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“Then come with me to India,” Gojo said lightly, as if he were inviting a friend to hang out at a café.
Utahime frowned in confusion. She had been in the dojo, immersed in training, when Gojo arrived, uninvited, as usual to ruin her day. Her techniques were honed through song and dance, both of which had long since fused with her body. Cursed energy flowed in harmony with each movement. Soft, measured, and graceful. Then the shoji door slid open without warning, revealing Gojo, greeting her with his trademark enthusiasm. Yo, Utahime!
She was certain that excitement came from his intention to tease her. She nearly hurled the suzu in her hand straight at his smug face. The moment he arrived, he had already irritated her. Still, at least he hadn’t yet driven her to the point of cursing him aloud. Not yet.
Reluctantly, Utahime paused her training when Gojo insisted on discussing the progress of the mission they had carried out the previous week. Cursed spirits, victims, and their students. The conversation drifted from one topic to another until it finally landed on Utahime’s cursed technique. With her reliance on song and dance, she was deeply confident in her abilities. However, the music and choreography she had mastered were largely classical and ritualistic in nature. In truth, she loved singing and dancing of all kinds, classical and modern alike. For her own enjoyment, she even covered J-pop and K-pop dances. Recently, she had also begun studying ballroom dances such as the waltz and tango. That curiosity, her desire to learn more about different styles of dance from around the world. That was what she conveyed to Gojo. And somehow, inexplicably, it led him to invite her to India. She could not understand the connection between her wish to explore dance and his sudden proposal.
“What would I even do there?” Utahime tilted her head, puzzled.
They sat side by side on the engawa. The sweat on her brow had already dried, carried away by the passing breeze. She glanced at Gojo, who wore a crooked smile, as though her question were amusing.
“You know, India is famous for its distinctive music and dances,” he explained enthusiastically. “If you’ve ever watched a Bollywood movie, you know how phenomenal they are!”
“Yes, I know a little about their music and dances,” she replied. “But only that much.” Her thoughts drifted through what little she knew of India. To be honest, she could count on one hand the number of Indian Movies she had seen. She knew almost nothing about their culture.
“You said you wanted to learn and see more kinds of dances, right?” Gojo continued. “You can come with me to India and see them with your own eyes.” The invitation felt absurd to her.
“Once again, why should I go with you?” she pressed. “I can watch their music and dances on the internet.”
Gojo shook his head dramatically in disagreement. “You’re no fun at all. I’m inviting you to enjoy yourself, you know.”
“You mean enjoy yourself by annoying me,” she scoffed, her expression openly judgmental.
“I’m serious,” he insisted, trying to sound convincing. “I want you to see firsthand how different their musical and dance culture is from ours.”
Utahime narrowed her eyes, studying Gojo with suspicion as he stubbornly kept pushing the idea. There was no way he had suddenly developed an academic interest in cultural differences for her sake. She was certain there was another motive. With a quiet sigh, she asked, “What do you want me to do?”
Gojo raised one eyebrow, then grinned, clearly pleased by her sharpness. “I didn’t expect you to realize I had another agenda. You really do know me well,” he said, putting on an exaggeratedly sentimental tone.
She grimaced in disgust, already regretting that she had asked. “Whatever it is, don’t involve me. Find someone else.”
“I can’t,” he replied immediately. “You’re the only one who fits.”
“Is it a mission?” she asked.
“No, but it’s important for building cooperation with jujutsu sorcerers in another part of the world.”
“…What is it?” Utahime finally asked.
Gojo beamed. “I want you to accompany me to the wedding of one of my sorcerer friends in India.”
Completely unexpected. So that was it. He had been grasping for excuses just to bring her along. If it was merely a wedding, he could go alone, just as he had handled previous overseas missions.
“Ask Shoko or Mei Mei,” she said. “Or just go by yourself.”
“Shoko hates events like that. And Mei Mei? Do you really want to watch her squeeze me dry?” Gojo countered each option effortlessly. “And no, I don’t want to go alone when you’re right here and would definitely enjoy it.”
“I don’t like parties!”
“But you like singing and dancing!”
“That’s different from attending a party!”
“It’s the same thing!” he shot back without hesitation. “I’m sure going with me would benefit you too. You could study their music and dances. Wouldn’t it be interesting if you could master a bit of their style?” His voice was laced with persuasion.
