Chapter Text
She tugs and tugs again, but Harsha comes no closer. He doesn’t laugh or shuffle or even grunt. No teasing flirtation brushes past her ear, no playful fingers dance up her arm or down her back, yet her sari is still strung taut between them. Indu glances around but only a distant murmuring of voices gives any sign that life exists beyond their world of two.
That should probably worry her, yet she’d feel more afraid if she were alone.
“Have you turned to stone back there?” she taunts, looking back –
– Harsha’s tumbled at least a half-dozen steps further than he’d been a second ago. He’s also staring dazedly at his hand like his fingers have broken into song and he doesn’t know what to do about it. A sob-like gasp hiccups through him as she shifts toward him, the tension between them easing.
“Harsha?”
He flinches, a grimace of distaste flashing over his features before they go still again. Then his eyelids flutter . . . and he takes another step back, the arm wrapped in her sari falling to his side as an odd weight straightens his shoulders. “Forgive me,” he says, a new rumble in his voice, his head bobbing a tiny bow. “I-I should go.” He turns away, a loop of her sari falling from his wrist.
“No.” The word, in all its breathed smallness, feels like a storm wave crashing against a rocky shore, and Harsha – or the body she knows as Harsha, at least – stops like its hit a brick wall. Another loop threatens to slip away. “You know my secret,” Indu says, wanting to tug him back. “It’s time to tell me yours.”
A shudder ripples through the fabric between them. Indu’s grip spasms tighter on the bit she has left, but she resists the need to pull. Ridiculous as it seems – though their whole courtship has been ridiculous, so maybe this is par for the course – she suspects if she loses this tether on him now, she’ll never get another chance. Look at me, something breathes awake within her. Why won’t you look at me?
“I . . .” he turns back toward her, a light breeze dancing through the loose fabric. His wrist idly rotates to catch it tight again, and Indu breathes easier. “I don’t have all the pieces,” he confesses, sounding more like himself though his lowered gaze still bounces across the space between them.
“That’s fine,” she says, sitting down to mask her tug. “Tell me anyway.”
A soft chuckle says she hasn’t fooled him, but he accepts the hint and comes closer. “I loved you, I think. In a previous life.” He kneels on a lower step. “You . . . cared for me, too. Maybe. I’m missing that part.”
Look at me, that voice whimpers, but it can’t get past the hurt suddenly aching in her throat. Indu swallows, and can only watch as Harsha’s wrapped wrist snaps off a loop for the other hand to catch. He smooths and doubles the strand between them before offering it back to her. She shivers and bites her lip, staring at it.
“But something . . . went wrong. We couldn’t be together,” he continues when she pulls and winds her hands into the fabric in acceptance. Bound to you, now. A smile twitches at his mouth when her wrapped hands return to her lap, but his gaze doesn’t rise as he shifts into a more comfortable seat with a gasp.
“I – you asked me something.” His brows pinch, eyes darting. Indu looks, but only sees the rockface surrounding the temple ruins. Have the voices gotten closer? “You asked . . .” He grunts, winces, and rubs his chest – then goes deathly still. “I failed you. I lied, and I failed, and it killed you.” He wrenches away and Indu stumbles onto her feet, ankle awkwardly twisting between steps as she’s forced to follow.
Thankfully, he doesn’t go far to pace, but the sudden muttering about stars and arrows and painting raises unnerving goosebumps on Indu’s arms until she snaps the sari-leash between them. “Hey – hey!” He stops, but his chest continues to heave with panic; his eyes still look a little glazed in full sunlight. Tread carefully. She encases his wrapped forearm between her hands. “That was all then, Harsha.”
Another moue of distaste pulls him closer to present, and Indu pulls him around to press his cheeks between her palms. Look at me. His eyes flit away. “What do you need now – why are you even remembering this?”
“I don’t –” his hands fly up to clasp hers, yet hesitate and squeeze into fists before contact, then fall away again. “I don’t know. I remember a little more every time our hands touch.”
