A new slide. New text.
Luma nearly died. How far will someone go for attention?
A screenshot of the website forCakes by Stritala.A recorded phone call blasted through the speakers.
“I’m meticulous about my orders. I knew when the shaadi was, but when she called and asked for it to be delivered sooner, I moved heaven and earth to get it done in time, only to get yelled at for sending it early. I have a reputation to maintain, so I backed off. But maybe you’re right…maybe she’s not the one who called to change the delivery date. I will say she certainly sounded like Lulu. So yes, it may have been her sister.”
The slides were coming and going so fast it was hard to keep up.
She’s always said she saw him last at the mehndi. We know now that is false.
Why did she lie?
Why did she wish she never met Nasir?
Was it because she had moved on?
A photo of Haris and her. The two of them on the boardwalk. Here. At this resort. The air stuck in her throat. It was taken from a distance, but there was no denying it was them. It was from the afternoon they caught up, right before the bridal shower. When they spoke of Nasir. Of how much they missed him.
But taken at this angle—his hand on her arm while she gazed up at him—it looked like a different kind of moment entirely.
You might be surprised to learn who the real Hena Mirza is. That’s only because you didn’t know.
Now you do.
A knife appeared. That knife. The same one.
We will never forget.
The lights turned back on. A hushed silence filled the room.
“Someone sent me a sneak preview.” Irum glared at Hena. “I guess we all know the truth now, don’t we?”
Beads of perspiration dotted Hena’s forehead. The fortune teller had said this, hadn’t she? She said someone would betray her. Whether she conjured it from her own premonition or was paid handsomely—like the python hunter must have been—to say those words, it didn’t change the truth.
“Hena…” It was Haris. He was hurrying over. “Are you all right?”
She wanted to reply, but she couldn’t stop looking at Lulu. The hurt, so clear on her face. Wordlessly, Lulu ran out of the room.
Only moments earlier they’d talked. They’d cleared some of the pain and complicated feelings between them.
Hena felt broken. Truly and utterly broken. A tear slipped down her face. She moved to follow her sister, but Haris stopped her.
“We need to talk,” he said. “That slideshow—”
“Not another word!” Auntie Nipa shrieked, rushing up to them.
“Mom,” Haris began in warning. “Don’t.”
Auntie Nipa lunged toward her. Haris gripped his mother by the elbow, holding her back. Her face was red with rage.
“It’s one thing to draw your own family’s name into the mud,” she shouted. “But to bring my son into this? How dare you!”
She wanted to defend herself. She couldn’t.
It was as though the slideshow had taken everything out of her. She needed to go. Haris argued with his mother as Hena raced out of the hall. Toward the suites. She jabbed the elevator button.
She’d talk to Lulu. Explain.