After All This Time (22 page)

The first time they got married, they did it in a court. It was a formal affair. She wore a simple white dress, he wore a suit—that was the most effort they put into it. They did not care much about a celebration. All that mattered was that they were with each other, and they were in love.

They lived in California for a couple of years, working and doing random, fun things . . .
without
following a list. Their parents visited them regularly. Lavanya loved having not one, but two families. Shourya continued his job, but Lavanya did not join another high profile corporate law firm. She worked as an environmental lawyer for a non-profit organization. Her cases were not high priority, there weren’t millions at stake, but she was happy, content. It was her chance to make a difference.

But now, two years later, they decided it was time to move back to India. They had paid off the bulk of their student loans, so there were no financial obligations that kept them there. In the beginning, they’d been scared and more inclined to get treatment from specialists in the US, but after two years, they were more familiar with her disease and, therefore, more confident. She was doing well. Her body was responding to the treatment. They’d met with a few hiccups along the way, but they only learned from it and got stronger. So finally, one night, at dinner, when Shourya said something about moving back to Delhi, Lavanya jumped at the chance. Just like that, it was decided.

Lavanya adjusted her veil again. She was wearing a deep red lehenga. People had told her it was out of fashion. She did not care. They wanted to do it the traditional way this time.

‘Watch your step, beta,’ her father said, holding her hand to help her climb down the porch steps that led to the lawn in front of their home. She squeezed his hand before letting it go.

Her mother hugged her and said, ‘You look beautiful.’ She guided her to the mandap where the priest and Shourya were waiting for her.

As Lavanya climbed on to the mandap, Toughy trotting at her heel, she saw Shourya’s face for the first time that night. He had shaved off the French beard she had been begging him to get rid off for weeks. With his hair trimmed and his perfect smile, he looked like quite the gentleman. As if on cue, he got up to escort her to her seat, two feet away from where she was.

‘Ma’am,’ he offered his hand to her.

‘Thank you,’ she laughed. As they sat down, she whispered to him, ‘You gave me peace, in a lifetime of war.’

‘Oh, stop it, you, with the
Troy
reference!’

They were laughing. With him, she was always laughing. She wondered if there was anything better than being married to her best friend.

Before I begin this, I pledge not to name anyone who has not directly aided and abetted me in the making of this book and/or provided me with humour/food during the time I was working on it. Dear (the rest of) family and friends,
thank you for being awesome and a part of my life
, but unfortunately, that doesn’t quite cut it. Except for Maa and Papa and Bhaiya—thank you, thank you, thank you.

David Torrone, I won’t call you a brilliant reader and critic because I know you’ll hate that; instead I will simply thank you for always being mean to me. Artrit Bytyçi, I could say something about how adorable and hilarious you are but what matters here is that your comments were insightful and much-valued. Niki Tulk, you are hands down my favourite Australian; thank you for putting so much time and effort into every detail of my manuscript and treating it with so much love. Ava Mailloux, for being a lunatic and my heart, and Keith Baldwin for being such a sweet person and also a clown. Laura Duarte Gómez, for having unflinching and mostly groundless faith in me.

Ritu Sirkanungo, for being a retard and supplying so much entertainment in my day-to-day life. Unintentionally, but fun nonetheless. Both Purvi Bafna and Tejal Shah have provided me with food at several occasions. I might’ve been dead right now and this book would never have seen the light of the day without you and your culinary skills. Alka Singh and Shreya Singh too for food, and Snigdha Singh and Saket Kumar for companionship during the consumption of the fore-mentioned food.

Anish Chandy, for being my agent and the person who puts up with my inconveniently timed (because of the time difference between New York and New Delhi; I’m not an insensitive person), panicked phone calls, mostly senseless questions and all other troubles that come with having me in your life. Also, of course, for your amazing suggestions for the manuscript.

The team at Penguin Random House: Vaishali Mathur, I have so much to thank you for, you’ve been by my side every step of the way on my journey as a writer, not just as an editor but much, much more. Shatarupa Ghoshal, it may not be considered appropriate, but I’m going to go ahead and say it anyway—you’re the best copy editor I’ve ever worked with. Aparajita Ninan for the beautiful cover design. And the people who come in and take over once a manuscript becomes a book—Aman Arora, Caroline Newbury and Priyanka Sabarwal.

Guruji Sri Sri Paramhansa Yogananda, for strength, for faith, for hope.

And now, in the end, I’m going to use that cheesy line where I thank
you
, the reader, for picking up this book and tell you how much I hope you like it. You rock.

Let the conversation begin…

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First published in Penguin Metro Reads by Penguin Books India 2015

www.penguinbooksindia.com

Copyright © Nikita Singh 2015

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-143-42485-7

This digital edition published in 2015.
e-ISBN: 978-9-352-14019-0

For sale in the Indian Subcontinent only

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser and without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above-mentioned publisher of this book.