Sahil thought, 'She always looked good in red' as he stared at Karishma walking towards the mandap, a ghunghat covering her face. He felt a twinge in his stomach. They had known each other for so long, they were almost like an old married couple, there was a long past between them that inspired bitter sweet reminiscences. But here they were on verge of making a fresh beginning.

As she sat down on the pristine white cushion, Sahil found himself looking at her mehndi colored feet. The henna complimented her small feet and he remembered how he used to kiss those feet. He always liked to start with the big toe, before moving on to deliver a kiss each to the next four digits. Often she teased him about how he loved her feet more than he loved her.

"She was right to say that," He thought whimsically as the pandit began to chant the mantras. Her feet were white and smooth as unblemished marble, and embellished with red nails that she usually liked to keep clipped and uncolored. The sole was a small round soft pink cushion that used to fit perfectly in his palm, which he liked to tickle and elicit from her squeals of laughter. He loved her feet because of her penchant to act like an unfettered soul when he played with them; her veneer of cool reservation shattered whenever he grabbed her by the ankles, and sliding her feet on his lap played with her limbs. Sahil felt restless as he watched her wriggle her toes, a clear sign of something weighing on her mind. He could read her mind through her feet; he knew her a little too well.

Karishma had always been a restless soul, curious about everything that happened around her and yet she acted cynically at times, like someone who has seen it all. Sahil had laughed at her when she claimed that she was a street-smart woman, and had smoked weed, gone to the best pubs and the wildest rave parties. On a whim he grabbed her and tickled her feet till she squealed, making his mother rush in, and reprimand him for getting physical. He still remembered his mother's words: "You aren't kids anymore, if you behave like this tongues will wag."

But the young ones were not to be denied. They started meeting in private, sometimes at the lush surroundings of the Lodhi Gardens, at other times at India Gate. They would sit in Sahil's dad's old Fiat. In the privacy of the car he would massage her poor aching feet. No doubt she had aching feet. She used to entrap them in high heels all day at college then complain about aching feet when she was with him. He'd inevitably chide her for deliberately hurting the part of her body that he loved the most.

They used to watch the sun go down and wonder when they would next meet. Her bus couldn't be late everyday nor could he afford to miss his evening law classes everyday. They would meet every alternate day; he'd kiss her feet, travel up till he reached her pouty lips and gently suck her tongue in. She always tasted of chewing gum, that fresh minty breath, which did an admirable job of hiding the fact that she was a smoker.

All that heavy petting made him horny but Karishma always held him back. Her luscious boobs never saw the rays of the dying sun nor did the knot on her salwar loosen to let his desperate hands feel the sweet drench of the pure heaven that lay between her legs. Despite his plea, she never gave in. She always believed that they ought to wait and consummate their love only after they were married. Now the day of their marriage had finally arrived.

He could barely see her face through the ghunghat but her hands like her feet seemed to quiver and tremble ever so slightly just as they did when they caressed his hair. She loved him but mere love wasn't enough for him. He wanted her physically too.

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