“Really?” If you shook my hand at that restaurant, the mystery would be solved by now? Indu doesn’t like that idea, for some reason; she pulls him back to the steps to avoid it. He insists on taking the ground below her like a servant groveling for forgiveness, and she doesn’t know if she’s more charmed or annoyed by it. She shakes her head and wrestles a hand from its binding, offering the palm to –
He cringes away; the grief swimming in his eyes flexes her wrist without a thought. “What should I call you, then?” she asks instead.
His brows pinch as he gasps for breath, twin tears slipping from his eyes.
“You aren’t acting like the sweet goofball I’ve been paling around with for the last month, and it’s not his name you want to hear, is it?”
He chuckles and closes his eyes for another wave of tears. “Still so clever,” he murmurs before opening them and finally raising a hand to her own. “Kala Bhai- –”
A shadow passes over them – A slap rings in her ears –
And she ever-so-briefly feels the silk of Harsha’s hair as she dives to protect his head from the stones.
It takes a few seconds too long to recognize her Nanna’s voice as the one yelling –
And then Indu’s getting dragged up the stairs, tender ankle banging against a step as Harsha grabs her father and slams him against a pillar. He snarls something about hurting a queen, and suddenly hands and shouting are everywhere, pulling her away. The sari goes tight around her wrist, and Harsha roars. A man flies through the air; another screams in pain; yet another screams after a dull, sickening crack. Bodies slam to the ground left and right and a yank on her shoulder and she’s centimeters away from Harsha’s chest, breathing in a heat that pools low in her belly. (Safe.) A murmur and gentle hands urge her behind him, and Indu only realizes she’s closed her eyes when she’s suddenly blinking up at her gobsmacked father, still propped on the pillar Harsha had shoved him against as the sari falls limp between them.
What is happening –?
Harsha scoffs. “I could take double your numbers with one hand for fun,” he says, like they’re all characters in some action flick.
Or like he’s never met a gun.
“No! Harsha, stop.” The sari twists, and not in a good way. She gives it a sharp tug. “Don’t.”
Harsha freezes, head turning ever-so-slightly to eye her direction. To listen.
“These are my father’s investors, and you’re making it worse.”
He flinches like he’s been slapped (slapped again), and something breaks within her. “This is my fault,” she says. “I haven’t been very honest. With anyone.” Indu ducks her head and focuses on wrapping up the sari fabric to avoid anyone’s gaze, even when she hears Nanna’s soft footsteps following behind her. She shifts to come around Harsha’s body, reaching for his bound arm. He shivers at her touch, and she urges it to bend so she can press the pile of fabric between their palms, careful to keep flesh from touching. Will you count this as a promise? “You’ve already been incredibly patient with me,” she tells it when everything goes quiet. “Can you stand to wait a little longer?”
“Ask, and I’ll wait centuries.”
You already have. Indu huffs a mirthless laugh, her chest aching with a feeling she can’t define. “I’m thinking more like a few days.” She leans toward him, trying to catch his eye. “Maybe a week? I’ll call you when things calm down a little.” This is temporary. I won’t leave you forever. Their gazes lock, and he must read the vow in her eyes.
His shoulders droop, and it’s suddenly Harsha – the Harsha she knows – who nods. “As you wish.”
Somehow, that makes it even harder to leave. Or she just doesn’t want to. But for his safety, she must.
Indu backs up, biting her cheek to keep the pain from her throbbing ankle at bay. She keeps her eyes on him as long as she can, memorizing his face because this somehow feels far more like a goodbye than it should be. She tries to smile when her father passes him; it’s a tremulous thing. Nanna takes her arm and pressures her into a turn when they reach his group. “I’ll see you later,” she says just before she’s forced to break eye contact. She leans hard on her father’s shoulder and lets herself limp the rest of the way to the car park, her chest hurting more the further they part.
