Eventually, she comes across a rerun of Friends. “The smelly cat episode,” she grins. “I love this one.” She remembers watching this episode with Sunil, when it was first aired, back in the nineties. How he doubled over, his high-pitched, hyena of a laugh echoing through the basement as Phoebe strummed her guitar and sang in her nasal voice that was so charmingly out of key.

The fragile moment of nostalgia and the momentary joy it brought quickly fades. Something about the memory causes the words to surge back.

No one knows about him.

No one knows about him.

No one knows about him….

“I bloody love this episode,” says a distant voice, pushing Kavita off her merry-go-round of thought. She looks to the right and finds Nirav’s father standing there in a brown cardigan. As he lowers himself onto the adjacent loveseat by the window, he draws his black horn-rimmed glasses from his breast pocket, and makes himself comfortable. “This is the one when Rachel puts mince in the trifle, isn’t it?”

Kavita blinks at the television, puzzled. The smelly cat episode had ended without her noticing.

By the end of the episode, the sun has nearly set. Nirav’s father flicks on the lights. The room is suffused with soft pearly light. He peers over at the dining room. “I see you’ve made supper,” He pats his stomach. “I’m famished. Shall we call the others?”

Kavita rises slowly to her feet, her head dull as if wakened from a heavy nap. “I’ll get Nirav,” she says.

Back upstairs, she peeks her head through Nirav’s bedroom door and finds him in much the same hunched posture as earlier. “Dinner time,” she grins. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“It’s no bother.” He sets down his pencil on the notepad. “I just finished.”

“Do you want to practice it in front of me?”

“I don’t think so, love. If it’s awful, I’d rather not know, if you get me.” He winks at her.

She presses her lips together, wondering if now would be a good time to ask. “Niru,” she says. “Now that you’re finished your speech, can we talk about something after dinner?”

He gives her a cautious look. “Of course. What’s it about?”

“Something that happened when we were at Nani’s. I wanted to tell you about it when we got back, but I knew you needed to concentrate on your speech.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious?”

“That’s what I’m hoping we’ll be able to figure out.” She hears people in the kitchen. “But it can wait till after dinner. Come on, everyone’s waiting.”

While the others gather around the table, she reheats the sabji and rice, gets the raita and salad out of the fridge, and rubs ghee on the rotis until they glisten.

Maya frowns. “My stomach’s eating itself and there’s nothing but veg on the table?”