Utahime fell silent, contemplating the possibility. It would indeed be fascinating to learn a culture so vastly different from Japan’s. She had never been picky about musical or dance genres, either. There was nothing inherently wrong with Gojo’s offer. She could experience it firsthand, and he would have company at the wedding. A mutually beneficial arrangement. Damn it. he really was good at convincing people.
“I feel like this benefits me more,” she muttered. “Are you sure you want to bring me? Wouldn’t it be better if you just went alone?”
“I hate going to parties by myself. And I’m certain bringing you is the right choice.” As an extrovert, Gojo Satoru naturally despised solitude. “Besides, I’m a good kouhai who wants to help his senpai fulfill her wishes,” he added smugly.
She rolled her eyes, thoroughly exasperated by his self-praise. “Just the two of us? I want to invite Shoko.”
“I already did. She refused,” he said plainly. “And besides, this isn’t a vacation. We’re attending a wedding to maintain diplomatic ties with jujutsu sorcerers in another country.”
When she thought about it, he wasn’t wrong. Building good relations with other nations was important—especially with someone like Gojo Satoru, known as the strongest sorcerer of this era. It was only natural that people would want him present at such an event. They would surely provide him with the finest hospitality, hoping he might return the favor someday.
“…All right,” Utahime finally said. “I’ll go. When do we leave?”
Gojo clapped his hands once and smiled in satisfaction. “There now that’s a wise decision!”
Utahime could only pray she wouldn’t come to regret it. “We’re leaving on Friday. Get ready for our journey to India!”
And so, the two of them set off for India. At the time, Utahime had no idea what awaited her there. Yet she should have been more cautious—anything involving Gojo was never free from turbulence and spectacle. Still, it would become a precious experience etched into her life.
⸺
The relentless bustle of Mumbai accompanied the rhythm of life in the city. A place that never slept, where towering skyscrapers stood shoulder to shoulder with street vendors and laborers tirelessly earning their daily bread. The chime of bells intertwined with the blare of car horns, echoing through the streets. European-style buildings rose proudly along the roads, remnants of another era. Gojo explained that nearby stood the Gateway of India, one of the city’s most popular landmarks. Utahime’s heart fluttered with anticipation, eager to explore the lives woven into this city. Mumbai was harsh, yet it offered a warmth and vibrancy utterly unlike Tokyo.
They went straight to rest upon arriving at the hotel, their rooms facing one another across the corridor. At night, the city shimmered with countless lights, but Utahime couldn’t linger over the view, her body clamored for rest. That night, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. By morning, Gojo was already dragging her out to prepare for the wedding. There was little time to spare, he said, especially since the celebration would span several days. Their first task was to find appropriate attire, as guests were expected to follow the wedding’s dress code.
That was how she found herself now, staring at her own reflection in the mirror. Utahime was stunned, utterly so by the gown she wore. The boutique attendant had explained the various traditional garments available: sarees, anarkalis, lehengas, shararas, and more. Gojo had chosen a sky-blue lehenga, a shade reminiscent of his own eyes. Utahime went along with his suggestion without protest. She would never admit it aloud, but his taste was undeniably impeccable.
Seeing herself dressed in the lehenga made her feel breathtakingly beautiful. The fabric flowed lightly, layered with fine tulle adorned with delicate sequins and silver embroidery. The matching choli embraced her figure. Simple in cut, yet rich with intricate detailing. Accustomed to the modest lines of her kosode and hakama, she now revealed her midriff and pale arms. A sheer blue dupatta completed the look, draping softly over her shoulders, its finely embroidered edges catching the light with a subtle shimmer. The ensemble embodied both elegance and quiet opulence.
Utahime nearly laughed when she noticed Gojo standing frozen in place. His gaze hadn’t wavered since she stepped out of the fitting room. As though he were witnessing something divine, something he had never seen before. She almost teased him, but the air gradually grew heavy. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, louder than usual, intensifying beneath Gojo’s piercing stare.
“Do I look strange?”
A foolish question. Of course she didn’t. Even she could admit she looked stunning. It wasn’t that she had caught Gojo’s narcissism; it was simply an honest assessment. She knew her own worth. Still, the question slipped out, meant only to steady her racing heart.
Gojo’s response was slow. He blinked once, swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then he blinked again, turning his gaze aside. She caught the faint flush creeping up the tips of his ears. Instinctively, she looked away as well, certain her own cheeks were warming just the same.