Someone wails from the ruins just before she ducks inside the auto, and her heart twists. I know this agony. It takes everything in her not to rush back to him.
Nanna insists on stopping by a clinic to check her ankle, but otherwise they don’t speak. Tension runs high between them, but Indu’s at a loss for what to say, where to start . . .
How much to tell.
She should’ve asked Harsha if it was okay to share his story. Maybe she should avoid the past-life stuff for now . . . at least, until they have more information.
They’re almost home – their new, temporary home, but for how long? – when she remembers her exam. She should probably be more upset about missing it.
~ * ~
There’s something about how her intended watches her that creeps Indu out a little. Nothing overt like those boys at the IMAX, but . . . similar. Like a choice piece of meat being eyed by a predator. Not human. Not even a living being.
And it always feels a little worse after she’s spent the day with Harsha.
Until today she had shrugged it off as twinges of a guilty conscience – agreeing to marry one man while playing with the heart of another isn’t like her, nor how she was raised – but now she feels almost nauseous just hearing Raghu has returned from work. Sharing a space, a meal, a life with him is an insurmountable mountain she now knows she has no interest in climbing.
Leaving this fort would break Nanna’s heart after fighting so long to return to it, though. She can’t do that to him anymore than ask Raghu to abandon his childhood home for her own comfort . . .
And that doesn’t touch the mess with Harsha.
Her stomach twisting itself into knots, Indu begs off the next meal and hides away in her room to do some research instead. Harsha’s probably done all of it and more already, but even this tenuous connection helps her feel safer grounded.
Where Harsha lifts me to fly, Raghu debates where to nail my skin to his wall. She can almost hear different names –
– someone knocks on her door before she can analyze the thought.
“Come in!” she says, then has a moment’s panic wondering if it’s Raghu on the other side. But it’s Nanna, carrying a trayful of food. Relief gushes out of her as no one follows behind him and he nudges the door close with his foot.
“I’m not about to let my daughter starve over a bit of embarrassment!” he declares – then gives her an exaggerated double-take. “What are you doing out of bed? Go! Shoo!”
Indu rolls her eyes but peels away from her desk and indulges their tradition, leaving her laptop behind. “I’m not sick or invalid, Nanna.”
“No, you are injured and stressed, which is far worse.” He fluffs and re-centers her pillows before she lays back on them, then brings the tray over her lap so he can fuss over propping up her ankle. “Silly girls, always badgering their nannas to go play with the boys,” he continues to mutter, and Indu feels her face heat. The traditional complaint has a rather different connotation, in this circumstance.
It's her line next, but she has no excuse for her actions this time. She can’t even meet his gaze.
Nanna harrumphs and lets her slide. “Eat, eat!” He settles into her desk chair to wait and, somehow, knowing she’s out of stalling time is a bigger relief than not having to deal with it yet was.
That’s also part of their ritual: an odd-yet-equal combination of punishment and breathing space. It surprises her almost every time.
He allows her to prompt him for a story while she eats – just about how the investors are all doing, if they’re still interested in helping Nanna revive the fort, that kind of thing – when –
“Do you remember my imaginary friend?” pops out of her mouth, unconnected to anything when her plate is nearly clean.
“You called him your guardian, but you didn’t describe him like an angel. Some kind of griffin, wasn’t he?” Nanna leans back to prop his foot on the opposite knee and weaves his fingers over his belly.
Indu’s eyes drift up to her fashion logo concept sketches as she shakes her head. “No. No chicken feet or scorpion tail. Just a lion with wings.” The image has been with her forever, but the name – company or otherwise – . . . the name won’t speak to her. “Do you know what I called him? I can’t seem to remember it.”
“Hmm.” Nanna’s head tilts. He doesn’t know where she’s going with this, either. “Beva. Or . . . Bhai’vra, perhaps? You were so young, the name had to be simple. Your amma knew your stories better than I did.”
