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It’s stopped raining when they drive away from Raichand house. The gardens pass by in a blur, and Anjali's chest aches. Neither of them have spoken by the time they reach the gate. It whirrs open like magic and Rahul’s grip is white on the steering wheel as they drive through it into the chaos and noise of Chandni Chowk. Anjali has her scarf over her face, so no-one can see her cry, but she knows Rahul can hear her. She peeks at him. His eyes are red, and the remains of tears are still on his cheeks. Does he regret her already?
She has no regrets about him – maybe that will come later. Today, her heart has no room for it. She can barely contain the grief at all she has lost.
The familiar colours of Chandni Chowk flash by outside. Rahul indicates to turn, waiting for traffic. Home is just another five minutes away.
Perhaps she should have said no to him. Then he would still have a mother. A father. They would not both be orphans.
Anjali doesn’t regret it. Perhaps she should, but she is selfish. Less than a day wed, and she cannot bear the thought of being without him. She cannot protect Pooja on her own, and she likes him so much.
She sneaks a glance at Rahul again. So handsome. Grief makes him look more real, less like something she dreamed up. She wonders what he is thinking. It must be regret, surely?
She wants to reach out and take his hand, promise him a family to replace the one he has lost. Her cheeks flush at the idea. Perhaps when they are home he will kiss her again, and she can bring herself to say it then, perhaps kiss the dimple beside his mouth...
Rahul must sense her gaze as he glances over to check on her, catching her looking at him. He smiles, putting on a brave face, but his eyes are still red and full of hurt.
Her heart thuds in her chest. It first came alive with hope when he brought his brother to apologise to Poo and make her smile again. Oh, she had thought, A kind man. It had been so unexpected.
He turns back to the traffic, and the smile falls away.
And now she knows he is loyal too. He walked away from his family for her.
She cannot regret him. Not today, when she is greedy for his kindness, longs for a quiet place to bury herself in it, so they can both have respite from their grief.
On the drive the other way, towards Rahul’s family, she had been foolish enough to hope his family would be like him. It had been so long since she’d had a mother, and the thought of gentle arms holding her, fussing over her, kissing her forehead and telling her to cry for her Bauji… her fingers had made themselves claws, and she’d held her own hands so she didn’t reach out before being invited. She hadn’t really thought about Rahul’s father, because when she thinks of fathers she thinks of her Bauji…
No. She ducks her head, hiding behind her scarf again. She still can’t think of it now. It’s too much. Her insides have been scooped out, leaving a husk to be tossed around by the wind, her only tethers her dearheart, Poo, who needs her so, and this newly-sprung thing she feels for her kind-hearted, loyal Rahul.
When they arrive home (Is it still home? Can it be without Bauji?), she thinks they will need to circle the block, or perhaps go to one of the carparks nearby that were built to encourage tourists – it’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him which is the cheapest, but there's a space for the car right in front of the building. It’s like the world opens up to make space for Rahul wherever he goes. He parks as though it is not a miracle, and comes around to offer her his hand as she gets out. His grip is warm and strong and lovely, and she thinks perhaps she won’t let go. Perhaps she will kiss his knuckles once they are inside and away from prying eyes. She thinks that is something a wife can do.
She does let go, though, because DJ is there, waiting with Poo when they come in. DJ takes one look at them and knows. She bustles into the kitchen, all cheerful distraction, and offers to make tea.
Poo beelines for Rahul, and leans against him, the way she used to with Bauji, absolutely sure of her welcome as only a child can be. “Can Rohan come over soon?” she asks.
Rahul rubs her back soothingly. “He’s gone to boarding school, meri jaan, so it will have to be another time.”
With pleading eyes, she says, “Can we visit him?”
“Pooja,” Anjali says, firmly, “that’s enough. Go and help DJ make the tea.”
Pooja pouts, but flounces off to the kitchen.
Anjali is grateful Poo doesn't seem to have noticed anything is wrong. She only realises she’s wringing her hands when Rahul takes them in his, twining their fingers together. His thumbs rub hers soothingly. His hands are warm and smooth. No work calluses.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says.
A sob bursts from her. “How can it be?”
He pulls her into his arms. He smells expensive. Spice and wood, new car leather, silk. “Hey, hey. Anjali, look at me." She does, and his eyes are full of promises. "We’ll figure it out.”
“But how?” She tries to hold back her tears. “How can you live here? You can’t work in a shop! You have no clothes here.”
Rahul looks at her for a long moment, "Guess I'll have to go naked."
She bats at him, a smile beginning despite herself. "Not funny. There isn’t even a place to park your car!" Their neighbourhood isn't terrible, but it's such a temptation that she wonders if it will still be there in the morning.
Rahul laughs. It bursts out of him, as though he is just as surprised by it as she is.
Anjali would feel indignant, but his eyes are still red from his own tears, and when he looks at her, laughing fondly like that, he is the sun and she a flower drinking him up.
“I’ll sell the car and –”
“No,” she protests.
“I don’t care about the car. I’ll sell it, and I'll buy more clothes, as you're so insistent on it, and we’ll move somewhere better.”
This floors her. Move? Where? Hasn’t he been disowned? Surely even the money from his car won’t buy the kind of house he’s used to? She doesn’t even have a dowry, and the inheritance isn't much. When she reminds Rahul she has no money, he laughs again and kisses her. His arm is tight around her waist, and she tingles all over as she shyly kisses him back.
She's still recovering from the heady, wonderful fizz running through her body, clutching at him so her legs won’t give way, when he says, “My father paid me wages, Chikni, and I’m not such a spendthrift I spent it all. Think about where you want to go, and that’s what we’ll do.”
It’s too much. With one sentence he has solved everything, as though it is no great matter. Anjali buries her face in his shirt and holds onto him. Her kind, loyal, handsome man. This is not the start to married life she hoped for, but she cannot regret any of it.
In the safe haven between their pressed bodies, she whispers her secret heart to him for the first time. Rahul kisses her hair, and whispers back that she is his darling, his future, and all his dreams, and that he loves her more than the world.
And Anjali thinks that perhaps he doesn't regret her after all, and swears to herself she will love him so much he never, ever will.