“Kabir.” A calm voice interjected, slicing through the shocked silence that buffeted the room. “If you don’t get on a flight and come home, I’m going to come there and drag your ass back here.”
Kabir stared at the phone in Rahul’s hand. He hadn’t noticed the open call flashing on its display.
“Dad?” he asked huskily.
“Apologise to Rahul,” Ved Kashyap’s steady voice sounded through the speaker bringing with it a violent pang of homesickness. “And then take the damn phone from him so I can kick your butt, long distance.”
Rahul held the phone out to Kabir, his hand shaking. “I’ll go get someone to clean up,” he said, his gaze taking in the broken glass all over the room.
Kabir took the phone, his fury and frustration receding enough to allow shame through the cracks. “I’m sorry,” he told Rahul who nodded and disappeared as Kabir switched off speakerphone and held the phone to his ear.
“Have you booked your tickets?” Ved asked now.
“No.” Kabir took a deep breath and stepped over to where the lamp on his bedside table was. He fumbled for the switch, his palm landing on a shard of glass. He swore as pain sliced through him, blood flowing from the wound.
“What was that?” Ved’s voice sharpened. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“I’m fine, Dad.” Kabir held his hand up in a vain bid to stanch the blood flow.
“Are you?”
Kabir swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. Even when the world had been out to ruin him, this one man had cared about him. Always. Ved Kashyap was the reason Kabir was still alive, a fact he never forgot.
Nobody had loved him before Ved had dragged him from the blood and sweat soaked ruin of his reality and into his world. Kabir had fought him every step of the way but Ved had never given up on him. Not for one single second.
Nobody had loved him before but there had been one person who’d adored him from the first day he’d set foot on to the fertile soil of Il Cuore, the vineyard owned by one of his father’s closest friends.
“That is not how you hold a teacup.” Her sweet, girlish voice made him blink. “Didn’t your parents teach you how?”
No, Kabir’s parents hadn’t taught him anything. They were dead, long since turned to ash. And his only living relative had tried to kill him tonight. How to hold a teacup? His chawl hadn’t even had teacups.
“You stick your little finger out like this,” she said prissily, forcing his bent out of shape little finger out and frowning when it wouldn’t straighten fully.
He’d explained to her that he’d broken it, neglecting to tell her how. This little doll with the big eyes and the pretty curls and the softest, unmarked skin would never hear of the horrors he’d grown up with.
And then she’d leant over and planted the tiniest kiss on his mangled finger. The first gentle touch he’d ever received in his short, violence fuelled lifetime.
He hadn’t known it then but his heart would never recover from it.
“Kabir.” Ved’s insistent voice dragged him out of the past.“The wedding is a few weeks away. You should have already been here.”
“I’m not coming,” he said abruptly, forcing the words out.
Silence, laden with disappointment, lay heavy between them. Rahul hurried back into the room with a helper, turning on the light so they didn’t step on any glass. An aborted scream from the helper had Kabir glancing down at himself, phone still held to his ear.
Oh shit. The blood had charted an ugly trail down his hand, soaking through the side of his shirt and on to his tracks. He put a bloody finger to his lips so Rahul and the helper didn’t say anything to worry Ved. Rahul nodded, getting the helper started on cleaning at the other end of the large room.
“Are you sure?” Ved asked now. “Aayushi and Kim were really looking forward to having you home.”
“Dad.” Kabir sat down on the bed heavily, his head spinning a little from blood loss. “I can’t.”
“Okay.” Ved sighed. “If you won’t come to me, then I’ll come to you.”
Kabir started. “No, you can’t do that!” he protested. “You can’t miss a wedding in the family to come and sit with me. That’s more important.”
And it was. His father and Tanisha’s father, along with their two other friends, Maya and Kanak, were not just best friends but family to each other. More family than their actual family. And nobody knew better than he did what family meant to his father.
“You’re more important to me,” Ved said gently. “We haven’t seen you in the last six months, Kabir. You haven’t come home, not once. Your sister tells me you haven’t written any new music in this time or agreed to any performances. We’re worried about you.”