Indu’s gaze drops back to her plate, and she pokes at the crumbs. They don’t talk about Amma or Akka very much, the wounds of their sudden disappearance and passing are still too painful after nearly two decades, even with the slow mending of houses over the last few weeks. Do I really have the right to break it again? Indu’s eyes burn; she closes them to hide the tears.
“You still talk to him, on occasion,” Nanna says before she wanders too far into her own head. (What?) She looks up. “In your dreams. So I suppose you don’t remember that, either.” Then he smirks and gives her a warning look. “Unless there’s yet another young man I need to meet?”
Someone else knocks while she splutters with horrified denial, and Nanna bids them enter. Locking eyes with Raghu as he steps in nearly brings her food back for an encore performance. She looks away and swallows hard.
“I only wanted to ask how your exam went, and if – what’s this?”
She sees his hand gesture at her wrapped ankle and jumps in before Nanna can. “Uh, there was a fire.” Both men stare at her, but she refuses to look up. “Small one, no damage, but it was enough to set off the sprinkler system. All exams have been postponed until they find the culprit.” She sneaks a glance Nanna’s way, hoping it looks like she’s checking the computer behind him; it’s gone dark. “Or everything dries. They’re hoping for sometime next week. I twisted my ankle on the way out; Nanna’s using it as an excuse to baby me.” There, back on script. When did I get so good at lying? Indu gathers her courage to raise her head and look past Raghu’s shoulder. “What about you? How’s your day been?”
“Nowhere nearly as exciting,” Raghu says, the tremble in his voice making Indu want to duck away and hide. He makes noises and she and Nanna hum and nod along for the next several minutes, though Nanna’s the only one who shows any interest or understanding in the conversation. The phrase Get Out get out getout! is pounding too loud in her brain for Indu to hear any of it if she wanted to – is it talking to her or Raghu? she can’t tell – “I may need to step out for a bit later this evening. A troublemaker on the loose, nothing worth worrying over,” Raghu says, and Indu could weep for relief and sorrow alike for the poor soul who’s drawn Raghu’s attention away from her. Nanna takes that as his cue to usher Raghu out with some well wishes, and Indu tries not to gasp too loud until after the door is firmly closed. She presses a hand to her pounding heart, willing it to calm –
“You really don’t like him, do you,” Nanna says.
“No. I’m sorry, Nanna,” she says, and hiccups. “I thought maybe some time and familiarity would make him less jarring, but he’s just – blergh!” She wraps her arm around herself to hide her shiver.
“But not Harsha?”
Just his name is a breeze on her skin, a shield from the rain, and sunlight after a storm. The tension Raghu’s visit built in her melts away. “Harsha is . . .” I’m so gone on him it’s ridiculous.
Nanna confirms it by waving a hand in front of her face when she’s been quiet for too long. “And does he care for you like you do him?”
Indu laughs. “Oh, Nanna. I’ve been terrible to him, and he hasn’t even raised his voice at me.”
A look of skeptical confusion says he doesn’t believe her. Which . . . fair. Considering the lie he just watched her spin, Nanna has no reason to trust her word against what he’s witnessed.
Or whatever he thinks he’s witnessed. Their silliness with her sari might’ve made her look like a kidnapping victim or something, she supposes. But he didn’t see that. He would’ve said something . . . . Right?
“He’s . . . going through some things.” Ew. That sounds bad. “Wait, no.” She sets the tray aside and sits up. “I need to start from the beginning with this.” A gesture, and Nanna sits down again. Indu takes a deep breath to center herself. So . . . the beginning.
