It was the lazy, golden afternoon of the mehendi day the air smelled of henna and laughter, the faint buzz of chatter floating across the courtyard. 

Everyone's hands were now painted in intricate green swirls, except Aditi's. In one corner, near the soft rustle of marigold strings, she sat on a low chair while Shagun half her own hands still sticky with drying mehendi tried to apply the design on Aditi's palms using her other hand.