He gave a short laugh. ‘In the beginning, a bunch of my cousins tried staging interventions to knock some sense into me. Now all my aunts are trying to set me up with their friends’ daughters.’
Kaavi didn’t want to sound jealous, but she asked anyway. ‘And how’s that going?’
He glanced down at his hand. ‘Well, you can’t exactly set someone up who’s still wearing their wedding ring.’
She followed his gaze. The ring caught the light, still snug on his finger.
‘About that,’ she said. ‘Why do you still wear it?’
He shifted his weight, rocked back slightly. ‘If you think it’s because I’ve been waiting for you to come back, it’s not that. I think … I just hate failing. At anything. And taking it off feels like admitting I failed at us.’
‘Neel, do you hate me?’ she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He looked at her for a long moment. ‘I don’t.’
A pause stretched between them.
‘Anyway, Kaavi. You should get some rest. It’s been a rough couple of hours. This isn’t the time for all this. Sleep,’ he said gently.
He left the room without another word.
Kaavi picked up her overnight bag, set it on the bed, unzippedit and began to search for something, anything, comfortable to wear. But her hands became still. She couldn’t bring herself to choose.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. Her father was dead. It was supposed to feel different. She always thought that when the day came, she’d feel… perhaps not relief but peace. Closure. Something lighter. But all she felt was rage.
A raw, simmering anger she couldn’t place.
And now here she was, back in the house she’d once dreamed would be her forever home. With the man she loved. But right now, she’d never felt more alone.
Neel heard the shower running as he stepped out into the backyard. The morning air was cooler than he’d expected. He settled into one of the patio chairs and pulled out his phone. He dialed the number without thinking twice. Earlier that day, his dad had mentioned in the family group chat that his mother was making chicken curry and if there was one thing certain in life, it was that Natara never missed chicken curry. She was probably at his parents’ place.
Every time he called his mother’s phone, she would put him on speaker the second his dad was nearby. It was their unspoken routine.
He listened to the phone ring.
‘Hello, Neel, my son,’ his mother said. ‘We were just talking about you, wondering what you’re up to in Rally on a Sunday morning.’
Neel hesitated, then finally said it. ‘Mom … I’m actually back home.’
‘Why? Did she sign the divorce papers?’ Natara shouted from the background.
‘Shh,’ his father said.
‘Actually, things have changed,’ said Neel, adding quickly, ‘Don’t talk. Let me explain.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re back together,’ Natara blurted out again.
‘Natara, let him speak,’ his father said, firmer this time.
‘Kaavi’s father passed away,’ Neel said.
His mother’s voice dropped. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean … he died.’
‘So why are you in Johannesburg?’ she asked. ‘Shouldn’t you be in Rally with her?’
‘Kaavi’s in Johannesburg too, Mom. Turns out her parents live here. In Randburg.’