“I met Harsha a little over a month ago,” she says in a gush of air, “when he bounded into the bus stop begging everyone for information about ‘the girl in the white kurta.’ We all denied the wild-eyed stranger, of course. No one would give him a name, let alone the address he was asking for. But he wasn’t willing to give up, even after the bus departed. And I, having just zipped my jacket over my all-white outfit when he showed up, saw an opportunity to get home thirty minutes sooner without getting soaked in the storm.” It sounds so selfish, put that way. “So I said I might know her and asked what he wanted with her; he told me he’d had a whirlwind romance with her last summer, but her father hadn’t approved and whisked her away without so much as a farewell –” hitting rather close to home now, isn’t it? She shakes the thought away. “– Clearly a lie, so I started the usual distract-and-toss protocol we’ve developed at school. I said she lived near me, and I’d give him directions to her house if he gave me a lift home.” It’s a good system. Most would-be Romeos got distracted or frustrated and disappeared within the first three days or five moves, whichever came first; the few who’ve lasted a week or ten moves usually blew up or caused such a scene when their final test revealed the girls’ trickery that police were called.
Harsha’s eager dedication to meet the very girl leading him on had blown every other crazy-eyed “heartsick” boy out of the water, even before he’d caught her out this morning.
I still have to ask him how he avoided the Reddys’ usual tongue-lashing. One of many questions she had for her beloved. And she should also call some of the others, let them know how it all turned out so none of them sick the police on him or some nonsense.
First step, though. “I . . . lost my head a little, after he thrashed some boys who’d harassed me at the theater. I doubt you need an explanation for that.” She plays with her nails for a moment to avoid looking at him. “I should’ve called it off and come clean ages ago – even the girls at school started fussing at me when he sailed past the two-week mark none-the-wiser – but I didn’t want to let go of the dream, didn’t want to see what his ugly side looked like.” Only I don’t think he has one. Not for me. She bites back a smile. “He figured it out this morning – I don’t know how – and he was . . . explaining his side of things, when you showed up.” Why did you attack him – No. That needs to wait.
Indu chews her lip against the burning tears before she looks up again. “I love Harsha, Nanna.” She straightens, fingers twisting into a knot in her lap, the next words already hurting worse than her ankle. “But I’ll do what you say.”
Nanna studies her for a long moment, then sits forward. “And do you think,” he slowly says, choosing his words carefully, “I would trade my daughter’s happiness for a building?”
Indu surges forward on a gasp, feeling like invisible chains surrounding her were snapping free and falling away. His arms wrap around her, a hand stroking through her hair as the tears fall, and she knows she can soon breathe safe again.
“I can’t agree on Harsha,” he murmurs against her ear. “Not yet. But I’ll try to keep an open mind the next time we meet.”
Indu nods. The compromise is more than understandable. None of them had made a good impression this morning. But it’s fixable.
“How soon can we get out of here?” she catches herself asking as she shuffles back onto her bed. She hadn’t meant to speak so bluntly, but maybe the time for sneaking and subterfuge is over.
Nanna stills, and she knows she’s not going to like the answer. “That’s . . . going to take some time. I have to look into a few things, first.”
Like breaking off the engagement. If Raghu’s irritated that he’ll have to keep sharing her with the world via school for another week, he’ll be a nightmare when he learns she won’t marry him, period. “Keep your phone close whenever you talk to him,” she says, eyeing her door as an old foreboding comes over her. “Something tells me Raghu’s really good at making things he doesn’t like disappear.”
Nanna considers her again for another long moment. Then nods.
And that . . . that’s even scarier than Nanna laughing and waving her off. She shivers, and Nanna decides it’s time for his exit as well.
~ * ~
“Harsha Teja,” Raghu’s solicitor sighs down the line. “Rising superstar of the bike racing and stunt car world until his sudden disappearance about a month ago. The coordinator of his last competition tried claiming he was in rehab or even jail, but she’s gone quiet under allegations that she tried to steal the prize money and nearly got him killed. No known family and very few friends, most of whom he’s apparently shunned while chasing some girl – possibly your daughter, though I haven’t gotten confirmation on that yet.”
“That was . . . fast.”
“I’m surprised Mr. Raghubeer Sir hasn’t informed you already,” the solicitor snaps back. “He’s not one to hesitate when a threat appears. And I don’t like repeating myself.”
