She pushed open the door and stood in the doorway. The heaviness and disorder she might have expected from this room were absent. The air was clean, sunlight streamed from the window, and things were...tidy.
Riya’s mom stood beside her, her mouth set and unyielding. “It’s overdue for you, beta.” She squeezed Riya’s arm.
I never left you. I’ve been here all along, Samir said in Riya’s mind.
Riya siphoned courage from her mother’s touch and stepped into Samir’s room. She scanned the space, not completely believing what she was seeing. Samir’s art was everywhere. There were paintings and metal sculptures, wall hangings and wood carvings. Her necklace was a mini sculpture, and she saw its parent hanging on the wall. Paintings and sculptures of Ganesha were a definite theme, but Samir’s art was more than that. Her gaze caught on a small, eight-by-ten painting of colorful cookies. Her macarons.
Samir was everywhere in this room. Tears flowed down her cheeks with abandon, but she found herself smiling. “Mom, what...?”
Her mother’s face glowed with pride. “We were able to salvage more than we had thought we could.” She stopped and looked around, tears filling her eyes. “He never had to go back in the house.”
“What did you say?” Riya snapped her head around to look at her mother.
“Look at how much of his art we were able to save. The fire didn’t take it. He came in to save it, and the smoke took him.”
“He went in to get this.” She pulled at her necklace.
“What?” Her mother furrowed her brow.
“He went back in to get this. He was holding it when they found him.” Her lips and voice shook with the pain of saying these words out loud. “He had made it for me for Rakshabandan. Remember? He went back in because of me.” Now her mother knew the truth.
Her mother’s confusion turned to shock, and she shook her head. “No, no, no, beta. That’s not it. That’s not—Is that what you thought, all these years?” She caught Riya in her arms, the way that only a mother could. Riya couldn’t remember the last time she’d let her mother do this.
“Riya, Samir was applying to art school,” her mother whispered into her hair.
Riya pulled back. “No, he was going to engineering school.”
“Yes.” Her mother smiled, pride still shining through. “But he was applying to an art program as well. So he could have a solid degree as well as follow his passion. He loved engineering, too. He didn’t want to have to choose, so we didn’t make him.”
“I...I had no idea.”
“I think he was going to surprise you.” She looked around. “But what I do know is that he came back in for this.” She gestured to the artwork. “He needed some of these pieces for his application. He did not come in because of you.” She squeezed Riya’s arms as if she could squeeze understanding into her. “He did not die because of you. He died because he was trying to save his art. He was trying to save his dream.” She paused. “Your room is at the top of the stairs. He must have simply grabbed your necklace on his way.”
Her mother’s gaze followed her as she wandered about Samir’s room. Riya felt as if she’d traveled back in time. Her older brother’s room had been off-limits to her as a younger sibling, which had simply increased its allure back then. But there had been those rare times when Samir would let her come in and they would chat about this and that, especially as they’d got older.
She distinctly remembered breaking in when she was about nine and finding his art. He’d been so angry with her when he caught her, she’d assumed that the art was a secret. She’d come to understand that his art revealed things about him that he hadn’t been ready to share with anyone at the time. Ganesha was the Remover of Obstacles. What obstacle had Samir wanted removed? Now they would never know.
Riya turned to her mother. “Why did you bring me in here? Why now?”
Her mother shrugged. “It’s well past time. Rakshabandan has been difficult for you since we lost him, and I thought that maybe if you came up here, it would be easier.” She sighed. “I have been hard on you for choosing to be a firefighter because I am afraid of losing you. But it’s your dream, it’s part of who you are—like art was part of Samir. I’m so proud of you. Saving lives. Mentoring women who want to be in your field.”
Her mother’s hand on her shoulder was warm. “I wouldn’t stand in Samir’s way, and I won’t stand in yours. I’ll worry, but that’s a mother’s right.” She smiled. “That’s why I brought you in here, so you could see how your brother dreamed.”
Riya had no idea what to say. She’d thought she could never go into Samir’s room again. But now that she was here, a peace settled over her.
“Is this why there are Ganeshas all over the house now?”
“Yes. They are all Samir’s.”
“Even that garish thing in the kitchen?” Riya chuckled.
Her mother shook her head, but she was smiling. “That was one of his firsts. A precursor to your necklace.” She watched Riya a moment. “Take something.”
“What?”
“He was your brother. His art just sits here. Take something. Replace Johnny Abraham or whatever in your room. Or take it back to your place when you go.”
Riya had already picked out what she wanted before her mother finished talking. She had spied a watercolor Samir had done from a photo of the two of them. It was from that last Rakshabandan. They were hugging each other, their lips overflowing with sweets they had crammed into one another’s mouths. Riya was looking at the camera. But Samir was looking at her. She remembered the picture being taken. She had felt so loved, so part of a family. She couldn’t remember having had that feeling of family since then.
