Chapter 3

Neil found his grandmother in the private lounge adjoining the ballroom. She was speaking to Kavita when he approached. "Dadi."

Vidya turned. "Finally."

He bent slightly to touch her feet, and she placed a hand on his head before straightening the lapel of his jacket.

"At least you remembered how to dress for a wedding."

Neil looked at her. "Was there any doubt?"

"With you, there's always doubt."

Kavita stepped forward. "Neil." He turned towards her, for a moment, they simply looked at one another. Then Kavita embraced him. "It's been too long."

Neil returned the embrace. "It has."

She stepped back. "You look well."

"So do you."

Kavita smiled faintly. "You've become very diplomatic."

"Occupational necessity."

She laughed, Vidya watched the exchange with quiet satisfaction.

Neil rarely attended family occasions, and seeing him standing beside Kavita brought back memories she generally kept to herself.

There had been a time when he and Naina visited the Sen household almost every weekend. Neil would sit with Vikram discussing business while Naina and Kavita occupied themselves with elaborate plans for dinner. Tara, still in school, would wander in and out of the conversations, usually looking for something to eat.

Those years seemed impossibly distant now.

"Where's Vikram?" Neil asked.

"He was speaking to Samar's father," Kavita replied.

Something in her tone made Neil look at her more closely.

"Is everything all right?"

"Of course."

But she glanced towards the ballroom. Vidya noticed, Neil noticed too neither commented.

A hotel manager approached discreetly. "Good evening, sir."

Neil acknowledged him.

"Mr Bose was looking for you earlier."

"Is he downstairs?"

"Yes, sir. Near the west entrance."

Neil nodded. "I'll find him."

As he turned to leave, Vidya caught his arm. "And Neil?"

He looked back. "Don't disappear after ten minutes."

"I haven't even arrived properly."

______

The Opera Grand's main wedding hall was magnificent that evening. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over the polished marble floors, and arrangements of white roses, orchids, and deep red flowers framed the central aisle. A raised wedding pavilion stood beneath an elaborate canopy, its pillars wrapped in jasmine and gold fabric.

The hotel staff had executed the arrangements flawlessly.

Neil noticed the details automatically—the placement of the tables, the lighting, the discreet movements of the service team.

Then he noticed the atmosphere. Guests stood in small groups, speaking quietly. Several looked towards the entrance. The musicians had stopped playing. He checked his watch. Seven-forty. The ceremony should have begun. Near the western doors, he found Vikram Sen speaking urgently into his telephone.

Neil slowed.

The older man's expression was strained. "Rajiv, I don't understand. What do you mean you can't reach him?" A pause. "His own wedding is supposed to begin in ten minutes."

Neil stopped a short distance away, Vikram turned and saw him. For an instant, surprise crossed his face, then he ended the call. "Neil."

Neil approached. "Vikram."

They embraced, the older man held him tightly.

"It's good to see you."

"You too."

Vikram stepped back.

Neil studied him. "Is there a problem?"

Vikram glanced towards the entrance. "Samar hasn't arrived."

Neil waited.

"His father can't reach him."

"How long has he been missing?"

"Since this afternoon, apparently."

Neil's expression remained composed.

Vikram removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes, Neil looked towards the wedding pavilion. The priest was seated beside the unlit ceremonial fire. A few relatives were attempting to distract the guests.

"Don't alarm Tara until you know what's happening," Neil said.

Vikram gave a strained nod.

_______

At eight-fifteen, Tara stopped believing that Samar was merely late. At eight-thirty, she began calling him herself. At eight-forty, she knew something was terribly wrong. Her phone calls went unanswered. Messages remained unread. Sana had tried reaching two of Samar's friends. Neither knew where he was. The bridal suite, which had been filled with laughter and conversation an hour earlier, had fallen into an uneasy silence.

Tara sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at her phone. "He wouldn't do this," she said.

Sana sat beside her. "We don't know what's happened yet."

"He wouldn't just disappear."

"Then let's wait until his father finds him."

Tara looked at her. "You think something's happened to him?"

Sana hesitated. "I don't know."

Tara's stomach tightened. She imagined accidents, hospitals, emergencies. Anything seemed more reasonable than the possibility that Samar had chosen not to come.

She called again. The same automated voice answered, she ended the call. A few minutes later, the door opened.

Vikram entered, Tara rose immediately. "Papa?"

He looked at her, she had never seen him quite like that. His face was pale, and his eyes seemed unable to settle on anything. "Have you found Samar?"

Vikram closed the door behind him. "Tara, sit down."

"No."

"Sweetheart—"

"Just tell me."

He looked towards Sana,

Sana rose slowly. Vikram drew a breath. "Samar called his father."

Relief rushed through Tara so suddenly that she almost laughed. "Thank God. Where is he?"

Vikram said nothing.

"Papa?"

"He isn't coming."

Tara stared at him. The words seemed to reach her from a considerable distance.

"What?"

Vikram swallowed. "He told Rajiv that he can't go through with the wedding."

For several seconds, Tara remained perfectly still. Then she shook her head. "No."

"Tara—"

"No, there must be some misunderstanding."

She reached for her phone. "I'll call him."

"His phone is switched off."

"Then I'll call his father."

"Tara."

She was already dialling. Rajiv Malhotra answered after several rings.

"Uncle?"

There was a pause. "Tara."

"Where's Samar?"

"I'm sorry."

Her fingers tightened around the phone. "Where is he?"

"I don't know."

"Please, Uncle. Just tell me where he is. I'll speak to him."

"Tara, I wish I could—"

"Did something happen?”

"No, dear."

"Then why isn't he coming?"

Rajiv exhaled shakily. "He said he can't marry you."

The room seemed to move beneath her feet, Tara reached for the arm of the sofa. "He said that?"

"I'm sorry."

"He actually said he doesn't want to marry me?"

Rajiv didn't answer, she ended the call. For a long moment, she stared at the darkened screen, then she sat down. Sana knelt in front of her. "Tara."

Tara looked at her. "He isn't coming."

Sana took her hand. "He isn't coming," Tara repeated, as though hearing the words aloud might somehow make them easier to understand.

Then her face crumpled. She began to cry.

Not quietly.

Not with the dignified restraint she might have preferred. She cried with the bewildered desperation of someone whose entire future had been taken away without warning.

Vikram crossed the room and gathered her into his arms. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

Tara clung to him. "Why, Papa?"

He closed his eyes. "I don't know."

"What did I do?"

"Nothing."

"Then why?"

Vikram had no answer. He held his daughter while she wept, feeling an old and terrible helplessness settle over him.

Ten years ago, he had stood beside Naina's hospital bed, unable to do anything to save her. Now his younger daughter was breaking in his arms. And once again, he could do nothing.

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