It's been… god knows how many hours, minutes or seconds as the carriage continued to roll on the gravel path, travelling in a specific direction. The carriage was neither too luxurious nor too cheap. It was a modest one, with worn leather seats that creaked softly with every bump and windows draped in simple but clean curtains that fluttered whenever the horses picked up speed. Riding in this carriage reminded Gerffron — no, Deepak — of when he lived as Deepak in India. There was a time when he and his family went on a vacation to the historic place of Murshidabad in West Bengal, where he and cousin-Birsha along with their family rode a horse carriage, not exactly like this current one but a different one. Carriages in Western countries and South Asian countries differed in their structure and capacity. Especially in the 21st century where carriages were no longer in service as public or personal vehicles but only became a tourist attraction. He and his cousin had a photo with them on the carriage, holding the horse's reins for pose.
Those were some days, eh?
Deepak vividly remembers the day when he died in Hyderabad. The excruciating pain that he felt lying down on the campus of his business school was indescribable. He still shivers whenever he looks back at the memory. Like any other person, who knows that he's dying, Deepak too knew that he died. So, he was very surprised when he reopened his eyes and met with an unfamiliar amber orbs. He felt his mouth moving on his own before he could stop himself or understand what is going on.
"…..yes."
What is 'yes?
"The bride and the groom can now exchange the rings."
Huh? Rings? Who is bride? Who is groom? What is happening?
A metal object was slid into his ring finger, and he too did so to the one standing opposite of him.
"You may now seal your vows with a kiss."
What? Kiss? Who-huh?
His panicked self was silenced when a pair of lips descended on him, silencing his inner monologue of freaking out.
Did he just get married?
"With all the affirmations, promises and vows made by both the bride and the groom, I hereby pronounce them as man and wife before God Arbestas!" Loud cheers of congratulatory phrases echoed throughout the wedding arena. He looked at the partner or woman with whom he had apparently shared wedding vows?
Amongst the loud cheers and claps, he took a minute to see the woman with whom he got married. She was a woman with burgundy hair and golden amber eyes, at present she's wearing an attire which was usually worn by men of aristocratic class during the 1600 England, as Deepak had seen in the pictures of his history book. She had a long stylish cape that touched the floor starting from her right shoulder. She also has a sword inside a designed scabbard on her waist. She was smiling at all the cheering people, but somehow her smile really didn't look real. He mentally slapped himself right after this thought.
How could he think of someone like that whom he literally met seconds ago?
Yet, he got married to the one whom he met seconds ago, ironically.
He clutched something on his left hand and gave his best to smile. In this pandemonium situation for him, all Deepak could do was go with the flow. He then realized that he's holding a bouquet.
Isn't that brides supposed to hold?
Soon, the newlywed pair was surrounded by unfamiliar people who are heartily congratulating such union…...seemingly wholeheartedly. There were lots of fake smiles and judgmental gazes that encircled the couple. Fortunately for Deepak, in his confused state of mind, the woman beside him, his current wife handled it all effectively. After some time, he managed to slip past those overwhelming guests who crowded around the couple.
He walked straight out of the wedding arena, the glamorous, enormous hall after it, the tall wedding cake that seemed to be waiting for the couple to cut, the several tables decorated with cutleries by the women and young girls who wore black dress and white apron…...a classic maid dress?
Is this some kind of…. what was that word…ah…cosplay event going on? But I was in Hyderabad...
His monologue got stuck at the back of his throat as soon as he almost died…. again. A carriage drawn by a couple of horses swooshed in front of him. If he had taken one more step, he'd have been lying down on the ground once again, decorating the street with his blood. He noticed that he had unknowingly strode out of the marriage hall. It was then he noticed his surroundings, his eyes widened in surprise, astonishment and fear.