Gojo cleared his throat. “No. Not strange at all.” His voice was lower than usual, as though it took considerable effort to form even that brief reply.
Utahime glanced at him, curious. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she wanted to hear more. “Does it suit me?” she asked again, quietly seeking the answer she hoped for.
This time, Gojo met her gaze head-on. Those blue eyes looked straight into her soul, making her heart ache as it stuttered for a breath. Then he smiled softly. “That lehenga was made for you, Utahime.”
Warmth spread through her entire body at once. “…Thank you,” she murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Um… I’ll take this one,” she added, her voice slightly unsteady.
After that, her thoughts felt hazy. Before she realized it, they had purchased several outfits for both her and Gojo. Somehow, she managed to move past the awkwardness between them. She tried not to think about the way his gaze had pierced through her, how his words had softened without a trace of mischief, or how their skin had brushed by accident as they stood side by side. She refused to dwell on it, refused to let it affect her. She sealed those feelings away, praying that whatever fragile sprouts had emerged would remain buried in the soil, never breaking the surface, destined to wither on their own.
She redirected her focus to the preparations for the wedding. Even as mere guests, they were expected to be meticulous. Utahime had been told they would attend the celebrations for two days. Today for the Sangeet ceremony, and the next day for the main wedding rites and reception. She was astonished by the sheer number of rituals woven into a wedding that lasted days on end.
“What exactly is the Sangeet ceremony?” she asked curiously. They were having lunch, sampling Indian dishes Utahime had never encountered before. Meals rich with spices, offering a harmony of savory, spicy, tangy, and aromatic flavors.
“It’s a celebration filled with music and dance,” Gojo explained as he chewed on a piece of rasgulla. White and round like dango, its texture was spongy and soft. He had tried it earlier; Utahime, who wasn’t fond of sweets, had nearly winced from the sweetness alone. “Basically, it’s about joy and togetherness, bonding and getting to know one another before the wedding the next day.”
Utahime nodded in understanding. Then Gojo added, “That’s why I brought you here. You can watch their music and dances to your heart’s content right in front of you.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” she said, smiling with genuine excitement. “So… does anyone get to dance at the Sangeet?”
“Usually, the performances come from family members, close friends, or even the bride and groom themselves. That’s why they rehearse beforehand. But it doesn’t mean guests can’t join in. It’s a celebration, after all. Everyone’s meant to enjoy themselves.”
She hadn’t expected Gojo to know the local customs so well. Perhaps she could ask him about other cultures, too—given how often he traveled abroad for missions. Who knew how much he had learned along the way?
“Is the Sangeet the first ritual in the wedding?” she asked.
“No. Before that, there are the Haldi and Mehndi ceremonies,” he replied.
They spoke at length about the wedding traditions of the country. The more she asked, the more fascinating knowledge unfolded before her. Their conversation flowed naturally, briefly eclipsing the lingering tremors beneath the surface. They talked as though no unspoken questions weighed between them. For Utahime, this was enough. There was no need to pull unfamiliar knots into the light.
Dusk had arrived. The sun had already slipped beyond the horizon. Utahime was ready to go, dressed in the light blue lehenga she had chosen earlier. Her hair was styled in a braided half-updo. The bangs that usually shielded her forehead were now parted down the middle to follow the line of the braid. A simple pearl hairpin adorned it. She wore matching earrings and a delicate necklace. Perfect.
She looked nothing like the Utahime who usually favored a white kosode and red hakama. Do not misunderstand. She loved her everyday attire and felt at ease in it. But wearing a lehenga and dressing like this drew out a completely different aura from her. Utahime did not waste the moment. She took photos of herself at her most radiant. This would be one of her most beautiful looks, and she refused to let it pass unnoticed. To show it off, she sent the photos to her private group chat with Shoko, Mei Mei, and Yuki.
Shoko: UTAHIME-SENPAI YOU LOOK ABSOLUTELY STUNNING!
Shoko: Wow… my heart is racing because of you!
Yuki: Utahime… I think I just fell in love with you.
Mei Mei: My dear Hime, with that look, you should steal a man’s heart there and take his money. I’m sure plenty would pay handsomely for you.
You are all exaggerating. But thank you for the compliments!
I really do feel beautiful in this dress!
Thank you, Mei Mei. I have no intention of selling myself.
Shoko: You are always beautiful in anything you wear!
Shoko: Mei, stop spouting nonsense.
