Page 32 of Sumanika

I couldn’t go closer to her. It was against the rituals, and although I didn’t believe in any of the myths, I couldn’t risk the baby, Nandani, or this family.

Sometimes, the celebration would end, and then I would mention my absence.

I kneeled before the stone grinder and added red chilies, salt, and garlic cloves. Daadisa loved red garlic chutney, so it seemed the best way to keep me occupied.

I took off my bangles in case they broke before I started.

“Suman,” another attendee’s voice caught my attention.

“Daadisa and Ranima are asking for you in the celebration.” She laughed,“It’s really fun there. Everyone’s dancing.”

Smiling and nodding, I said,“I’ll be there soon. I’m preparing something special for Daadisa.” Then she walked away.

When the next attendee called me, I quickly finished my business in the kitchen and stepped outside to find a better hiding place.

As White adjusted the dupatta on my head, I noticed some chutney on my bright yellow outfit. It was an old, faded piece. I sighed, trying to rub it off while walking through the gallery.

Suddenly, an arm held mine and dragged me to the corner. My eyes widened, but the touch immediately reminded me of him, intensified by the scent of mild jasmine and spice.

“What are you doing?” I asked as he pressed me against the wall. I glanced away from his green eyes and angled my shoulder against his chest when he tried to come closer and hide us behind the curtain.

“It’s been so long; everyone’s asking you to come to the celebration. What are you doing?” he asked in a low voice.

I gulped nervously, lowering my gaze.

Why did he care?

“I’m busy,” I replied softly, trying to walk away. His sudden appearance sent chills down my spine.

“What are you wearing?” he asked after a moment’s pause. His voice was now calm and concerned.

“Clothes,” I replied, subconsciously pushing him away while consciously melting in his presence.

“Is something wrong? Why are you acting like this? Everyone was fine until the celebration. You can take part in activities but didn’t make the Rangoli, didn’t come to the celebration…dance?” His last word made me lift my gaze.

“Hey,” he breathed, gently touching my chin with his fingertip to make me look at him.

When my eyes locked onto his, a thunderous jolt surged down my spine. His brows knitted together, hair cascading over his sweaty forehead, nose sharp, and lips curling into a nervous twitch.

“What is wrong?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Nothing,” I retorted, pulling my chin back. He moved closer, causing me to retreat, and my left shoulder bumped against the wall.

“Then come with me to the celebration,” he said, holding my wrist and pulling me. I fisted my hand, standing my ground and shaking my head.

“I can’t.”

He inhaled sharply as I withdrew my wrist from his grip. A tear rolled down my cheek as I cast my gaze downward.“Why?” he asked, leaning closer to my ear, his voice low.

My breathing shallowed, and my heart raced, feeling his presence so close: authoritative, comforting, yet uncomfortable.

“I just can’t,” I tried to say. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t see my situation. It wasn’t the same as before. I knew people weren’t aware that I was a widow, but I was aware of it. And I couldn’t overlook it.

“You’re hurting my Bhabhisa,” he said, and I gazed into his eyes.

“No, I can never hurt her,” my voice broke, feeling a lump in my throat and my knees weak.

“Then you must have been with her,” he said, pulling me out again as he held my hand.

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