So Raghu’s aware of Harsha . . . somehow. For how long? Why didn’t he say anything? Was he already working to solve the problem?
Mind filled with questions, Bhupathi thanks the solicitor and ends the call. He taps his phone to his mouth, feeling like he’s missed or forgotten something incredibly important. Something that will make everything make sense. But it won’t come to him.
“You won’t harm my queen again!” that boy’s bellow echoes in his mind. “I can’t – not again.”
From threat to plea in a blink. Indu usually despises that kind of flippant duality, such paradoxical contradiction. But she’d been more at ease tied up at that temple than when they were talking to Raghu in her bedroom, and Raghu has never shown any signs of anger or violence. He’s been nothing but kind to them. His guards and assistants have given them uglier ‘accidental’ looks than he has.
What am I missing? Bhupathi sets his phone aside and gets up for a drink. A sip later, and he’s tapping his fingers against the glass, staring sightlessly out the window while a phone rings somewhere else in the fort.
Indu’s story didn’t explain why Harsha had approached her in the first place, though the ‘issues’ she mentioned then ignored might be the legal matters the solicitor had spoken of. Her reasons for not blowing him off or introducing them sooner also seem flimsy. She’s been acting a little different from usual, but could it really all be explained by her infatuation with Harsha, her dislike of Raghu, and school stress? Or was there something else?
And what does her childhood guardian have to do with it all? Indu’s mind could make strange leaps sometimes, but the logic always connects eventually –
“I’m sorry, Sir.” Bhupathi startles, water sloshing as he turns. Speak of the devil. And I thought Raghu moves quietly. “I don’t normally act like that. I’m just . . . incredibly protective of Indu, although I know she can handle herself.” Harsha’s gaze wanders the room, his hands playing with a rolled-up swath of white fabric Bhupathi realizes must be the sari Indu left with this morning. “I know Indu said a week, and I’ll abide by it, but . . . I seem to have lost my phone.” He ducks his head and sways on his feet, clearly embarrassed, then remembers the sari. “And I should return this. Not really my style.” He walks in enough to lay the sari flat on the table between them, then steps back to the edge again and bows to depart. “Namaste, Sir. Have a good evening –”
“You would give up your queen so easily?”
Harsha freezes. “No, Sir,” he says, the hardness from the temple returning to his voice. There you are. He looks back. “Only she can send me away for good, but I also understand this is a delicate matter that only time and space can resolve.”
“Ask, and I’ll wait centuries.”
It sounds like a threat but feels like a comfort. Bhupathi swishes and considers his glass to hide his sigh as an odd relief floods him. “My daughter could ask for anything and I would move Heaven and Earth to provide it, but she’s never asked. Not really.” The world they live in, basic self-defense classes should be mandatory for all girls. “Not until today.” Decision made, he sets the glass down and approaches Harsha for a handshake. “We still need time, but I think there’s space to try again.” He offers. “Shall we?”
Harsha lights up and grabs his hand eagerly. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I won’t fail this time.”
‘This time –?’
“What’s this?”
Damnation. Another devil. Bhupathi slaps on a smile and clasps Harsha’s shoulder for the introduction. “Raghubeer, meet Harsha. A new suitor for Indu.” Something ugly passes over Raghu’s face and Bhupathi’s knees nearly collapse under him in a flash of terror. Has Indu been seeing this the whole time?
Harsha starts to babble something, but Raghu brushes past them. “‘A new suitor for Indu?’ I did not take you for a man who would go back on his word, Babai,” he says, fingering Indu’s sari.
“What?” Harsha says. Bhupathi swallows as he pulls away. “Indu’s already engaged? She’s never mentioned –”
White flashes upstairs – Something metallic rings –
And Bhupathi suddenly can’t breathe. His hands scramble at cloth surrounding his neck as Harsha stumbles, wide-eyed and clutching his head, toward him. Pain against his spine arches his back, pushing him up on his toes. Then Raghu snarls in his ear, “When I see something I want, I take it!” and –
Oh. I’m being strangled. Something shatters as Harsha wobbles in circles and tries again to reach him; Raghu yanks him away, and his men laugh like they’re a comedy act.
