The scent of jasmine and old money hung heavy in the air, a familiar perfume of opulence that always accompanied Mukti’s grand affairs. Manik adjusted the knot of his silk tie, the fabric cool against his throat, as he stepped from the air-conditioned luxury car onto the sun-drenched grounds of the Oberoi Umaid Bhawan Palace. Three years. Three years since he’d last seen her, since he’d last breathed the same air, since their world had fractured into a million irreparable pieces. Now, here, at Mukti and Abhimanyu’s wedding, there was no escaping the inevitable. He could feel it, a low thrum beneath his ribs, a premonition that tasted of both dread and a desperate, forbidden hope. The palace, a sandstone marvel, glowed under the Rajasthani sun, its intricate carvings seeming to mock the simplicity of his broken heart.
He navigated the throng of impeccably dressed guests, a sea of smiles and air kisses. Familiar faces greeted him, their voices a cheerful cacophony. He offered practiced smiles, his eyes, however, scanning, searching, a hunter’s instinct he thought he’d long buried. Then he saw her. Across the sprawling lawn, near the fountain where water danced in the sunlight, she stood. Nandini.
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