If the Sun Has Faded Away (UNDER REWRITING)

Chapter 9: Between Mother and Daughter

I sighed in frustration, struggling for the third time to unpin the safety pin that held my saree together with the blouse.

"Damn!" I couldn't help but exclaim, my impatience boiling over.

"Leave this to me, Divya," came my mother's voice from the doorway, startling me. She leaned against the frame, an expression of surprise etched on her face, though no trace of discontent marred her features. I knew she was taken aback—perhaps even disappointed—to hear me swear.

As far as I could recall, I had never uttered a curse in my parents' presence, not even accidentally.

"Thanks, Amma," I replied, offering her a tentative smile. Amma is the Tamil word for mother. In an instant, she freed my saree from my right shoulder, the fabric cascading to the floor like a never-ending ocean of red.

Turning to face her, I managed another grateful smile. But it froze as soon as she spoke.

"Next time you see John, make sure to ask him for your necklace back, all right? And give him his jacket back too."

Her words were delivered in our mother tongue, soft yet tinged with disappointment. I sensed the weight behind them.

Suddenly, the reason for her remarks struck me. While she had unpinned my saree, she must have noticed I wasn't wearing my chain. Even though neither she nor my father had said anything during the car ride home, I knew they had easily deduced that I'd spent time with John while they chatted with Uncle Joseph and Auntie Radha in their living room.

The fact that I had forgotten to return John's jacket when they arrived to fetch me had provided them with a glaring clue.

"Amma... I—" I stuttered, unable to hold her gaze as she fixed her eyes on mine.

"Divya, you don't owe me any explanation. Your father and I trust you completely, don't you know that?"

I nodded, unable to speak, knowing she was about to say something that would hurt my feelings.

Now standing directly in front of me, she continued, "We just want you to be fine and safe, baby."

"And you don't think I am safe with John?" I replied, more assertion than question, a frown unwittingly forming on my face.

My mother sighed deeply before speaking again. "John is a nice boy; I'll give you that. But... he's not like us. I'm sorry to say it, but he didn't finish his education and doesn't have a proper profession."

I fell silent, staring at her as she continued to form her arguments, already knowing I would find them unjustified.

As expected, my mother pressed on. "John's a rock 'n' roll musician. I understand that this music means a lot to kids your age, but I don't see any good in it. To me, rock and roll is tied to loudness, violence, and drugs. I may be wrong, but Divya, I'm scared for you. I don't want John to have a bad influence on you." She spoke almost in one breath, and I noticed the worry lines etched on her beautiful face.

Taking a few steps closer, I grasped her hand in mine. "Amma, I've been friends with John for four years. I know him. He's a good person, even if it's hard for you to see that. Yes, he can be a little brash, but he's also caring and thoughtful. He's my best friend. Please don't ask me to give up his friendship."

My voice trailed off, the last sentence barely above a whisper. My mother offered me a sad smile.

"I won't, darling... I won't. Even though it's sometimes hard for your father and me to accept how close you are to him."

For a few seconds, we allowed silence to fill the space between us. I could see sadness in every feature of her face.

"Are you disappointed in me, Amma?" I blurted out, the words escaping before I could stop them.

"I'm not disappointed, darling. I'm just... scared. I know you were born here, Divya. In that sense, you're British, and it's perfectly normal for you to embrace British culture. But at the same time, your roots are Ceylonese. It's unusual for Ceylonese young women to form friendships with men—let alone Western men. You're becoming an independent woman. Your father and I may not have a say in the life you choose for yourself in a few years, and we accept that. You'll likely fall in love with someone and choose him as your life partner. But... seeing you so close to John scares us a little."

My mother's last words left me speechless.

So, that was the crux of their disapproval of my friendship with John? Did they think that John and I were...

"Do you think I'm in love with John, Amma?" I managed to ask, despite the lump forming in my throat.

"I know you're not in love with him, Divya," she said softly, "but I also know that it could happen later."

Her words sent shivers down my spine. This was the first time she had articulated her fears about my friendship with John so clearly. I understood her perspective, but I couldn't accept it.

"John's my friend. He's nothing more than that, Amma. He will always be my friend."

I realized I had raised my voice, sounding more vehement than I intended. My mother gently caressed my cheek and offered a soft smile.

"I'm sorry if I've upset you in any way, darling. I didn't mean to. I'm just scared for your future."

"You're worried about what your Ceylonese friends might think, aren't you, Amma?" I said, a sad smile creeping onto my lips.

I knew my remark was cheeky—if not disrespectful—and not like me at all when speaking to my mother. Yet, that awareness didn't stop me.

"You're afraid of what people might think of me for being friends with a British aspiring rock 'n' roll singer. Like you said, John is so different from us... But that doesn't mean he's bad. Please trust me, Amma. Try to trust him a little."

"I... I trust you, darling," my mother replied, her surprise evident. She seemed taken aback by my words, perhaps even shocked.

"As for John... I'll try to trust him a bit more."

"Amma, I didn't mean to be harsh with you. I'm sorry," I said sincerely, feeling regret for being so straightforward. I knew I had hurt her, but I felt the need to defend John and express my feelings. She would eventually understand; after all, she was my mother.

"Don't apologize, darling," she said, her smile warm. "You have every right to stand up for your friend."

To my surprise, she leaned in and kissed my forehead gently. When she faced me again, I finally found my voice.

"I... I have to go meet the boys at Paul's house," I whispered.

"Now?" my mother asked, surprise flickering in her eyes. I nodded in silence.

"Then make sure you're not late coming home tonight, all right? You'll need to get up early for work tomorrow."

"I'll always be your little girl, won't I?" I teased, hoping to lighten the mood. "Please remember, I'm twenty years old."

"So what?" she retorted, her face lighting up with a warm smile.

"You'll always be my little..." Her words were interrupted by a loud sound from downstairs—the doorbell.

"I'll get it," she said quickly, shifting the conversation. "Hurry up! Your friends are waiting for you at Paul's house. By the time you come downstairs, a few ladoos will be ready for you to taste—your favorite sweets..." My mother winked at me as she prepared to leave my room.

"Amma..." I called before she could step out.

She turned, anticipation written across her features as she awaited my words.

But I fell silent. Instead, I walked towards her and planted a quick kiss on her cheek, hoping it conveyed my gratitude and love for her.

I think she understood, for her smile widened. She returned my kiss with tenderness before finally leaving my room.