Omkar’s culture was like an exotic spice that ran through his veins. Aria could smell that spice in every word he spoke and in everything he did. She found it erotic. She felt the stoic power in the line of men and the sensual mysticism in the line of women that had lent their lineage to him. Unlike her, his belonging was never questioned. He could resist that belonging, he could try to talk and act like something else, but it was something he could not wash himself clean of. The culture he came from was like a flavor that permeated the way he felt to her. It was so much a part of who he was and perhaps even part of what she loved so much about him.

“Can you drive me back to the lot tonight?” Aria asked.

Omkar shot a confused and dejected look down toward her. “Why do you want to go there?”

Aria was equally confused. “Because you know I don’t have anywhere else to stay,” she responded. To her, it was obvious that the reconciliation between Omkar and his parents would mean they wouldn’t be spending the night at the hotel again. And given their culture, it was obvious that she couldn’t stay with him there.

“No, you don’t understand. It’s OK; Mama’s been doing something to fix things,” Omkar said and yelled for his mother. Jarminder shouted something back up the stairs in Punjabi. “Just a minute and I promise I’ll show you.” Omkar said, leaning against the counter with a satisfied look on his face.

Jarminder arrived at the door and motioned for Omkar and Aria to follow her back downstairs. She opened the door to the storeroom feeling a mix of anxiety and pride.

It was no longer the barren cement room that Aria remembered. The floor had been covered with mismatched carpets. A twin mattress had been laid on the floor and a bed had carefully been made with lavender-colored sheets and pillows. The cement foundation ridge that ran through the room now acted as a mantle for an ornate statue of Ganesh, with its head of a white elephant and body of a human with four arms. Every wall had been covered with unfolded saris. Their colorful and opalescent silk lifted and billowed when the door opened. A frail stream of smoke, carrying the scent from a stick of sandalwood incense, rose from a little bronze incense burner near the door.

Aria could not believe what she was seeing. “You can stay here. My mother made it up for you,” Omkar said.

“Are you kidding me?” Aria asked.

Jarminder thought the question implied that Aria had been insulted that they would put her in a storeroom and so she sought to justify herself. “I’m sorry, it’s just that we don’t have any more rooms upstairs.”