With a steadying breath, Vihaan entered the bright space, feeling like he’d been thrust into the past. His eyes swept from corner to corner, memories rushing him with every step he took. Not much had changed here. He’d instructed that his room not be touched in his absence and his mother, ever ready to indulge her only son, had only allowed routine cleaning within.
Years of trying to avoid even thinking of Vera had done jack squat because barely six months after seeing her again, he wasstupidly in love with a woman who wanted nothing to do with him. His vexation with Vera’s instant dismissal of rekindling their relationship had left him battling a migraine all of Saturday.
No matter how hard he’d tried, he’d been unable to understand Vera’s anger. Was their connection only obvious to him? Maybe she didn’t believe that he would forgive her. Maybe she thought he was playing games. On a good day, Vera was stubborn. But actively trying to fight him? She was a fortress. If only there was a way to show her that he was being sincere.
He’d woken up that morning with an epiphany that had led him to take a flight to Nagpur. Now, after spending all day being fussed over by his mother, he’d finally found time to search for what he’d left here many years ago. The bangle. Maybe if he showed Vera that he’d kept a piece of her all along, she would believe him.
He dug around in his dresser drawer, furiously shuffling old papers and cables, finally spotting the mottled brown box he’d been looking for. He wrenched the lid open, a satisfied huff breaking out of him when he saw the gold circlet within. He reached a hand out to shut the open drawer, smiling still, when he stopped. There, amidst the mess he’d made, was a plain wrapped box with the name ‘Little Master’ scribbled on it.
Vera’s grandfather was the only one who addressed him like that.
“Oh, beta, here you are. Are you ready for dinner? I’m getting the staff to set up the table in the gardens today.”
Vihaan glanced up as his mother strolled in, smiling at him.
“Ma, where did this come from?” he asked, holding the box up so his mother could see.
“Hmm, Little Master. Isn’t that what our old driver called you?”
“Yeah.” Vihaan felt around the taped edges, pulling the tabs apart to see what was inside.
“Oh, I do remember him coming by to give something for you before he left town,” Vihaan heard his mother say as she made her way to his window, pulling the glass slider shut. “He always had a fondness for you. I must have kept it in your room and forgotten about it. It was after you’d left for London anyway.”
Vihaan nodded, glancing down, his body going still as the paper wrapper fell away, leaving him with a familiar looking red case. His forehead scrunched in confusion, his ears ringing as he lifted the lid, revealing a nearly identical bracelet to the one in the brown box.
It couldn’t be. The longer he stared, the less sense it made. Why were there two of them? If Nanaji had returned this before leaving Nagpur, then which one had Vihaan purchased during his visit a year later?
He looked between the two boxes, dread seeping into him, settling like a dense mass in the pit of his stomach.
“Did he say anything when he gave this to you?”
Simran, occupied with fluffing the pillows on the bed, hummed thoughtfully. “No. Nothing. It was sudden. His granddaughter met your father to try to return the money we gave her, but they obviously needed it more.”
“You knew about the money she took from Papa?” he asked, shocked.
Simran looked at her son, frowning at his tone. “Of course.”
What?He sat at the edge of his bed, staring at his mother, perplexed by her nonchalance. There was no way his sweet mom was involved in giving Vera money to leave him, was she?
Oblivious to the turmoil ripping through him, Simran continued, “I felt so bad for her. Such a smart child, too. I heard she had to pull out of college. Then they moved and we lost track of them. I wish we could have helped them more. I kept hoping she would reach out from wherever they were, but she never did.”
That got his attention. “Help? Why?”
“Didn’t you know? Did you two not stay in touch after you went to university?”
Vihaan shook his head numbly.
“Oh,” Simran exclaimed. “For some reason I thought you’d become friends. I must’ve been mistaken.”
“What happened, Ma?”
“Her grandfather was ill. He had a heart attack around the time you left. As if that wasn’t hard enough on that poor girl, he got diagnosed with Parkinson’s. They sold everything they had to try and get him help.”
Vihaan felt like he’d been hit with a meteorite. Nanaji had Parkinson’s? That’s why he’d behaved so weirdly on the phone. That’s why Vera avoided answering questions about him. Oh fuck! Was that why she’d needed the money?
A feeling of worthlessness spread through him like bushfire as he recalled Vera’s betrayed face, her insistence that accepting the money had nothing to do with Vihaan. He stared at the two boxes with asinking suspicion that the bangle Vera sold was her grandmother’s, not the one he’d bought for her.
He needed to talk to Vera, he decided, striding out of the room, ignoring his mother’s calls. As he walked past the hallway, he saw his father sitting in his home office, the door ajar. His feet halted mid-step, and he turned, staring at the back of the man he had all but cut out of his life. Maybe he needed answers from his father first.