The Wedding Tamasha

bloom. The narrow road stretched in front of the gate, offering a view of
the row of houses on the opposite side.
‘I’m sorry about my father’s behaviour,’ she said, squeezing Max’s
hand.
‘Don’t worry. I’m not offended.’ He deposited his bag beside the
desk. ‘I’m loving this room and your home,’ he said. ‘And there’s not
much that can deflate my delight at being in India finally.’ Swirling
around, his hands spread out, he lifted Shweta in a bear hug and twirled
her around until she squealed and begged him to put her down.
‘I’m glad,’ Shweta said, out of breath when he finally released her.
‘Now, let me show you the rest of the house.’
They headed back downstairs in the direction of the garden.
The swing on the porch beckoned and Shweta sat on it, feeling like
a child again as she kicked her legs high to gain momentum. It was as if
she’d never left home, and she wished it were true. She’d decided she
was determined to have a good time, no matter what. And right now, that
meant being happy for Simbu.