“Maharaja,” he thinks he hears Harsha say, as something inside crunches and the world fades to black . . .
~ * ~
. . . Unfinished business. Is that all we are, Harsha?
Her pen taps against her notebook in frustration as she skims over the past-life story a third time, unsure where she lost track. Indu tries telling herself again that hearing men’s voices downstairs is not unusual – she’s pretty sure she’s the only female here, now that the cook and housekeeper are gone for the evening – but one of them sounds like Harsha, and that can’t be good. Hearing a motorcycle engine outside does not make it Harsha. Besides, the only thing worse than Harsha showing up all the way out here would be Harsha running into Raghu.
Harsha’s a good fighter, but Raghu’s bound to be nasty in all aspects, and she can’t imagine them interacting without bloodshed. Especially if Raghu suspects their connection.
You will not touch my queen!
. . . Huh. That’s an odd thought. Didn’t Harsha mention a queen earlier –?
“No. Focus,” she tells herself. Then jots a note to look up Kala clan queens, just to be sure. Might help pin down the timeframe or something.
A voice rises in excitement downstairs, and (Shit!) it sounds too much like Harsha to ignore when Raghu’s slimy rumble follows it. Indu abandons the article and hobbles into the hall, careful to keep quiet and hidden.
“– Harsha. A new suitor for Indu,” she hears Nanna say, and SHIT, Nanna what are you thinking?! She doubles back and has to dig around for her phone.
By the time she returns, someone is already choking. She calls emergency services and hazards a peek while Raghu’s goons laugh.
Harsha’s flailing about like a drunkard, his words slurring and pitiful as something breaks.
There’s no sign of Raghu. Or Nanna.
“Emergency Services. What is your location and emergency?” crackles in her ear and she jerks back to safety.
“Yes, hi. I’m at the Udhaigarh fort, and I think –”
“Stop – Please – Maharaj –” Harsha whimpers, and Indu has to cover her mouth to prevent a terrified sob.
“I think someone’s being murdered downstairs,” she says in a rush.
“Oh my God! He’s killing him! Madam, hurry!” one of Raghu’s goons yells. Indu tosses her phone back into her room and exaggerates limping to the balustrade, trying to steel herself for –
Nothing could prepare her to see Harsha tugging her own sari from Nanna’s throat.
A screech rings in her ears, and the next several minutes are a blur she already knows will haunt her dreams for the rest of her life.
People shout. Hands grab and lift Nanna, and she chases them outside. There’s an explosion at one point, and she shoves Harsha away multiple times trying to get him to leave while Raghu’s distracted with her and Nanna.
It gets windy. She nearly breaks down in tears when she feels the faint flutter of a pulse in between shoving gusts of air into Nanna’s chest. But it might be vibrations of her own pounding heart –
Someone knocks her into a corner. She blinks at the suddenly-blue horizon, not comprehending, then shoves them away to bend over Nanna again.
“Indu, please, you have to believe me – ”
“Not now Harsha!” she snaps, slapping something –
A zing of clarity: they’re in a helicopter.
They’re in the sky.
And she’d just slapped Harsha’s open palm.
She blinks. Sees Raghu’s growing smirk reflected in blue as she turns.
Harsha’s slack-jawed and staring into space, no sign of a tether binding him to the machine as the helicopter eases into a roll toward the city.
“Harsha?”
His eyes drag up to meet hers as gravity takes hold.
“No!” She jumps for him, but the goon holds her back.
Harsha tumbles; the goon won’t let her see where.
Numb, Indu falls back into her seat and reaches to stroke Nanna’s hair, trying to understand –
The world rushes in
Indu screams.