‘You were supposed to purge me of her,’ he says.

It’s not the answer I want.

‘But why did you marry me? Your mother didn’t want you to—I was too dark,’ I say. I remember Dragon’s face that day—I remember the way Sid had smiled at me.

Sid shakes his head and smiles ruefully, my heart flips at the sight of that smile. It’s the same smile he’d given me on that day, the day we first met each other. I had trusted him because of that smile, married him.

‘Looks, physical beauty—those things really don’t matter, Polly. I didn’t love Lata because of her looks. I loved her for many more reasons. I didn’t marry you for your looks either,’ Sid says.

‘So you—you married me because you didn’t want to marry someone beautiful?’ I ask, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. But I know I sound very hurt. I am wounded.

Hasn’t bhaiya told you how beautiful you look of late? No Mini, bhaiya thinks I am ugly.

Sid looks at me sharply and takes my hands in his.

‘Hey no! Polly!’ Sid says, searching my eyes—for what?—tears perhaps. But I don’t have any tears, just a dull ache behind my eyes and a far sharper pain in my heart.

‘I am a bloody idiot. I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to—I’d found you pretty, Polly. You’ve always been attractive in your own way. More than that though, I really liked the person you were. From your letters you came across as intelligent, warm and sincere. I desperately needed warmth and sincerity,’ Sid says.

He looks into my eyes again and squeezes my hand. I stare at him, wanting him to find me beautiful, wanting his love, wanting his assurance … I look at his mouth, I lean forward—

Sid quickly lets go of my hands and turns his attention back to the biscuit. I want to assure him, too. I want to tell him that all the hurt is in the past; that I’m here for him, always, that we have a new beginning to look forward to. I want to tell him how much I—

‘You were warm and sincere, Polly. You were also a girl who would put her family first. You were not a career-minded woman. Even though she was asking me not to marry you, Lata would not—could not—give me the assurance that she wouldn’t go running off again. I didn’t want a career woman and—the wedding cards had also been printed by then,’ Sid says.

Suddenly he crumbles the biscuit and stands up. He thrusts his hands in his jeans pockets and turns to face me. He stares at me, his expression unfathomable.