Mei Mei: I’m joking, darling. But if you change your mind, do not hesitate to contact me. I’ll gladly give you tips on how to conquer men with ease.
Yuki: Even without your tips, I'm sure Utahime can conquer any man.
Shoko: Exactly. Utahime-senpai is an angel descended to Earth.
That is enough, all of you! Do not worry, I'll not be contacting you, Mei.
By the way, I'm sure you would look amazing in this dress too, Shoko!
I actually wanted to go with you. But since you declined, I ended up going just the two of us with Gojo.
Shoko: Me? Declined? Declined what?
Gojo said he already asked you to come with him to India, but you refused because you do not like parties.
Shoko: He never asked me.
Shoko: That rotten bastard…
Yuki: Wow… Gojo is really sly.
What? So he never asked you?
Why would he lie?
Mei Mei: I’m certain he lied so he could go alone with you, Hime.
Do not make things up, Mei Mei!
If that is the case, then he must have lied because he is planning something to mess with me!
Yuki: Yes, exactly. He is plotting to trap you in his arms! Hahaha!
That is not funny! Stop being ridiculous!
We are talking about Gojo, that idiotic and irritating man!
Shoko: Senpai… I only have one piece of advice. Guard yourself carefully from the temptations of that cursed devil.
Yuki: Shoko, that is cruel. But well… good luck, Utahime! I love you!
Mei Mei: I hope you don't forget to use contraception. May your night be beautiful and blazing, darling.
MEI MEI!
Yuki: Mei Mei, you shameless woman!
Shoko: Damn it, Mei Mei. Because of you, I just imagined them having sex. My mind has been corrupted.
SHOKO! OH GOD, STOP!
I don't want to see this nonsense anymore.
You're all horrible to me!
It is time. I'm leaving now! Bye!
Utahime could feel her phone vibrating nonstop. She was certain the women were still teasing her in the chat. Her face was burning red as she fanned herself repeatedly. They were all utterly unreasonable. They knew very well how much she disliked Gojo. He was arrogant, childish, irrational, ridiculous, ill-mannered, and also infuriatingly handsome.
Handsome? No! What am I thinking!
Yes, even though she hated to admit it, the man was annoyingly handsome. But that was not the point. He had dared to lie to her. He had coaxed her in every possible way to make her come with him, though not entirely. He had used her love for music and dance as bait, and she had taken it. Like a cat instantly melting when offered a fish.
But why?
Why did he have to lie like that, when she already had to struggle so hard to keep herself from acting hysterical around him? She had to force herself to ignore the discomfort she felt when he stood too close. She had to restrain her heart from racing when he so effortlessly made her feel happy. Yes, it was that easy, almost as natural as breathing. And she hated that fact.
She glanced toward the door when a knock sounded from outside. It had to be Gojo, coming to pick her up so they could leave. She checked her appearance one last time, smoothing everything into place, then walked over and opened the door. He stood there with his usual smug smile, wearing a plain sherwani in a shade that matched her lehenga, paired with white trousers that suited his hair perfectly. Remarkable. He truly looked good in anything.
“Hi,” he greeted her. His blue eyes, unobstructed by his blindfold, gleamed brightly the moment they met her.
“Hi,” she replied softly.
“You look extraordinarily beautiful tonight.” The compliment sent a shiver along her spine. She was not used to kind words coming from his mouth.
Still, she hid the tremor behind an arrogant smile. “Of course. I was destined to live as a beautiful woman full of charm.”
Only then did her cheeks heat up as she realized what she had just said. Damn it. She really did sound like Gojo earlier. Her irritation deepened when he burst into loud laughter, the sound crisp and infuriatingly pleasant in her ears.
“I’m glad my confidence rubbed off on you, Hime!” he said, still laughing.
“Shut up! Let’s just go already!” she snapped. She had embarrassed herself enough for one day.
She hurried back into the room to grab the clutch bag resting on the bed. When she turned around, she found him already inside, standing near her vanity.
“What is it?” she asked, confused.
“Do you have lipstick? Red lipstick?” he asked instead.
“Yes, I do. But why?” If he had asked for lip balm, she would have understood. Maybe he wanted to moisturize his lips. But lipstick? Surely he was not planning to use it. Still, Utahime handed it to him.
“You know women here have a tradition of wearing sindoor along the part of their hair?”
She frowned. The word sounded unfamiliar. “Sindoor? What is that?”
