Chapter 8: Meals and Memories

I went to the kitchen to prepare ingredients.

The last time I made ayurvedic meals was years ago. The kitchen back then was tiny, filled with the smell of ajwain, ginger, and slow-roasting moong dal, just as my father liked it. The air hung thick with turmeric and asafoetida, and sometimes my father would hum an old Lata song as he sorted through his herbal medicines.

Back then, Vikram was not yet Meera’s husband.

He was an orphan living alone in a shabby quarter behind my house. I used to watch him through the broken jali window, his back bent over books till the oil lamp guttered out.

To save money for his studies, he often ate only one meal a day.

One day, he fainted at my back door, and I revived him. The memory came back sharp as a knife—the panic, the way I pressed water to his lips, the relief when his eyes finally opened.

Out of sympathy for his hard work, I searched my father’s medical books and made healthy meals for him every day to help his digestion.

Only he and I knew about this.

I suppose he told Meera.

He really went to great lengths to get rid of me. I let the bitterness rise, then forced it down, focusing on the grinding stone in my hands.

I brought the steaming food to the bedroom.

Arjun was instructing the servants to pack his things. He looked up briefly, his face unreadable, then returned to his business.

'Colonel, what are you doing? Didn’t we agree I’d move to the guest room?'

His handsome face showed no emotion, his voice deep: 'I have fewer things, so I should move.'

'Then eat first, Colonel, and pack later.'

I set the food on the table. He glanced at it, then sat down. 'In the future, let the servants do these things.'

'It’s the same if I do it.'

'It’s not the same.' His voice was still cold. 'Let Sunita deliver it in the future.'

After speaking, he quickly finished the soup, gave a few instructions to the servants, and brushed past me like the wind. I stood there, the weight of the steel thali in my hands, feeling invisible yet again.

At that moment, I was sure of one thing: Colonel Arjun probably didn’t want to see me.