“Nothing.” She looked away. “In Matheran, Anoop was so attentive and romantic, asking me where I’d like to go first in America. When we passed through a small tunnel called the ‘one-kiss tunnel,’ he kissed me quickly but softly. It was so perfect, I was afraid.”

“Afraid? Afraid of what?”

“That an evil stare would spoil my happiness.”

“When did you become so superstitious? You have nothing to worry about.”

“I hope you’re right,” she whispered.

“Your wedding, Anoop—it all feels like a movie. I can see the wedding, I can picture Anoop, but only from a distance.”

“It all happened so fast that even to me it feels like a dream. Anoop said the same thing.”

A few days later Mohini got a call for her visa, and as she packed her bags, she seemed to be deep in thought. I teased her, saying, “You are meditating on Anoop.”

She just shook her head. A tear rolled down her cheek. She gave me a hug and said, “I’ll miss you so much.”

“And I will miss you.”

For the next few days I spent as much time as I could with Mohini and soaked up memories like the earth soaks up rain. I knew that by the time Mohini returned, I’d be as parched as the summer earth waiting for the monsoon rain.

One evening Mohini and I climbed all the steps to her favorite Shiva temple at Babulnath. The beggars, mostly old men and women in rags, were sitting on both sides of the steps, and Mohini dropped some change into their aluminum bowls. That was her money that she’d decided to give away before she left.

Right outside the temple, we took our sandals off and gave them to a shoe keeper, a boy no more than ten years old with sun-bleached, dusty brown hair. His eyes were bright. He tucked our sandals into one of the cubicles under his bench. The marble under our bare feet was cool. Mohini smiled when I rang one of the big brass bells twice, once for her and once for me.

Flowers and burning incense filled the air as I closed my eyes and recited Shiva Stotra, a prayer. We walked out, tipped the shoe keeper, and right away he grabbed our sandals from the cubicle. He was a smart boy who remembered which shoes belonged to whom and which cubicles he’d kept them in. I knew he’d do well in school if he had the chance.

We sat down on the bench to fasten our straps. From the top of the hill we could see the ocean on one side and the city on the other. Mohini looked all around and sighed. “I don’t know when I’ll be back here again.”