No one blinked.
His mind flashed back to the farmhouse, to the laughter and the happiness that soaked the air, to the minimalist luxury of his penthouse in New York. Where he’d come from and where he’d ended up. Life had taken him on an insane rollercoaster, so far it was going up. He wondered when the crash would come.
When Tani married Jay? Or when the next song didn’t hum through his veins? He had a feeling both would happen at the same time. Which meant the fall was coming and fast.
“Sir.” His guard shifted uncomfortably in the front seat. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to get down here.”
No. It wasn’t wise but then Kabir wasn’t wise, was he?
He pulled his cap down lower, forcing the bill to cover the upper portion of his face. Hopefully, his thick beard, sunglasses and the simple white t-shirt he’d changed into would help. He opened the door to his bodyguard’s silent disapproval and got out.
They walked swiftly through the crowded corridors, Kabir keeping his head down so he didn’t make eye contact with anyone. It took them less than a few minutes to reach the door to the space he’d called home for the first fifteen years of his life. His hand shook a little as he raised it to knock but when he did, the sound of his knuckles against the weathered wood vibrated in his soul.
For a moment, he heard nothing. No movement, no call from the other side of the door and his heart sighed in relief. He was turning to leave when the door creaked open. Dread stirred inside him as he forced himself to look back.
And there she was.
Older, slimmer, grey streaking through her hair, lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes but still there. Those lines were a lie. His aunt did not laugh so the question of laughter lines were…well illogical. Or maybe she laughed with people other than him.
She wore a simple, cotton kurta set, inked with faded stains that spoke of a lifetime of neglect. Where had all the money he’d sent her gone? Surely, she could afford to live better than this, far better. He should know…
A million questions crowded his mind, hovering on the tip of his tongue but in the end all that came out was, “Not dying I see.”
“Not today.” She smiled, a tight grimace of her lips. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Disappoint?” he smiled caustically. “You broke my heart.”
She laughed, a bitter chuckle. “Come in.” She stepped back to allow him access into the tiny room behind her. When his guard moved to follow him, she said, “Only you.”
“You don’t give me orders anymore,” he replied. “He comes with me or I leave.”
Her gaze flicked to the guard and back to Kabir. “I don’t think you’ll want him hearing what I have to say.”
Kabir hesitated and then he nodded to his guard. “I’ll be okay,” he said and then added with a bitter grin, “and if I’m not, it’s not on you.”
He stepped into the room, the door shutting behind him, enclosing him in the dank, musty smell of his childhood. It felt like he’d stepped through a portal that led straight to the hell of his past.
His aunt gestured to a stool that rested against the dirty wall. Kabir shook his head. “I’ll stand. This shouldn’t take too long.”
She sat down on the single khatiya in the corner of the room, a heavy sigh escaping her. The nylon threads holding it together seemed to be fraying and looked as old and tired as everything else in the room.
“What do you want?” he asked abruptly, his breath hitching in his chest as he felt the weight of memories close in on him.“More money?” His gaze scanned the room that seemed to be stuck in a time warp. “I don’t think so since you don’t seem to be using what I’m already sending you.”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“About?” The word was abrupt, a curt, bitten off question.
“Your past,ourpast, and –“
“Our past?” Kabir raised a brow. “Do you mean all the times you left me starving as a child while you feasted on biryani? Or do you mean the time you tried to kill me?”
Something that looked an awful lot like shame filled her eyes. “That night,” she faltered. “I think it was contaminated.”
“The drugs you took?” A cynical smile curved his lips. “Am I supposed to forgive you because your excuse for trying to kill me was ‘dirty maal’?”
She straightened her shoulders. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness.” Her voice had the same steel in it that he’d heard all his life. “I’m asking you to listen, for your own good.”
“And what are you going to tell me for my own good?” The idea of this woman thinking of his good made him want to laugh and cry at the same time.