“Sindoor is a red powder applied along a woman’s hair part,” he explained enthusiastically. “It's meant to serve as spiritual protection.”
She listened attentively. It was new and intriguing information. Perhaps Gojo could pursue a career as an anthropologist once he retired from being a jujutsu sorcerer.
“Before you ask what lipstick has to do with sindoor, let me explain,” he continued, as if sensing the question forming in her mind. “It would be wise for us to respect local traditions, considering curses surely exist here as well. You can wear it for protection. Since we do not have real sindoor, we can substitute it with red lipstick.”
“But isn’t that a tradition for Indian women? Is it really okay for me to wear it?” Doubt crept in after his explanation. They could not behave carelessly in someone else’s country.
“It's not only India. Several South Asian countries share this tradition,” he said, and her admiration for the breadth of his knowledge grew. “Besides, it should be fine. We are using lipstick, not real sindoor. As the saying goes, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. So when in India, do as the Indians do.”
He clearly enjoyed playing the role of cultural expert. Normally, as fellow teachers at Jujutsu High, she would never let him outshine her. She considered him a rival. But this time, she did not mind. Not only did she lack knowledge of the culture, she also found herself enjoying the way he explained unfamiliar things with such enthusiasm. He looked genuinely impressive.
“But why only women? Do men not wear it too?” she asked.
“Of course it is only for women. Especially weak women like you, Hime,” he teased with a small laugh.
She shot him a sharp glare.
“All right, all right. I will stop,” he said quickly. “But it's true. Women tend to be more vulnerable to attacks than men.”
“I did not know you were a patriarchal man.”
“I'm not patriarchal. I'm just stating the fact that men are usually physically stronger than women. That does not mean there are no strong women. There are plenty of powerful women out there.”
She merely snorted in response. Even if it was technically true, Utahime refused to agree.
“Come here. Let me apply it for you,” he said, lifting the hand holding the lipstick.
“I can do it myself,” she protested immediately.
“No. Let me do it. I want to. Please.”
Hearing his plea, she stopped resisting and stepped closer. At this distance, his scent flooded her senses. She glanced up briefly, catching a glimpse of his handsome face. Soon after, her gaze dropped to his Adam’s apple and the prominent veins along his neck. When she saw his throat move as he swallowed, she did the same unconsciously. Suddenly, the buttons of his sherwani looked far more interesting than they should have.
Then she felt him gently apply the red lipstick along her hair part. When his fingers accidentally brushed her forehead, a jolt of electricity surged from her head to the tips of her toes. She quickly stepped back and turned to the mirror. The vivid red looked striking against the part in her black hair. In the reflection, she also saw Gojo standing behind her. Their eyes met in the mirror. She looked away at once, trying to calm the awkward tension rising within her.
“All right. Let’s go. I don't want us to be late.”
He nodded obediently, and they finally headed for the celebration, ignoring the delicate tendrils stirring quietly in both their hearts. She could only hope the night would be enjoyable, without forcing her to confront feelings she could not put into words.
⸺
This was strange.
Very strange.
The strangeness began when they finally met the groom, Ram Sharma. He was a jujutsu sorcerer from this country and a friend of Gojo’s. A strikingly handsome man with thick brows, hazel eyes, a sharply defined nose, and the shadow of a beard neatly shaved along his jaw and sideburns. His jawline was strong, and his warm brown skin only enhanced his masculinity. It was a kind of handsomeness utterly different from that of Japanese men. Utahime barely blinked as she stared at him until Gojo nudged her arm. But one could hardly blame her. She did like handsome men.
Ram welcomed them warmly. He provided VIP seats as guests of honor at the celebration, or more precisely, in honor of the strongest sorcerer, Gojo Satoru. The conversation flowed easily. Gojo did most of the talking, but Ram made sure to include Utahime as well. Her first impression of him was that he was a true gentleman, charming and sincere. Eventually, however, he excused himself to return to his bride, who was waiting patiently.
“Excuse me. I must return to my bride,” he said with a gentle smile. “I will introduce her to you properly later. She will be very happy to meet you, Utahime.”
“I look forward to meeting her as well,” Utahime replied, glancing toward the bride dressed in a red lehenga. Gold embroidery cascaded beautifully along the fabric draped over her body. Jewelry adorning her head and form added an air of elegance and splendor. Even the decorations for the Sangeet ceremony were lavish. Everything about this wedding was the very definition of luxury.
