Heeriye

Thirty seven.

Sidharth

I don't know what witchcraft she employed, but Shehnaaz has somehow managed to convince me that a family boat day is the only appropriate way to celebrate our newfound freedom.

No bhavan.

No Ranjhit.

It'll be fun, she said. Quality time with the kids, she said. Open ocean, fresh air—it's the break we need, she said.

She even suggested I invite Dad and Vanraj and somehow, I'd agreed to that too.

Like I said—witchcraft.

Either that or the fact that she was pushing her swollen breasts in my face at the time. Come to think of it, that might also have been a major contributing factor. Then again, every time I look at her body, I can forgive myself for the lapse.

We end up on my private yacht far enough into the ocean that we can't see land from any side. Shehnaaz comes up next to me on the bow and leans against the stanchion. She's wearing a white cotton dress and when the wind whistles through, it pulls the fabric taut against her growing belly.

"Most people don't get on hundred-foot yachts for a 'family boat day,' " she accuses with a shy little smile and laugh.

I smirk. "Only the best for my family."

Her smile softens. "You don't have to go overboard, you know? Figuratively speaking. The kids and I would have been happy making sandcastles on the beach."

"And mix with the rabble?" I scoff. "No way. You need to be out here, where only I can see you looking this fucking good."

She giggles, her gaze drifting slowly towards the main cabin where the children have disappeared to change into their swimsuits. Dad and Vanraj are lounging on the starboard side, nursing cocktails in near-identical linen suits.

"I like your father," she murmurs.

I cup the back of her elbow and stroke the skin there softly. "He likes you."

"How can you tell?"

"He's smiled more today than he has in the last five years. He lost his smile when he lost my mother and brother. It's good to see it again."

Those compassionate eyes of hers fill up with tears. "I can't imagine what that must have been like for him." She pauses for a second and sighs. "Actually, I can. There was a time after Shruti's death that I thought I'd never smile again, either."

I nod. "Losing anyone you care about is hard. Losing a sibling is harder. You're supposed to grow old with them, you know?"

She wipes away a tear and places her fingertips on my wrist. "I know."

"Anang was supposed to lead. But there was no time to mourn him. I was forced to pick myself up and carry on."

"That's what happened to me, too. I had to be there for the kids. I didn't have the luxury of falling apart."

It's weird to think I have so much in common with Shehnaaz. When she first walked into my office almost two years ago, she couldn't have seemed more different than me, more alien.

And now...

Now, I can't imagine my life without her.

It's a sobering thought. One that makes me reflect on my father's mental catatonia. Would I have reacted any different if I were to lose Shehnaaz or one of those kids? Could I really afford to have judged him when I had no goddamn clue what he had gone through?

Shehnaaz's hand is still on my wrist, rubbing it in slow, tender circles. "What was your brother like?"

"What was he like?" I repeat, thinking back as his face flashes before my mind's eye. "He was everything to me when I was a boy. Confident, fierce, charismatic. Protective as hell."