Hena felt a pang at the memories of her wedding week. They’d been curdled by all that followed.
The glass doors slid open, and Hena stiffened when she saw who it was: Irum, wearing a peach-colored chiffon shalwar kamiz, an Alexander McQueen skull pendant resting against her collarbone.
She held an oversized wicker basket filled with party favors in one hand while scrolling on her phone with the other. Nearing the gift table, she spotted Hena and paused mid-step.
“Oh. Hey,” Irum said, her discomfort written across her face.
It hadn’t always been like this. Hena had known Irum since she was a baby. Irum had visited their home practically every weekend, raiding Hena’s closet alongside Lulu.
She’d been thrilled about Hena and Nasir—the only member of his family who had been pleased. Hena remembered Irum’s occasional visits to Princeton when she was barely twelve. How the three of them would wander the campus, skip rocks at Lake Carnegie, and grab ice cream from the Bent Spoon. At night Irum crashed in Hena’s dorm room, confiding her crushes to Hena like they were sisters. Becausethey nearly had been. Had life turned out differently, Irum would have been family.
But a lot had changed since then.
Hena steeled herself. As awkward as this moment was, they needed to talk. Better now, without guests to observe them and turn it into fodder for gossip.
“It’s good to see you,” Hena said. “I’m sorry about last night. I’d come off a long flight, and I was thrown. Of course you’d be here. You should be here.”
“Lulu should have given both of us a heads-up.”
Hena was about to ask how she was doing, but Irum spoke again.
“Have you heard from my brother? Since…you know?”
The way she saidmy brother, her eyes growing bright, made Hena ache. Irum had always adored her big brother. Idolized him.
“I saw him at the mehndi. The night before the shaadi,” Hena said, repeating the same words she’d told the officers and anyone who asked. Saying it to Irum though, a pit formed in her stomach. “I wish I had a better answer. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” Her expression shifted. “Not like you had anything to do with it. Right?”
Her mother’s words echoed in Hena’s mind:Irum got it in her head someone was hiding something.
Given the general consensus of Hena’s complicity in whatever happened to Nasir, of course Irum would treat her as suspect number one. And Henawashiding something. If only the truth was an option.
Before Hena could reply, Irum’s cheeks flushed.
“That came out wrong,” she said. “I’m working on it. Weddings are triggering for me. My mother says maybe it’d be easier to move on if I just accepted he’s dead.”
Dead? Hena shivered.
“I don’t believe that. Not for a second,” Hena said. “The police said there was no sign of foul play. Between the emptied accounts, his clothes and luggage gone…I don’t know where he went”—this part, at least, was true—“but there’s no reason to think he isn’t out there. I’m not sure I can live in a world where he isn’t.”
“But Nasir leaving without tellinganyone?” Disbelief flashed across her face. “You know him. He wouldn’t do that.”
There’s a lot I didn’t know,Hena thought.Not when he was so good at hiding things.
“One day whatever happened will come out.” Irum’s mouth pressed tight. “When we finally get answers, whoever did this will pay.”
She’s a gulab jamun wrapped in a marshmallow and dipped in cotton candy.That’s how Nasir used to describe his kid sister. He wasn’t wrong. But three years could change many things. Three years of grieving could sharpen anyone’s edges.
Irum set the party favors on the table and cleared her throat.
“How are you handling the gossip? It’s been a lot, hasn’t it?” she asked.
Hena grimaced. “Are people bothering you?”
“It’s more faux concern about how I’m holding up. With the two of us here, they’re itching for something to happen.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s going to be a long week.”
“People can be ruthless.”