“What about your work?” she asked as we lounged before the terrace windows, watching the rain flood the patio outside. “Will they notice your absence?”

“I hope so. But I’m okay for another day. Maybe two. They think I’m working on a film story in Juhu.”

We lay in each other’s arms on the daybed in the drawing room. I asked her how long she could stay away from Poona.

“Willy invited Chhotu until Saturday. So I have at least till then. He won’t expect me back as long as that swine is there.”

I nodded, even as I thought three days’ time wasn’t all that much. Still, we could try to make them last. Maybe even steal an extra day.

“He won’t suspect?” I asked.

“He knows I have a temper. Two, three days. I can manage it.”

“And he really doesn’t know about this place?”

“Don’t doubt me, Danny,” she said, suddenly all serious. “If I say he knows nothing of this house, you must trust me.”

The rain made us feel safe. We were sheltered, warm and dry, while the world spun on its axis, oblivious to us. I thought of my parents, far away in New Haven, completely unaware of the troubles their youngest child had gotten himself into. But none of that mattered; I was living the most blissful moment of my life. I realized, too, that on the other side of that blissful moment would be pretty much the worst times I’d ever experience.

I hoped my dad was well. He’d had a rough patch in the months before I left for India. But he’d rallied, and my mother, brother, sister, and I were wishing for the best. Mark and Debbie, my siblings, were ten and twelve years older than me, respectively. They were up to their necks in marriages, mortgages, and school-aged kids. And Mom had her share of challenges and pressure, what with an ailing husband, her own medical practice, and worries for a son who was constantly shipping off to hot spots halfway around the world. To India, this time, where a state of emergency could only increase her anxiety.

“Are you sad, Danny?” asked Sushmita, stroking my temples with her fingers as the rain continued to fall outside the window.

“Not sad,” I said. “Wistful.”

“Explain the difference to me.”

“I mean I’m not sad. I’m regretful. I understand that sounds odd. I’m missing my family. I sent a letter last week to say I was fine. That the Emergency wasn’t affecting me. They probably haven’t received it yet.”