“Yes. She is everything to me. I love her deeply.” His eyes truly shone with love. It was sweet. It made her wish that one day she would find a man who looked at her the same way.
Then he turned his gaze to the two of them in turn. “Gojo, next time you should take your wife traveling around India. There are so many beautiful places you could visit together.”
What?
What did he just say?
Wife?
“Well then, please enjoy the celebration. Feel free to walk around and explore,” he continued casually, before leaving them behind, not even giving her a chance to protest the misunderstanding that had come out of nowhere.
“How could he misunderstand and think I'm your wife?” she said, still stunned, her voice filled with disbelief. It made no sense at all. Throughout the conversation, neither Gojo nor she had ever introduced herself as his wife.
“I don't know. Maybe because we came to a wedding together?” he replied with a shrug. But she caught the corner of his lips lifting for a split second.
“It's still strange. Even if it was a misunderstanding, people usually assume girlfriend, right? But he jumped straight to wife,” she protested, clearly dissatisfied.
“Or maybe Ram assumed that if the strongest sorcerer traveled all the way to India for a wedding, he must be accompanied by his wife. Otherwise, why bring a woman at all?” he said lightly, as if he were discussing items on a menu.
“But I'm not your wife!”
“I only mentioned another possibility, Utahime.” He did not look bothered in the slightest. “Besides, are you not happy to be mistaken for my wife?” he added, wearing a mischievous grin.
“Not at all!” she shouted, her face flushed, whether from anger or embarrassment, she could not tell.
“All right, forget it. I will explain the truth to Ram later.” No, he would not. He was enjoying this far too much.
Their conversation ended there. After a brief introduction from the wedding host, the dance performance by the bride’s friends finally began. The dancers were beautiful, wearing lehengas like hers in various bright colors. The music flowed in an allegro tempo, and their movements were lively and fluid. Graceful body motions blended with expressive faces, where every stomp of the feet, curve of the hands, and glance of the eyes was not merely beautiful, but a language telling a story. The soft clinking of bangles and anklets accompanied the dance perfectly. It reminded her of the suzu and ankle bells she often used.
Utahime applauded enthusiastically after the performance. It was truly mesmerizing and full of energy. Gojo noticed how her feet and body moved unconsciously along with the rhythm. Her eyes sparkled as if she had just won the lottery. He smiled when she smiled so brightly. She might have even forgotten his presence beside her. She was only briefly distracted when he handed her a drink. After thanking him, she returned her full attention to the next performance. He felt satisfied knowing he had brought her this joy.
The second misunderstanding happened when Utahime went to get some snacks. A middle-aged woman greeted her warmly and asked her a few questions, likely because she was the only Japanese woman in the room. Then the woman, who introduced herself as Ishita, said something that nearly made Utahime choke.
“Oh! So that handsome white-haired man sitting over there is your husband, right? You two really stand out among the guests,” she said confidently, as if she had figured everything out.
“He is not my husband, ma’am. We are just coworkers,” Utahime explained, not wanting the misunderstanding to happen again. Did people here really assume that a man and a woman attending a wedding together must be husband and wife?
Ishita studied her face carefully, or rather, she seemed to notice something in her hair. Then she smiled gently.
“Ah, so you are fighting, I see. I understand how you feel. There are times when it feels like you do not even have a husband, even though you do. You refuse to acknowledge it. Husbands can be so irritating,” she said with a sympathetic look.
“Absolutely not⸺,” Utahime began.
“But let me give you some advice as a woman who has been married for twenty-three years,” Ishita cut her off. Utahime did not realize her body was already trembling with irritation. “The key to a lasting relationship is commitment and mutual respect. Love is important, but as time goes by, the fiery passion of youth fades. That does not mean it disappears. It simply changes into a calmer, more comfortable kind of love.”
“I truly appreciate your advice, ma’am. But he really is not my husband,” Utahime tried once more. Ishita only nodded knowingly, clearly unconvinced.
“You must be very angry,” she said. It felt pointless to explain, since Ishita only believed what she wanted to believe. She gestured for Utahime to lean closer. Utahime silently prayed she would not hear any more nonsense.
“Don't worry. A man cannot hold out if his missile weapon is not given ammunition when his wife is beside him. He will apologize soon, even if the woman is the one at fault,” Ishita whispered, as if revealing a state secret.
“Missile weapon?” Utahime whispered back faintly.
