Dragon opens the door for me and her expectant expression quickly turns sour when she sees it’s me. She pretends to be pleasantly surprised though.

‘What a strange coincidence! First Sid and now you’re home as well! Am I interrupting some romantic plans here?’ Dragon asks with a forced smile.

‘No Momji, nothing romantic planned it’s—’

‘Of course nothing romantic is planned!’ she interrupts with aplomb. ‘Sid doesn’t do that with you, does he?’ she completes, mocking me.

I keep a straight face. I don’t want her to see I’m hurt—but her barb hits home. Perhaps Sid would be romantic if he was married to Lalita instead of me?

‘So, how come you are home?’ Dragon asks. She doesn’t let me in and is almost blocking the doorway.

‘Apparently a right-wing political party attacked the office. I’m not sure—’

‘Why would any political party attack your paper? It’s hardly a mainstream publication,’ Dragon says. She stands at the doorway and I’m tempted to ask her to get out of the way—it’s my house and I want to go inside.

‘Ma. Let her come in at least. It’s very hot outside,’ Sid calls out.

Dragon reluctantly steps aside and I walk into the drawing room. Sid pokes his head out of the kitchen, says hi and goes back in.

What’s he doing in the kitchen?

I notice two plates on the dining table along with steaming gobhi paranthas, raita and mango pickle—it all looks very inviting and my stomach grumbles loudly.

‘That sounds hungry,’ Sid says, walking out of the kitchen.

He is carrying two tall glasses, filled to the brim with something light green.

‘We’ve got paranthas and panna for lunch and there’s enough for all of us—hope you like my cooking,’ Sid says smiling.

I hope I don’t look too surprised—I didn’t know he could cook; there’s so much I don’t know about my husband.

‘C’mon ladies, what are we waiting for? It’s good that you could join us Polly,’ Sid says warmly.

If I am surprised by this sudden warmth, Dragon seems equally surprised. She also looks somewhat wary and eyes Sid nervously.

‘If you want to have a chat with her, I could go,’ Dragon suggests meekly.

‘No! The chat can happen some other time. Ma, just sit and eat, the paranthas will go cold,’ Sid says without looking at Dragon—but something seems to have displeased him.

I don’t know whatever just transpired between mother and son but I feel a strange buoyancy fill me up. I also have an insane desire to hug Sid, to hold him really tight, to hide my face in his neck, to breathe in his aftershave.

I do no such thing and sit down at the table.