Chapter 2

Tara Sen had spent the better part of the afternoon being dressed, painted, photographed, admired, and repeatedly instructed not to move. By seven o'clock, she was considering the possibility of escaping through the bridal suite's balcony.

She was sitting before an enormous antique mirror, wearing a deep crimson Banarasi saree that her mother had chosen from a weaver in Varanasi. The silk was heavy, its intricate gold work catching the warm light of the dressing room. A traditional gold necklace rested against her collarbone, complemented by matching earrings and a delicate bracelet that had belonged to her elder sister.

Her black curls had been styled into a loose arrangement at the back of her head, with several soft strands framing her face. The makeup artist had spent considerable time perfecting her eyes, although Tara suspected the effort would be wasted the moment her mother began crying.

She had inherited Kavita Sen's appearance almost entirely—her fair complexion, rounded features, expressive brown eyes, and naturally full figure. Naina had been taller and more angular, with their father's sharp features and straight hair. Even as children, the sisters had looked so different that strangers occasionally assumed they were cousins.

"Stop staring at yourself," Sana said.

"I'm not staring."

"You're checking whether you've gained weight since yesterday."

Tara turned sharply. "I am not."

Sana raised an eyebrow. "You're beautiful. Your saree fits. Your blouse fits. And if you ask me whether your waist looks too broad one more time, I'm going to throw that mirror out of the window."

Tara looked down at the fitted blouse beneath her saree. "It's just that the drape feels different."

"Because you're wearing approximately eight kilograms of silk."

"Seven, at most."

"Wonderful. A lightweight bride."

Tara laughed again, and some of the nervousness that had been gathering in her chest began to ease.

She was getting married.

The thought had been following her all day, appearing unexpectedly between the ordinary activities of dressing, greeting relatives, and answering telephone calls. By tomorrow morning, she would be Samar Malhotra's wife. She would wake beside him, travel with him, build a home with him. There would be ordinary mornings and disagreements over insignificant things, family dinners, holidays, perhaps children someday.

She wanted all of it.

She wanted the small, unremarkable moments as much as the grand ones. Perhaps because she had grown up watching a marriage in which affection had seemed to exist most naturally in the smallest gestures.

Naina and Neil had been married for four years before her sister died. Tara had been young, but she remembered their relationship with surprising clarity. Neil had never been particularly demonstrative. He didn't fill rooms with conversation or indulge in elaborate declarations of love. Yet he always seemed aware of Naina, even when they were surrounded by other people.

He would notice when she was tired, remember how she preferred her tea, and quietly move a chair closer to her without interrupting a conversation. Naina, who had been expressive and affectionate, often teased him for being excessively serious.

Tara remembered once asking her sister whether Neil ever became angry.

Naina had laughed. "Of course he does, but he never shouts. That doesn't mean he isn't angry."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know him."

At sixteen, Tara had thought that was the most romantic answer in the world. She had wanted a love like theirs ever since. And now she had Samar. Tara smiled, although her attention remained on the silent phone.

There had been a few difficult weeks leading up to the wedding. Samar had seemed unusually distracted, sometimes cancelling plans at the last minute or ending conversations abruptly. He had blamed work pressure and the endless demands of the wedding arrangements.

Tara had accepted his explanations. She loved him. She had never imagined that loving someone required constantly questioning whether he was telling the truth. A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts. Kavita Sen entered, followed by an elderly woman in an ivory silk saree with a narrow gold border.

Tara's face brightened immediately. "Dadi!"

Vidya Oberoi opened her arms. "Come here, my beautiful girl."

Tara rose carefully, gathering the pleats of her saree, and crossed the room.

Vidya embraced her warmly. "Oh, look at you."

She stepped back, holding Tara by both shoulders. "Let me see."

Tara smiled. "You saw me last week."

"Last week you were wearing trousers and arguing with your mother. Today you're a bride."

Vidya had been part of Tara's life for as long as she could remember. Even after Naina's death, when Neil had gradually stopped attending family gatherings, his grandmother had continued visiting the Sens. She came for birthdays, remembered anniversaries, sent sweets during festivals, and occasionally appeared at their home simply because she happened to be in the neighbourhood.

She had never treated Tara as someone who belonged only to her grandson's past. To Tara, she had always remained Dadi.

Vidya touched her cheek. "You look lovely, Tara."

"Thank you."

"And very much like your mother."

Kavita smiled. "She's always looked like me."

"Naina was Vikram's daughter in every feature," Vidya said softly. "And this one is yours."

For a moment, the mention of Naina brought a familiar silence into the room. Tara lowered her eyes, Vidya noticed she took Tara's hand. "Your sister would have been very happy today."

Tara swallowed. "I wish she were here."

"I know, darling."

Vidya squeezed her fingers. "She would have made an unbearable fuss over you."

Tara laughed through the sudden moisture in her eyes. "She would have hated my lipstick."

"She would have lods of thing, we know this too."

They shared a laugh. Then Vidya looked around. "Now, where is that husband of yours?"

"Future husband," Sana corrected.

"For another thirty minutes," Vidya replied.

Tara reached for her phone. "He hasn't arrived yet."

Vidya frowned slightly. "Hasn't arrived?"

"He's running late."

"On his wedding day?"

Tara gave an apologetic smile. "He had something urgent to attend to."

Vidya's expression changed almost imperceptibly. She had lived long enough to know that important occasions rarely became less important because someone claimed to be busy.

But she said nothing.Instead, she turned towards Kavita. "And where is Vikram?"

"Downstairs. He was asking about Neil."

Vidya sighed. "My grandson is somewhere in this very hotel, pretending that work requires his attention every minute of the day."

"Neil is here?" Tara asked.

"Of course he's here."

Tara looked genuinely surprised. "I didn't think he'd come."

"Neither did he," Vidya replied dryly. "But I have spent the last three weeks reminding him that his grandmother is still alive and perfectly capable of making his life difficult."

Kavita laughed.

Tara smiled. It had been ten years since she had seen Neil Oberoi. She wondered whether he had changed. In her memory, he remained a tall, serious man with a quiet voice and a habit of listening more than he spoke. She remembered him standing beside Naina during family celebrations, one hand resting lightly against her back. She remembered the way her sister had looked at him.

Then she remembered the funeral.

Neil standing near the window of their drawing room, dressed in white, looking as though he had aged ten years in a single night.

Tara pushed the memory aside, today was supposed to be a happy day.

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