The carriage! The people! Everything and everybody look so….so old…backdated…and Victorian? People walked around in dresses and skin tones that were only seen in 21st century Western country's historical drama, children ran around laughing and chuckling—the street was a busy one with various shops, markets and horse driven carriages of various sizes galloped or swooshed at the middle of the road.
This is not Hyderabad! This is anything but India! What in the seven hells—
"Your Grace! Your Grace!" someone called him from behind. It was a brunette running towards him in light green dress. Deepak looked around to see whom she is calling, but seeing no one he pointed at himself doubtfully; "Me?"
"Yes! Who else would I mention in that title?" The brunette huffed lightly as she reached him. She then gave his surroundings a stink eye then looked at him; "Your Grace, you're supposed to be inside! You're a newlywed groom! Your wife is waiting inside for you. Come on, we're already behind the schedule."
The unknown brunette almost dragged him inside the complicated stairs and hallways of the building once again that surely stuck out like a store thumb amid a busy market. The brunette grumbled about something of choosing this marriage hall of all places which Deepak couldn't catch on properly because he was too busy looking at his surroundings that were unfamiliar and sometimes focused on the brunette woman who continued to drag him. While they were passing by a mirror in the hallways, Deepak paused in his tracks making the brunette stop too along with her blabbering to which he wasn't paying any attention to.
He slowly backtracked to the mirror and felt his knees go weak at his own reflection.
He, no more stared at a black haired, black eyes slightly tanned guy anymore, and rather right now he ogled right at a boy of his age with milk white skin, in short stature than him with soft mousy brown hair, emerald eyes a slim and taut body wrapped in a fancy white suit bordered in golden lining with chiffon cloth that fancily extends down to the floor from both sides of his shoulder. In fact, his skin is so white that one could almost mistake him as an albino. What stands out the most in his new(?) body are the eyes. Those emerald spheres that never belong to him. His throat dried up.
"W-who is he?" a voice emerged out of his mouth that was far from the voice he had when he was alive. It was a mix of shrill and low pitch.
"What are you talking about? That's you, your grace. Gerffron Cliff, now, Gerffron Wadee."
"Huh?"
"Your grace," the brunette sighed. "What is wrong with you? Why are you behaving so strangely? Nothing can be done now, you know, you are already married—now don't tell me you don't know me as well?"
Upon Deepak now Gerffron's blank face, the brunette gave her a 'are-you-serious' look sighed once again and then picked her skirts from both side and expertly bowed at him; "Hello Your Grace, I am Selfi, a maid appointed by Her Grace, your wife, Gorgina Wadee."
"Uh—yeah um hi?" Deepak awkwardly waved his hand. The maid, Selfina looked at him incredulously and sighed…again. "I'll talk to her grace to resume your etiquette classes again. For now, let's return to the hall, everyone is waiting for the couple to cut the cake.
The cake was cut, toast was made and now it was the time for the newlywed couple to share their first dance as a couple. Deepak felt like a fish out of water. Never had he ever in his previous life back in India, he had danced much less in a ball. He regretted not having watched any western historical web series or movies that'd have given the least idea of dancing at least because he felt like a fool for being awkwardly standing in the middle of the hall with all eyes on them. When the woman, who he supposed to be his wife, Gorgina, bowed at him, greeted him, he too tried to copy her but got snickers and low mumbles in return from the onlookers.
He struggled to keep up with his wife and felt like being dragged around the entire dance floor like some kind of mop, he didn't even know how many times he had stepped on his wife's shoes and apologized immediately but his wife said nothing and gave him a tight smile. Deepak was embarrassed nonetheless and felt bad for his wife. Although he was a Hindu in his previous life and their marital rites were far different from the western ones, but he knew tidbits about it, and he also knew the first dance as a married couple is important.
He took a glass that he assumed to be wine from a passing waiter and almost escaped from the bright, shiny hall into the calm, windy balcony that overlooked the lights that illuminated the market area. It's already evening, and the sky is turning dark.
"Is the balcony occupied?" A voice spoke from behind.