I had no choice but to dial the number. Sarina picked up the phone.

“This is Jeeta,” I said. “Would you like to go to the Hanging Gardens this evening?”

“What?”

“I’ll meet you at six by the front gate, and if you can bring . . .”

“Neel?”

“Yes,” I said, and hung up.

Mummy shook her head. “That was the shortest conversation I have ever heard on the phone. Even when people call us by mistake they talk longer than this.”

“We will talk in person. It is better that way.”

That evening I applied the fresh kohl Mummy had made. I trembled at the thought of Mummy finding out I was meeting Neel.

When I got to the Hanging Gardens, Neel and Sarina were not there. I strolled near the gate, but felt awkward pacing alone. What if she didn’t hear the time right? Surely, she would ask Neel to come. But what if she didn’t?

I sat on a bench and watched three black ants carry a piece of puffed rice. It kept falling, and they kept lifting it up. They were determined to take it home. I was so engrossed watching them, I didn’t see Neel coming until he said, “I didn’t know studying ants was your hobby. May I watch them with you?”

“You’re late.”

“I didn’t say I would be here at six.”

“That’s true. Where is Sarina?”

“She couldn’t come. What was that strange phone call about? She told me you were in a hurry, as if you only had a minute to live. What happened?” he asked as he sat close to me and put his arm around me.

“I missed you. I had to see you.”

“Go on.”

“That’s it.”

We strolled all around the park. He listened while I told him about all the work I had to do at home and how good it felt to be with him. Then he walked me to a spot from where we could watch the sunset. We stood quietly holding hands. I remembered Yamini saying how holding hands wasn’t romantic. How wrong she was!

On the eleventh day we had the naming ceremony for Baby. Girishji and Nimita had picked out a name and had told Foi what it was. Usually the father’s sister would name the baby during the naming ceremony, but because Girishji didn’t have any relatives, Foi did it.

The ceremony was on a Sunday, and Mummy, Foi, and I prepared lunch for about fifty relatives. Besides dal, rice, fried whole-wheat puris, tomato chutney, shredded carrots, and sesame salad, hot cayenne pepper pickled in lemon juice and turmeric, we made hors d’oeuvres of khandvi: thin rolls of buttermilk and chickpea flour with spices. For dessert, we served rassgulla, creamy white balls of cheese in light syrup.