gave up on the blouse and focused on pleating and pinning the dupatta. As I inserted the safety pin into the side of my skirt, my phone rang. I jumped and drove the pin straight home into my waist.

Mother fuck!

I ignored the sharp bite of pain and fixed the pin in place before rubbing my hand against the contact point. If there was even a spot of blood on this lehenga I would probably question every decision made in my life up to this point. I grabbed the phone and swiped to receive the call without looking at who it was.

Who the–

Mia! Where the fuck are you?! I pulled the phone away from my ear to avoid possible ear damage in response to the booming voice at the other end of the line.

I'm getting ready. The thing doesn't start till seven right?

"If by the thing you mean my wedding then yes, it starts at seven, but if you don't leave now you'll be late! Hurry up!" She gave me a final yell and I flinched away from the device. I glanced at the phone and gaped when I read the time.

6:30.

I was going to be late for my best friend's wedding.

The next five minutes were a blur. My hair got stuck to my mouth every time I shook my head an inch, and the open hooks tangled it even further. By the time I pulled on my coat and grabbed my keys, my hair seemed to be in worse shape than before I styled it.

So much for attention to detail.

I ran a hand through my hair, deciding to worry about it later, and instead focused on getting a move on. I gathered my skirt in one hand and made my way out of the door carefully, swearing softly when a small loose thread caught in my fingers as I let go of the skirt. My fingers fumbled with the keys and I had to bend over to the point where my eye was level with the lock for me to discern what was what. As I jabbed the key into the hole I heard the neighbour's door open. I glanced at the emerging figure from the corner of my eye. A man in a suit came out holding a massive bouquet of lilies and carnations that covered his entire upper half. When he turned to lock his door I caught a glimpse of his hair – bright baby pink. I rubbed my eyes and squinted at him to be sure. As if somehow feeling my eyes on him, he turned to me. I couldn't tell what his expression was like through the flowers so I just turned back to my door and turned the key, making the latch fall into place with a satisfying click. I stood up straight to see him still standing there. I smiled with my mouth closed and crossed my arms, hesitating a moment before starting towards the stairs at the end of the hall.

You didn't lock it.

I stopped in my tracks. Was he talking to me? I looked back over my shoulder. He hadn’t moved.

Um...

Your door isn't locked, he repeated.

But I locked it. I turned around fully, dropping my arms to my sides.

He shrugged. As he walked past me I tried to get a glimpse of his face, but all I could see was the shock of pink hair.

Pink hair!

It shouldn't have been that interesting, honestly. Seeing people with neon hair in Camden wasn't a rare occurrence. But Camden wasn't quite the same as South Ken. I smirked to myself at the thought of a wealthy heir or businessman dawdling in his three bedroom downtown flat with a mop of neon hair on his head. That'd be a sight.

Suddenly I remembered my seemingly unlocked door. I retraced my steps and stuck the key in the lock and twisted in the same direction as before. Another click.

Damn it, he was right. I bit my lip and huffed through my teeth in annoyance. How embarrassing! I cursed at nothing in particular and trotted down the hall, taking the steps two at a time on the way down – something I don't recommend you do in heels wearing an outfit that weighs as much as you unless you have half a brain in your skull. By the time I reached the bottom of the staircase my soles were on fire.

At the end of the ground floor hall I saw Flower Man leaning against the wall, bouquet on the floor beside him, jabbering on the phone in rapid Chinese. At least it sounded like Chinese to me. I smoothed my outfit down and headed for the door – which he unexpectedly leaned to open for me, giving me a slight nod but never wavering from his conversation. I mouthed a thank you and slipped out the door. Only when I reached the bottom of the stairs did I hear the door latch click. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Flower Man with his bouquet, trotting down the steps with his phone still pressed to his ear. I pulled my dupatta around me hastily to keep the open hooks out of sight, but he didn't seem concerned as he walked by me. I let out a breath and continued on my way. The train from South Kensington to Richmond cut straight through on the District line, which was all the more convenient for me. I walked keeping my eyes fixed to the ground, making sure my skirt didn't graze the concrete any more than it really had to, so I almost didn't notice that Flower Man was still in front of me. He was off his phone, but constantly checking it. The bouquet swayed in dangerously high arcs as his arms swung back and forth and I was half afraid all the poor flowers would all fall off before he delivered them.

When I crossed the road to the station, it was already twenty to seven. Despite being the near-end of peak hour, people were still rushing in and out of the station, busy to get to whatever it was they had to get to. No one seemed to have any time to even breathe. I saw a few heads turn in my direction, obviously marvelled by my lehenga, or maybe a few of them spotted that two of my hooks were still undone. Either way I didn't slack my speed. I swiped my Oyster card over the reader and was swiftly through the gate in a moment. I stepped onto the escalator going down, trying to make sure that my skirt didn't get caught. A flash of pink in front of me, and I noticed that Flower Man was still within sight. I was going to laugh, but the stoic faces around me were a good enough deterrent. When I stepped off the escalator I immediately turned left without reading the tube map on the wall. I had been through here often enough to know my way around the lines.

I leaned against the wall to wait, not risking crumpling my skirt by sitting. My phone vibrated against my inner coat pocket and I jumped out of my blank trance, surprised that the signal could even reach underground.

Hey, Ashi, I said, knowing immediately that it couldn't be anyone else. I'm just about to get on the train. I'll be at Richmond station in about thirty minutes.

