5

AMAYA

Four Days before the Wedding

It’s strange how your body does things on autopilot, even if your mind has been closed to it for years.

I waited until the clock read 10:10 a.m. to leave the house the next morning, but I was too nervous, too focused on what Kaavi’s reaction to seeing me would be, to really think about how I got to the Fonsekas.

I didn’t even think about it as I waved down a trishaw and directed him to Kaavi’s family home, which is just two streets over from my own. I could have walked, but I hardly ever did. It was too hot, and as I learned the hard way many years ago, no woman, no matter how wealthy, was privileged enough to walk on the streets of Colombo without facing ridiculous amounts of harassment.

I got off one house away from the Fonsekas’, just like I used to, because Kaavi’s dad would have a fit if he realized that I took a trishaw on my own, and I gave the bell a cursory ring before sliding my hand behind the latch in the gate and pulling it open.

I smiled to myself a little when I passed the large jack tree near the entrance that Kaavi and I used to change our clothes behind when we wanted to wear something her parents or Seetha would disapprove of.

It was only when I was halfway up the drive that I realized I probably should have waited to be let in. I might have done this a million times, but things were very, very different now.

Along with the wedding invitation, Kaavi had also sent along a link to a wedding website with a detailed itinerary for the week leading up to the wedding. I was invited to any and all events I could make it for, my invitation said. Some of it wasn’t even parties—there was flower selection, menu taste testing, meeting with the registrar, and the list went on.

But just because she invited me for all the pre-wedding festivities, it didn’t mean I could barge in here. I needed to focus now. Not make stupid mistakes and draw more attention to myself than was necessary. Or draw attention to the fact that I’d just broken the terms of a deal I made five years ago.

I was wondering if I should turn around and walk back outside when a harried man in a striped shirt and sarong ran up to me.

“Good morning, madam.” He smiled, dabbing his face with a handkerchief and glancing at the gate that I had, still not thinking about it, closed behind me. Poor guy, I hope he won’t get into trouble because of this.

“Bell eka gahuwa. Kamak naa neh?” I rang the bell. I hope it’s okay.

“Enna, enna, madam. Okkolama athule.” Come in. Come in. Everyone’s inside.

Everyone’s inside.

Oh no.

I was hoping for a quiet slip-in. Maybe to catch hold of Kaavi privately and say hi. To thank her for inviting me so she won’t suspect that I had other motives for being here. The wedding itinerary said she had a sari jacket fitting at 11:00 a.m., and she posted early this morning on her Instagram page that she was looking forward to a morning of relaxing at home. She’d even put up a picture of herself wearing a robe, snuggled up in bed. I had hoped I could slip upstairs unnoticed. Maybe even to say hello to Mr. Fonseka before his wife saw me. I know they had all invited me, but that didn’t help my nerves one bit.