Chapter 14

High wooden ceiling beams stretched across the lounge of the maternal house, casting shadows over the terrazzo floor. A ceiling fan hummed overhead, pushing air through the open verandah doors.

Steps crossed the room toward the central divan. He settled onto the cotton cushions, leaning his back against the timber frame and stretching his legs out across the woven floor mat.

Fabric rustled as Harleen moved across the room. She stepped straight onto the edge of the divan, bypassing the open wooden armchairs. Her peach cotton salwar kameez highlighted her posture as she dropped down beside him, her thigh pressing flush against his knee.

“Main keha si na, ethe behna ae!” (I said right, sit here!)

Her hands reached out, catching his right arm by the wrist. Pulling his forearm over her lap, she settled back against the bolster, leaning her head directly against his shoulder. Her dark wavy hair spilled over his olive-green kurta, carrying the scent of coconut oil and almond soap.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. His hand rested over her hip, his thumb tracing a slow circle against the peach fabric.

“Tu te aande hi poora kabza kar lya, Harleen. Mami Ji nu chai-pakore te lyaun de.” (You took complete possession the moment I arrived, Harleen. Let Aunt bring the tea and fritters.)

“Tussi te chup kar ke baetho!” (You just sit quietly!)

Her hazel eyes turned upward, a sharp glint dancing in her gaze as her small fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, anchoring his arm across her waist.

“Mainu pata ae tussi kitne busy hunde ho Pind vich. Pehlan menu eh dasso, college diyan chuttiyan shuru hon ton bad kine dina baad aaye ho ethe? Poore tin din late ho tussi!” (I know how busy you get in the Village. First tell me this, after college holidays started how many days late did you come here? You are three whole days late!)

“Oye, khet da kaam vi si te Akhare vich zor vi chalda ae, meri jaan.” (Hey, there was field work and wrestling practice goes on at the Akhara too, my life.)

“Mera naam ‘meri jaan’ bol ke menu behlaaya na karo!” (Don’t try to coax me by calling me ‘my life’!)

Harleen turned her shoulder into his chest, her hands lifting to catch the lapels of his olive-green kurta. She tugged the cotton fabric downward with sudden leverage, bringing her face close to his chin while her hips shifted tighter against his side.

“Menu poora hisaab chaahida ae! Naale Moga college diyan chuttiyan vich main ghar aayi hoi aa, te tussi Pind de khetan vich hi chakkar laayi jaande ho...” (I want the full account! Besides, during the Moga college holidays I’ve come home, and you just keep taking rounds in the village fields... )

Footsteps clattered across the outer verandah bricks, breaking the tight spatial lock on the divan.

Mami Ji walked into the lounge carrying a wide, steaming brass tray. Freshly fried potato pakoras piled high on a steel dish beside four glass tumblers of hot ginger tea, the aroma of chickpea batter and crushed coriander filling the room.

Harleen let go of his kurta lapels with a quick huff, though her body remained anchored against his side, her leg overlapping his thigh on the divan cushion.

“Lao, Shera! Taaza pakore banaye ne tere laye!” (Here, tiger! Fresh fritters made for you!)

Mami Ji set the brass tray onto the low wooden coffee table, her gaze catching the close positioning of her daughter on the bench. She picked up a hand towel, swatting playfully at Harleen’s shoulder.

“Harleen! Tu munde nu saah te lehn de! Aande hi jadd gayi ae nal! Hato thoda pare, chaj nal cha peen de ohnu!” (Harleen! Let the boy take a breath! The moment he arrived you stuck to him! Move a little away, let him drink tea properly!)

Harleen’s chin lifted, her hazel eyes flashing as her arms folded across her chest, her hips remaining set against his side.

“Bebe! Tussi aapne kaam nal kaam rakho! Veer Ji mere kol hi baithenge, tussi jao rasoi vich!” (Mother! You mind your own business! Brother will sit right beside me, you go to the kitchen!)

“Hai Rabba! Eh kudi te din-ba-din hor chalak hundi jaandi ae!” (Hai Rabba! This girl gets more cunning day by day!)

Baljeet Kaur let out an exaggerated huff, shaking her head with an affectionate smile as she handed a glass tumbler of ginger tea directly to her nephew.

“Lao, tussi garam-garam cha peo te eh pakore khao. Is dheet kudi diyan gallan vich na aao.” (Here, you drink hot tea and eat these fritters. Don’t get caught in this stubborn girl’s talk.)

Taking the hot glass tumbler in his palm, his cheek dimples showed fully as he looked up at his aunt.

“Dhanwaad, Mami Ji. Pakore te poore swaadi lagde ne.” (Thank you, Aunt. Fritters look completely delicious.)

“Haan, shera, aaram nal khao. Main Harleen de Bapu Ji de laye vi rasoi vich roti dhar aayi aa.” (Yes, tiger, eat comfortably. I have set rotis in the kitchen for Harleen’s father as well.)

Baljeet Kaur turned back toward the verandah, her footsteps fading down the hallway as she returned to her household chores.

Her mother vanished around the corner, and Harleen’s hands swept out again. She reached straight into the steel dish, picking up a hot, golden-brown pakora. Blowing gently over the fried crust, her small fingers brought the snack directly to his lips, her eyes watching him with undivided focus.

“Lao, pehlan eh khao. Main aapne haathan nal banwaaye ne!” (Here, eat this first. I got these made with my own hands!)