Page 82 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

“What do you mean? Are you having second thoughts?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Then you can go running back to your pretty girlfriend.”

“Then why couldn’t you tell him?”

“I didn’t want to blurt it out over the phone. I need to look him in the eye when I tell him. Every time I talk with him, I feel like I didn’t deserve him in the first place.”

“Don’t say that. Apart from being blatantly wrong, it’s unkind to yourself. If you were unworthy of him, you wouldn’t be beating yourself up about it.”

I looked at him.

“I know you, Tara. You’ll run yourself down with guilt, but Sujit is just a boyfriend, isn’t he? You haven’t committed to him or promised him anything.”

“He’s more than a boyfriend, he’s my champion, a trusted confidant, and a close friend of my mother’s. I need to at least show him the respect of doing this in person.”

“We haven’t done anything wrong. We were impulsive, but not wrong.” But his conviction failed to persuade me as I stuffed the laptop into my bag. “Do you want to come over to my place? We can spend a little time before the party.”

“No,” I said. “I’ll go back to mine.”

“Can I come?”

“No, it’s best if we wait until after I’ve talked to Sujit and you’ve broken up with Aarti.”

“This is ridiculous.” He huffed and stood from the booth to let me out. “At least let me drop you back home. It’s hot already.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

We pulled up to my building, and I placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“I love you, Tara. Nothing’s going to change that. You know that, right?”

I nodded and managed a smile. “Can’t wait to see you in your sherwani. I bet you’ll look like a prince from a culturally appropriated children’s movie.” He laughed and blew me a kiss before he drove off.

I entered my apartment, consumed by a strong urge to paint. This had become a thing. Every time I saw Sameer, touched him, smelled him, my insides stirred, pushing me to create something new. Initially, I had chalked it up to the novelty of it, seeing him after all these years, and the unresolved emotions. But I soon realized it was more. He truly was my muse, although I would never tell him that, lest it go to his head. I smiled as I dipped my brush in paint and puttered on a fresh canvas.

It was early evening when Sameer called from his car on the way to Aarti’s place, and I decided to clear up the mess I had made and start grooming.

I had chosen a dark Byzantium full-skirt, off-the-shoulder gown with delicate ivory and gold embroidery. The event demanded elegance, but I wanted to remain as inconspicuous as I could. A bare neck balanced the look of my big kundan chaandbali earrings. I debated between highlighting my eyes and emphasizing my lips and finally decided to wear matching matte lipstick with subtle make-up on my big eyes. Muted gold heels and a matching clutch completed the look.

Mihir arrived looking every bit the upper-crust man he was, in a gorgeous, tailored suit and meticulously coiffed hair and beard.

When we arrived at the ranch where the festivities were planned, Mihir offered me his arm. People mingled over drinks while soft music played in the background. As if to complement the sedate opulence of the evening, a gentle breeze whispered sweet songs of summer.

“Relax, it will be over soon,” Mihir said, patting my cold hand on his arm.

I saw Amar, and my heart eased a little. We approached him as he stood with Sameer’s mother, who held me in a luminous smile that reflected off the rich Banarasi saree she wore. When Mihir stepped away to greet a friend, she took my hands.

“I’m very happy for you and Sameer,” she said in a low voice, and my face dropped with shame and guilt. She patted my hand and said, “I understand this must be uncomfortable, but I’m proud of you both. There is no substitute for kindness, and I’m glad you chose to put Aarti first today.”

When a tear formed in my eye, she quickly grabbed a dinner napkin and swooped in. “The time for tears is gone, beta,” she consoled, and I gave her hand a grateful squeeze as Sameer walked over to greet us before returning to Aarti’s side.

Mihir introduced me to his friends, and I pretended to enjoy myself with an untouched cocktail in my hand. I was chatting with Sameer’s parents when Aarti walked over, looking like she had just walked out of a real-life fairy tale, and my heart clenched. She was by far the most glamorous woman at the party.

“I’m so glad you made it, Tara,” she said with a big, happy smile on her face, and hugged me. We had never hugged before. “I was starting to suspect you were going to renege.”

“No, you were very persuasive,” I teased to diffuse the clog in my chest.

She laughed, then leaned in. “I’m just a little nervous.”

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