Good Lord Mia... You had one job. She sighed. "I have to deal with all these Japanese grannies alone! You know how much they dislike me!" Her whining was a pain to listen to, but I laughed anyway.

They don't like you because your Japanese is bad, not because your skin is brown, Ashi.

She groaned, and I could almost imagine her expression as she did so.

I'll be there soon. And I hung up.

As I was stuffing the phone back into my pocket, I felt a touch against my elbow.

Erm, excuse me, miss. It was a middle aged English lady. She was dressed like she was headed somewhere important. I responded with an approachable smile.

Yes?

Did you say Richmond? I do beg pardon for overhearing, but this train is for Wimbledon.

Really?! I glanced at the neon sign above, seeing that it did indeed say 'Wimbledon'.

So much for knowing my way around...

Shit! I'm sorry, and thank you. I flashed her a grateful look as I turned towards the other platform, only to see the train already there.

No! I hefted my skirt up a good twelve inches off the ground before running across the platform. My heels dug into the concrete with each step, and I heard the warning beep of the train doors.

Doors closing, the disembodied voice echoed.

Come on! I sprinted the last step and leap through the doors, my skirt swishing through behind me as my feet hit the train car. I spun around quickly and ended up stumbling. Before I could reach out for the pole above me to regain my balance, I felt a hand press against my back, pushing me upright again. My hand shot up to the pole and I turned around, only to have my face met with a massive bouquet of pink flowers.

Sorry. I recognized the voice immediately.

Flower Man.

This time, I let out a silent giggle. He moved the bouquet to his other hand, revealing his elusive face. The train doors closed and the train jerked forward, causing me to stumble yet again. Luckily my grip on the pole was strong enough to keep me from teetering over too much, and I pointedly looked at Flower Man as if to rub it in his face. Although there was no actual need to.

He didn't react to my look. Instead he focused on the tube map above me. I took the moment to look at him. He was Asian – which I picked up from the language rather than the eyes, though he had had no accent when he spoke in English. He had fair, soft and round features but a sharp jawline. Not that much taller than me.

Young. Hardly ‘Flower Man’. More like Flower Boy. He couldn't have been more than twenty five. Although with Asians it was sometimes hard to tell.

I glanced lower, at his suit, and I recognized the brand – Armani – although he wasn't wearing a tie, nor was his top button done. I looked down at his shoes and though I couldn't trace the brand I could generally tell when something was expensive.

They were.

I turned my head back up and jumped when I saw him looking right at me. As if the universe knew what was afoot, the train jerked, and this time my grip wasn't tight enough on the pole. I stuck out my arm and ended up stumbling right into Flower Boy's chest.

Ah, I'm sorry, I mumbled and straightened up without looking at him.

The doors behind me opened and I had to press myself up against the glass panel beside the door to prevent my skirts from getting in everyone's way. The train started to crowd up – even more than before – and when the doors closed we were all but packed like sardines. Flower Boy stuck his bouquet under one arm and pulled out his phone to distract himself. I did the same, moving my hand to the pole just adjacent to the glass panel and leaning against it. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my memos. Mostly just homework, things to study, questions for professors, errands to run at the hospital, and things to buy.

The rumble of the train vibrated through my body and made me oscillate back and forth with its motion. It was strangely calming. The minutes went by one by one and people continuously poured into and out of the train car – but I stayed put in the corner. One man was kind enough to offer me a seat, but I politely declined, seeing as how my lehenga would become deformed if I so much as bent too far the wrong way. It was a small burden to bear for me though. I had stood for hours on end during surgeries at the hospital; although there I was usually wearing comfortable clothes and shoes. I craned my neck around to get a good view of the tube map on the opposite side of the train car. Two stops to Richmond station. I turned around and stared outside the glass doors at the blackness of the tunnel, lights flashing by now and then. I heaved a sigh and shifted my weight from one foot to the other. The wedding venue was some big mansion owned by Ashi's fiancée's family friend. I would have to take a cab if I wanted to get there in time. An Uber would take at least ten minutes...

Sorry, Ashi, I muttered.

My prioritizing... needs prioritizing.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and when I looked over, it was none other than Flower Boy

Um, sorry, he said in a low whisper.

Yes? I kept my voice even and smiled. British social customs were tedious indeed. Smiling and apologizing constantly! Even Flower Boy seemed roped in by them.

Your... he leaned down slightly and I tensed, unsure of what he was trying to do.

Your blouse is undone, he whispered, looking away from me, obviously uncomfortable. Or at least nervous to some degree.

Crap, I muttered, turning around fully so that my back was away from everyone else. I reached my hands behind me and grabbed at the top two hooks, only to find that the third one had also come undone.

Mother fuck! I hissed and bit the words back so no one looked my way.

Of course, Flower Boy was still standing in front of me with a look of mild concern on his face. Sweet of him, but I felt tense knowing that he was observing my back.

Do you... want any help? he asked, just as the train doors open – luckily not the ones on my side.

One stop till Richmond.

No. I didn't bother trying to keep the hostility out of my voice. I didn't let strangers touch me. I fumbled at the hooks a little more, finally snagging two of them. I decided to give up on the top one till I reached Ashi's place.

To my surprise, his lips quirked up at the corners. I'm sorry, he stepped back slightly, I really was just trying to help. From his bouquet he pulled out