Chapter 6: Glitter and Grief

Before my father turned himself in, Sneha’s father held a special farewell dinner at a five-star hotel.

It was my first time seeing so many chandeliers and waiters in white gloves. Waiters in gold-embroidered jackets weaved between tables, their trays piled high with kebabs and mini samosas. The chandeliers sparkled, but I felt invisible beneath their light. Crystal glasses clinked as people toasted the Sharmas’ victory, even while the air was thick with loss. My stomach churned from hunger and grief; the gold plates piled with biryani and mutton seemed to mock me.

He announced in front of everyone that he wanted to betroth Sneha and me as childhood sweethearts.

A gasp rippled through the guests—some amused, some envious. Aunties in heavy sarees smiled knowingly, nudging each other. My father sat straighter than I’d ever seen, eyes shining with pride he had no right to feel.

My father was so moved he nearly wept.

Tears glistened at the corners of his eyes. He pressed his hands together in a grateful namaste, bowing his head again and again to Uncle Sharma, as if his daughter’s death had been redeemed by this proposal.

But Sneha burst into tears. “I don’t want to marry him. He’s just the driver’s son for our family.”

Her wail was sharp, slicing through the air, her kohl streaking down her cheeks. She turned to her father, pleading with the entitlement only the truly privileged possess.

Her father caught her by the wrist and snapped, “Chup kar! Yeh sab log kya sochenge?” His voice thundered over the clatter of cutlery, and the aunties fell silent. Sneha shrank back, eyes cast down, her rebellion suppressed by the weight of her father’s authority.

I didn’t understand why, after my sister’s death, everyone was congratulating my father with toasts.

Laughter and cheers filled the room. Every pat on my father’s back, every raised glass, sounded like nails on a coffin to me. The world was upside down, and I was the only one who knew it.

Unable to stand it, I ran out of the banquet hall and locked myself in the washroom to cry.

The sound of the water running couldn’t drown out the ache in my chest. I buried my face in my hands, choking back sobs as the gold-plated taps and imported marble walls closed in on me. My sister’s smile haunted me in every polished reflection.