Hidden in henna

They say a husband's name is embedded in his bride's henna, hidden in the dark patterned flowers of her palms. Everyone believes it and I did too. Sometimes in the past when my palms were decorated in hypnotic patterns, I searched for him, a mr right to my mrs right, our names entangled together echoing in the delicately stained curves. But now its been years since I explored the dents and scratches in my fingers for a face masked under the effortless twists and turns. Now when I stretch out my soft pink hands they are bare of scented henna and I watch as his name lights up in my wrists where it is intertwined with my veins and beating comfortingly in the place of my heart.