Page 46 of Journey to You

“Namaste. Can I help you?” An older woman placed her palms together and gave a little bow, the woman’s sightless eyes homing in on Tamara with unerring accuracy, as she wondered how a blind woman could assist customers in a shop filled with so much vibrant colour.

“Yes, thanks, I’m looking for a sari.”

“Anything in particular?”

She shook her head, belatedly realising the woman couldn’t see her. “I’ve never worn a sari before.”

“But it is in your blood.”

Tamara’s eyebrows rose. How could the woman know her background? Even if she could see, Tamara’s light olive skin, green eyes, and black hair could be any nationality.

“You are after something like this.” A statement rather than a question as the woman ran her hands along countless silk and chiffon saris until she hovered over one, in the palest of mint greens.

Tamara’s breath caught as the woman held it up, the exquisite length of material catching the sunlight filtering through the front window, the sari shimmering like the iced peppermint milkshakes she’d loved as a kid.

It was perfect, something she’d never imagine wearing, yet with the shop filled with so many dazzling combinations, she should have a look around rather than grab the first thing on offer. Probably the most expensive sari in the shop and the woman thought she’d be foolish enough to pounce on it.

“Actually, I’m not sure what I want.”

The sari slid through the woman’s fingers like quicksilver as she turned her head towards her. “I think you do.”

A ripple of unease puckered her skin as she registered the woman wasn’t talking about the sari. She knew India was big on legends, myths, and superstitions. Her mum had told her many stories of ghosts and mysterious happenings, but as far as Tamara was concerned, her superstitious nature extended to a quick glance at the daily horoscopes in the morning newspaper, and only then for a laugh.

But here, now, standing in this ancient shop, the heady fragrance of neroli and saffron in the air, surrounded by the soft swish of silk as the woman continued to run her hands over the saris, she could almost believe there was something otherworldly at play.

“The sari is beautiful but—”

“You are searching for many things. For love. For a home. For yourself.”

Another shiver ran through her. Okay, this was getting too spooky. The woman was scarily accurate, though her predictions had been pretty generic. What tourist wouldn’t be on a quest, searching for something, if only a good time?

“You have love,” the woman said in an eerie monotone. “But all is not as it seems.”

She got that right. Since when was anything in Tamara’s life simple?

“You will face many obstacles on your path to true happiness.”

More generic stuff and she’d had enough.

“Actually, that sari’s perfect.” Checking out the price tag, she sagged with relief. “I’ll take it.”

She thrust money towards the woman, somewhat chastened when she shook her head, sadness creasing her face.

Great, she’d offended the soothsayer. Who knew what fortune she’d get now?

“You will face trials, recross oceans, to find true happiness.”

Giving the woman money and all but yanking her purchase out of her hands hadn’t stopped the predications so she better make a run for it.

“Thank you.” Tamara had her hand on the door handle, eager to leave, when the woman stopped her with a low groan that raised the hackles on her neck.

“Take care, my dear. You will need to be on the lookout for false happiness.”

Okay, enough was enough. She bolted from the shop, wishing she could outrun her doubts. As if she wasn’t filled with qualms already, she had some crazy fortune teller fuelling her insecurities.

This is why she didn’t pay attention to superstitious nonsense. Yet no matter how hard she tried to forget the woman’s predications on the walk back to the hut, she couldn’t help but feel the woman had voiced some of her concerns.

Was her relationship with Ethan too good to be true?

---