Page 89 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

I nodded. “And Sangita.”

“Don’t worry. People have a way of surprising you when you least expect it. I’ll be with you all the way.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said as the driver pulled up into the driveway of a stately home.

My anxiety was not unfounded. I was facing Tauji and Taiji after a long time. While Amar had made multiple visits to the U.S., Tauji continued to hold a grudge against us. It was moralistic righteousness, but that was his prerogative.

Taiji gave me a warm welcome. Her husband remained somber but wasn’t bitter. I think having Amar with me softened the blow.

Early the next morning, I called Vishal Mamaji. He said Sangita had shown positive signs after her first two chemotherapy sessions but had deteriorated since. She had become too frail to endure another round. We discussed the possibility of other medical alternatives, but he didn’t voice much hope for their success.

“Get her affairs in order,” he said curtly. “And yours.”

“Yes, Mamaji. Can I visit her? I was hoping to see Riya.”

“Yes, she visits after school. Come by in the evening.”

That evening, Amar and I walked into the luxury hospital with its polished tiles and tasteful décor and took the elevators up to the fifth floor. I stifled an anxious breath as I prepared myself to meet the little girl. I hadn’t seen her since she was a nine-month-old baby. How would I introduce myself to her? What had Sangita told her about me? My feet halted outside the giant doors of the oncology unit.

“What will I say to her, Amar?”

“You’ll find the words when you see her,” he reassured.

We found Sangita’s room and knocked softly. A young girl answered the door, and I took an unconscious step back. The resemblance was unmistakable. Amar and I exchanged a quick look.

“Riya?” I asked.

“Yes.” She sounded courteous but confident.

“I’m Sameer,” I said, still outside the door.

The slight smile on her face disappeared as she blinked rapidly, and an angry frown began taking shape.

“Can we come in?”

She put a hand on the doorjamb, trying to decide if she should let two strangers in. That’s what I was—a stranger. She turned and looked behind her. “Give me a minute,” she said, and closed the door on us.

Several minutes passed before she let us in.

My eyes landed on Sangita. She looked completely different from the last time I had seen her. She had aged beyond her years. Her eyes had sunk deeper into their sockets, and her already pale complexion had gone from healthy pink to sickly white. She looked frail.

“Yes, cancer will do that to you,” she said.

“I’m sorry.” I took a step toward her, but Riya’s hand blocked us.

“Don’t get too close. She’s weak and prone to infections.” She pointed to the chairs by the wall, across the room. “You can sit there.”

I nodded, and we sat.

“I’m sorry to see you like this,” I said to Sangita.

She turned her gaze toward Riya. “Can you give us a minute?”

Riya stared back with undaunted defiance. “I’m not leaving you alone with him,” she said to her mother.

“It’s alright,” Sangita reassured her with multiple weak nods.

Riya frowned and pouted before walking out and closing the door behind her.

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