“Is he punctual, at least?” Leena says.

“Mostly,” I lie. Narang is always late. Worse, he seems proud of it.

Leena and I are heading to the café where I’m meeting my fiancé Narang. Leena is accompanying me for moral support. I’m afraid to cross the road. I haven’t had anything to eat or drink all day, and I feel dizzy. I haven’t told Leena about this. She would crucify me.

Why am I holding an impromptu fast? Does Narang deserve it? I don’t think so. I don’t know a whole lot about him, but what I know is not encouraging. Will it achieve anything? No. I just decided to do it on a whim. I just decided to suffer on a whim. There’s no rational reason for it. Or maybe I believe if there’s a God, He’ll see what I’m going through and put an end to it somehow.

It crosses my mind that the reason Narang wants to meet me is to do just that. To put an end to it. And if he does so, theoretically, I should be happy. But there’ll be no relief for me. There goes her last chance, my parents will think, that’s the end for our 32-year-old daughter. My dying mother’s last wish will stay unfulfilled. 

I look at my watch. It’s six to eight. 

“Can’t I come with you and give him an earful?” Leena says.

“Maybe it’s not what we think it is,” I say.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You saw him. Twice. When did you become so deluded? You used to be a woman of conviction. You used to be my hero.”

When she says hero, she holds my hands in hers. I smile.

I had seen him. Twice, with the same woman. The second time I saw him, he kissed that woman’s lips in the food court of a mall. It was just a peck, but it was a kiss on the lips alright. I felt indifferent for some reason.

I took a picture of them together and sent it to him. He ignored it, and then at night told me he wanted to meet me to talk to me the next day. That was yesterday.

***

In my parents’ view, I should have gotten married eight years ago. Twenty-four is the perfect age for women to marry in this day and age, they think. It’s slightly late but girls need more freedom now, they think.

I was always aware of the ticking clock. So from the time I turned eighteen, I set about arranging my life to buy more time. When I finished my MBBS at twenty-four, I implored my parents to let me do a specialization. I explained to them how it would add a lot of value to my resume and I’d make a lot more money in the long run. They reluctantly agreed. 

I asked to do a super specialization after the specialization. They reluctantly agreed. The understanding that my resume would help me get a better marriage prospect was almost said out loud, but never quite.

After I turned twenty-eight I started getting fewer proposals so that made things easier for me, although I felt my parents’ disappointment and bitterness acutely.

I turned thirty-two in November last year and heard from Narang’s family shortly after that. His family got to know of me through a relative of ours and after ‘checking my background’ they asked for my hand for their son. My parents were surprised to see ‘such a qualified man’ interested in me ‘at my age’, but he had also stayed unmarried for reasons unknown to me and was thirty-five.

“That’s your last chance,” my mother said to me, straight to my face.

It doesn’t help that my mother is dying. She was diagnosed with lung cancer last year. It was at an advanced stage and doctors gave her ‘a few months’. I knew better. My mother is a good woman and if she wishes to get me married while she’s still alive, it would be extremely ungrateful of me to disregard her last wish.

Our families arranged for us to meet after the initial discussions. Things were going smoothly enough, considering the circumstances. We had a private engagement ceremony a month ago. Then I saw him yesterday, kissing that woman.

***

“I’ll be at that corner table in case you need me,” Leena says. I nod and make my way to a table at the other end of the café. I wait for Narang.

I order a cappuccino and a chocolate muffin out of habit. Then I realize I’m on a fast. For a second I’m glad I am. I don’t know what coffee would have done to my nerves in my current state.

Ten minutes pass. Fifteen. Twenty-five. I see Narang outside the café, finally. I wave at him. 

He says hello when he nears the table and sits opposite me. He looks at my order and signals to the waiter.

“One hazelnut brownie please,” he says. “And a signature cold coffee.”

He asks me how I’m doing. 

I feel a knot form in my stomach.

“I’m okay”, I say. How is he? I ask. Fine, he says.

This heatwave is really crazy, he says, it’s affecting the economy, from agriculture to logistics, not to mention productivity of blue-collar workers across the board. Did I know it was affecting India’s GDP? I did not, I whisper.  His voice melts into an even drone as my eyes unfocus, until I realise he’s looking right at me.

“I needed to tell you about the wedding,” he says.

Here it comes. Is he ending his thing with that other woman, or is he breaking off the engagement with me? I think.

I feel the knot in my stomach clench. I realize it doesn’t matter, I’ll end up being unhappy anyway.

“My parents have informed me that the wedding will take place on the 27th of next month, according to the muhurat.”

So he’s ending things with the other woman, I think.

I think of the future. Maybe there’s hope. Maybe Narang will learn from his mistakes and become a better person. Maybe he’ll turn out to be a decent husband and maybe my life will be bearable. Maybe it won’t be what I wanted but something good can come of it yet. I know it’s a reach but I have every right to be hopeful.

The brownie arrives. He has a spoonful of it.

I wait for him to bring up the subject of the pictures I sent him of him with that other woman. Maybe he was ending it, and she was the one holding on.

He takes a sip of cold coffee through his straw.

I wait. I stare at the straw, where his mouth was. He was the one to peck her on the lips, but I can give him that.

He takes another spoonful of brownie. He eats at a steady, efficient pace. 

Are you enjoying that? I think, but do not say. He sits back and stirs with his straw. 

I wait. He drinks.

And then I realise. He’s not going to talk about it.

I realise he’s planning to do nothing about it. This thing with the other woman isn’t going to end. He doesn’t have to end it. He knows my situation and he knows I can’t break off my engagement and he knows, this means he’s immune. There is nothing he wants to tell me.

The giant, buoyant bubble of hope that I’ve been nursing in my chest squeezes its way up my throat to dissolve and vanish forever, never to return. I look at his pinched face and his large forehead, and take a deep breath.

“You wanna say something?” he says to me. Dares me.

I open my mouth. Then I shut it, and shake my head.

He eats another spoonful of brownie.

Shortly, he calls for the bill, pays with his credit card, and leaves an empty, smeared plate behind.

When he’s safely out of view, Leena comes over to me.

“Well?” she demands.

“The wedding is on,” I say.

“Gosh darn it, I was hoping he’d go for that other woman,” she says.

I don’t have the strength to tell her he has. 

I envision my life stretching ahead of me and I suppress a shudder. I think of my dying mother. I get up and gather my things, blindly grasping at familiar objects. Leena is saying something, but I cannot hear her.

She holds the glass door open for me, and I walk through it. 

Then there’s a hand on my shoulder, and my whole body stills. I feel the blood pumping in my ears as I turn to follow Leena’s gaze.

“Was everything okay, ma’am? Was there any problem?”

I stare at the tray in his hand, the untouched cappuccino and the chocolate muffin. Leena looks at me, silent now, questioning. 

“Everything is fine,” I hear myself say. “Throw it away.”