With effort, she pushes down a swallow, a ball of glue and sand that scratches along her throat. At least while she slept she was spared the company of her unwelcome guests. Part of her had dared to hope they had gathered up their torment and left. Anchor, at least, shows no signs of leaving her in peace, yet.

“Look at me, stuffing my face,” she frowns, sickened by the pleasing taste in her mouth. Sunil always loved samosas. “Sorry, Bear.” She holds one hand over her navel, half-expecting the bites she took to revolt from her gut. When, after a few moments, this doesn’t happen, she throws the rest of the samosa in the trash can under the sink.

“Who are you talking to, love?” says a voice from behind.

She jumps, the way their cat, Coal, does whenever he’s surprised by the vacuum cleaner, the blender, the hairdryer.

“Niru, you scared me. I didn’t hear you come upstairs.”

“No, I don’t suppose you did.” He glances around the kitchen. “I heard voices and came up. Thought perhaps your folks were finally out of bed.”

She blinks at the brown linoleum. “No, it’s just me.”

“Right, well, hello there.” He steps forward and kisses her longingly on the cheek. “It’s good to see you out and about.”

She grins a millimetre.

“It’s been terribly lonely round this place. I haven’t played video games for this many days straight since uni. It’ll be good to go home and sleep in our bed though, ay? Coal misses you like mad. I’ve been popping round every day to feed him and play with him for a bit.”

She sits at the table and stares numbly at Sunil’s vacant chair. “I didn’t know you went anywhere.”

He takes a seat across from her. “You’ve been dead to the world. But never mind all that. The point is, now that the fray is over, we should be getting on with it, shouldn’t we?”

She reaches across the table with big eyes. Emotions weren’t his thing, he used to tell her. In the beginning, it was a quality she admired. No drama. Not like her parents. Of course, that was before she realized how lonely life could be as the entire right brain of a relationship.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he continues. “But they’re adults, Kavita. They can look after themselves.”

“It’s still too soon. I need to be here.”

“You worry too much.”

“I can’t explain it. But I have this awful feeling that something bad is going to happen. Something else is going to fall apart. I know it.”

“What do you reckon’s going to happen?”