She stayed curledup under the comforter, knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped around herself as though she could hold the pieces of her heart together by sheer force. Her blank and unseeing gaze remained fixed on the window across the room.
It was an unusually bright, sunny day. Golden light spilled into the room, warmed the furniture, and made tiny dust motes hanging in the air shimmer like something magical. Hope lived in mornings like this. Joy did too…
Everything she wasn’t feeling, might never feel seemed to hang in the air. The bright cheer of the day only made her chest ache more.
The bedroom door opened with a soft click. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move. She shut her eyes quickly, evening her breath out and pretending to sleep, as if it were a shield and could protect her from the questions she had no energy to answer.
Footsteps padded across the room. The edge of the mattress dipped as someone sat down.
“I know you’re awake,” Shikha said dryly.
Her mother’s hand landed on her leg through the comforter. She squeezed once in comfort. And for the first time since everything shattered, Tani felt something crack inside her chest. She swallowed, hard, fighting the sting behind her eyes.
“Time to get up and face the world, baby girl.” Her mother’s soft voice tried to coax her into opening her eyes.
“I don’t want to,” Tani muttered, feeling the rebellious grief that swelled her heart growing bigger.
“And yet,” Shikha said, “you have to. Get up, Tani.” Her mother’s voice was steely with resolve. “We do not curl up and cower.”
Tani groaned as she pushed herself into a sitting position, reluctantly meeting her mother’s eyes.
“So,” Shikha said, her eyes brimming with love and gentle concern. “Kabir, huh?”
Tani groaned again, dropping her head back against the headboard.
“Still waiting for an answer,” Shikha said, amused by her daughter’s dramatic reaction.
“Yeah, Kabir,” Tani said morosely, picking at the embroidery on the sheets, and loosening a pink thread.
Shikha’s eyes crinkled at the side as she smiled. “Love shouldn’t make you grumpy.”
“Unrequited love does,” Tani groused, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “He doesn’t want me.”
“Oh baby,” Shikha murmured. “That boy looks at you like you hung the moon. There is no way in hell he doesn’t want you. He’s loved you since the first day you tormented him with one of youdoll sized tea parties. And I’ve known for a while that he is alsoinlove with you.”
“Maybe,” Tani glanced out of the window. “But he doesn’t want to be in love with me. That’s the whole problem.”
“Well,” Shikha said briskly, ignoring her self-pitying wallow. “What are you going to do about it?”
“You mean other than throwing myself at him, declaring my undying love, getting rejected and ghosted, and then promptly deciding to marry my rebound in a ridiculous attempt at making him jealous?”
“Yes, other than that,” Shikha replied blandly.
Tani stared at her disbelievingly before she caught Shikha’s small smirk and burst into helpless giggles. “Stop it,” she muttered, grinning as she chucked a pillow at her mother.
“It’s all such a mess,” she moaned, crawling forward to drop her head in her mother’s lap.
Shikha’s fingers combed through Tani’s wild curls. “Here’s a radical thought,” she said now, “but have you tried conversation? One where you both talk like calm, rational adults about your hopes, dreams, expectations and,” she hesitated, “fears.”
Tani looked up at her, eyes narrowing. “What do you know?”
“It’s not my news to tell,” Shikha said quietly.
“But there is news to tell?” Tani clarified.
Shikha nodded, her eyes looking troubled.
Anxiety clutched at Tani’s heart. “Is he okay?”