“Yes, a missile weapon. Isn't a cock like a missile that, once launched, explodes its seed inside you?” Ishita winked meaningfully. Utahime immediately stepped away. This had gone too far. She needed to disengage from this woman immediately. Her face was completely red as she finally left Ishita behind, who seemed proud of having given reconciliation tips for a married couple.
This was absurd and utterly outrageous. She wanted nothing more than to leave the event as soon as possible. Even though she still wanted to watch a few more performances, it did not end there.
The third time it happened was when she excused herself to go to the restroom. There, she met a little girl with big eyes and long lashes staring at her curiously. The child did not blink, fascinated by the sight of a Japanese woman wearing a lehenga at a wedding. Utahime greeted her and answered all of her innocent questions.
“You are from Japan?!” the girl asked excitedly. She was absolutely adorable.
“Yes, I'm Japanese. Is this your first time meeting a Japanese person in real life?” The girl nodded eagerly.
“By the way, did you come with your husband?”
That. Damn. Question. Again. Did she somehow radiate the aura of a married woman? This was beyond strange. Even a pure, innocent child assumed she had a husband. She wanted to ask what made her think that, but it did not feel right. So she let it go.
In the end, she returned to her seat beside Gojo, her energy completely drained.
“Did you run into a curse somewhere? You look tense,” Gojo teased, trying to lighten her mood. He knew perfectly well there was not the faintest trace of a curse in this joyous celebration.
Utahime shot him a sharp glance, staring at him as if he were a prime suspect in a murder case. “Stay away from me. Your face is irritating.” Her words were cutting, but her voice carried unmistakable exhaustion.
“Utahime, which Bollywood celebrity do you like?” he asked suddenly, after a brief pause in which he chose to ignore her hostility.
She frowned. Gojo had a habit of jumping into random topics without warning, his thoughts wandering wherever they pleased.
“Shah Rukh Khan,” she answered without hesitation. “I think he’s handsome and incredibly charismatic.”
Gojo raised one eyebrow. “Yeah, I get why everyone’s crazy about him. But don’t you think I’m far more handsome than he is?”
She grimaced at him in open disgust. His narcissism was truly beyond saving.
“Hey, take a good look,” he leaned closer. “Between me and Shah Rukh Khan, who—”
“Shah Rukh Khan,” she cut in immediately.
“—is more handsome?”
“Shah Rukh Khan.”
“Listen, I haven’t—”
“Shah Rukh Khan. He’s better than you in every possible way.”
Gojo clicked his tongue in irritation, then slumped back in his seat like a sulking child. “I’m taller than him.”
She ignored him, though annoyingly, he was right.
“My eyes are prettier than his.”
Against her will, she agreed again. Shah Rukh Khan’s eyes were captivating, filled with emotion that pulled audiences into his movies. But Gojo’s eyes were something else entirely, as if the sky and the sea had fused into one impossible shade of blue.
“I’m way stronger than him.” Compared to an ordinary human, that was undeniably true.
“There’s a man as handsome as me right next to you, yet you keep staring at other men.”
This time, Utahime turned to look at him.
“When did I ever do that?”
“Your drool was practically dripping while you watched those men dance!”
“That’s impossible!”
“Don’t deny it, Utahime. So that’s your type, huh?”
“I just like looking at handsome men!”
“So that means you like me?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
“No!” she snapped back. He was clearly enjoying this far too much.
Without realizing it, her body had relaxed compared to earlier. Somehow, her heart felt warmer. Maybe this was Gojo’s way of cheering her up, irritating as it was. After their usual bickering, the final performance of the Sangeet night began before they knew it.
Ram and his bride danced together. Their movements were perfectly in sync, telling the story of a love that had carried them to this sacred vow. They looked beautiful together.
Then confetti and flower petals rained down from above. Family, friends, and guests joined in the dance. Without hesitation, Gojo extended his hand to Utahime. She took it, letting him lead her into the crowd.
There were no rules. No restrictions. They danced freely to the rhythm, letting go of the trivial thoughts that had plagued her mind all evening. This was it. This was what Utahime wanted—pure joy, without worrying about how Gojo looked at her or how firmly his arm wrapped around her waist.
Her laughter and radiant smile eased something deep inside Gojo’s chest. At least tonight, she was truly happy with him. A perfect ending to the celebration. That night became a memory neither of them would ever forget.
⸺
The next day, Utahime discovered an unexpected truth. And proof that Gojo had lied to her once again.
She watched as Ram and his wife completed the final series of wedding rituals. At the very end, he applied a red powder she recognized as sindoor to his wife’s hair. So sindoor really was used during the wedding ceremony—to mark and protect the bride?
Sensing something was wrong, Utahime gathered her courage and asked one of the bride’s friends.
“Sindoor is a symbol of a woman’s married status. The first time she wears it is when she officially becomes someone’s wife.”
She felt anger begin to boil in her head. Damn you, Gojo. He had lied to her all along.
“It represents love, loyalty and devotion to a husband,” the woman continued. “It’s also believed to bring blessings and good fortune.” Then she turned to Utahime. “Didn’t your husband tell you? You’re wearing it too.”
Yes. That was exactly the problem.
Without knowing the truth, Utahime had willingly worn that red mark like the night before, believing it was meant for spiritual protection.
“Oh, he did tell me,” she replied smoothly. She couldn’t deny it now. If others found out, they might accuse them of disrespecting local traditions. “He said it could also serve as spiritual protection,” she added inwardly cursing Gojo. She swore she would kill him later.
“Yes, that’s right. It has many meanings, very deep ones. That’s why only married women are allowed to wear it.”
She should have realized sooner. She had noticed many women at the wedding wearing sindoor and many who didn’t. She should have questioned the looks people gave her hair. She had been foolish. Especially when the internet existed, and she could have checked the truth herself.
But she hadn’t. She trusted him.
And that was her mistake. She truly trusted him.
Now she was trapped by Gojo’s lie, forced to play the role of his wife. Washing the red powder away was pointless. Everyone already believed they were married. She could hear people referring to them as “the Japanese married couple.”
The moment she dragged Gojo to a secluded spot outside the wedding hall, she unleashed every curse word she knew at him.
His response?
A stupid grin.
“Well,” he said lightly, “Guess I got caught.”
“You’ve gone too far,” she said, her voice trembling with fury. “Do you even realize that what you did borders on desecrating something sacred?” Her shoulders rose and fell as emotion flooded her chest. The man standing before her was nothing but a walking headache.
“I’m sorry.” His voice carried none of the remorse it should have.
“Sorry won’t fix anything,” she snapped. Folding her arms across her chest, she struggled to steady herself.
“Then it doesn’t need fixing,” he said, meeting her gaze without flinching.
“What did you just say?” She couldn’t grasp the path his thoughts were taking.
“I said it doesn’t need fixing,” he repeated calmly, as if she hadn’t protested at all. “We can become husband and wife for real.”
“Have you lost your mind?! Stop joking!” She was completely overwhelmed. Her reason rejected his words outright, yet her heart betrayed her, pounding wildly.
“Then tell me,” he said softly, “Why do you think I did all of this? Why I lied to you?”
“To mess with me, obviously!” she shot back, silently praying their argument wouldn’t be overheard.
But why wasn’t he wearing that usual mischievous grin? Why was his expression so serious? Why did she see in his eyes the same look Ram had given his bride?
And when had she started ignoring the way his gaze had always lingered on her?
“Because that is my wish,” he said at last, his voice steady and sincere. “I have always prayed that one day, you would become my wife.” The blue of his eyes shone with a truth he no longer tried to hide.
She could see him now. Gojo as he truly was, stripped of every doubt and prejudice. She could see the hope and the feelings that had always been there for her. She could no longer look away. This was the man who had quietly shattered her heart.
“Utahime,” he said softly, “Will you be my wife?”
At last, his feelings reached her.
THE END
EPILOGUE
Utahime woke to a comforting weight at her back. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she turned and returned the embrace. A gentle kiss brushed her forehead. She lifted her gaze to find Gojo already awake, watching her. No matter how much time passed, she never grew tired of his handsome face.
“Good morning, my wife,” he murmured, his thumb caressing her cheek.
She smiled and kissed his lips in return, just as softly as he had kissed her forehead.
“Good morning, my husband.”
She no longer held back her feelings. She had resolved to give him a love and devotion as vast as the one he poured into her. She refused to lose to him when it came to loving. Because he was the only man she would ever allow to be her husband.
Her handsome husband.
Her incredible husband.
Her strong husband.
Her infuriating husband.
Her childish husband.
Her adorable husband.
Her husband, who loved her with all his heart.
Yes, her husband. Hers alone.
Utahime’s husband.
And she would love him until the very end of her life.