Chapter 17 #2
Kalpana settled herself and closed her eyes.
She didn’t know any prayers, but gratitude was good, so she gave thanks for all the things that she had.
Her writing had returned. She had her family.
Marcus. The thought of Marcus made her open her eyes.
She looked up at the bell-like shape of the stupa with its silver peak.
Even under the overcast sky, it was bright white. In sunlight, it must be blinding.
Lowering her eyes, she took in the trees beyond it. Everything was quiet, apart from the steady brush, brush of the man sweeping the sand, the leaves whispering in the breeze and the sound of birds. Her shoulders loosened. She needed this time, this space.
Now that she had paused in her headlong rush towards this wedding that she wasn’t even sure she wanted, the things she was really grateful for were interesting.
This trip had made her question all manner of things about her life.
From the moment Sampath asked her what brought her joy, she’d realised she had been re-evaluating all kinds of things she’d taken for granted.
She did have an idea of what she wanted for her future.
It wasn’t tagging along to literary events to be patronised by Marcus’s friends.
It wasn’t being abandoned whenever her needs clashed with his need for publicity.
It certainly wasn’t a big, showy, bling wedding.
She looked across at Sampath, who had stopped meditating and was now staring thoughtfully at the ground.
She was so grateful for Sampath. And Lal.
Marcus had simply abandoned her in a hotel and pissed off back to Colombo to do some promotional work.
No, worse. To do some networking for potential promotional work for when they came for the wedding.
How much of her honeymoon would be spent alone?
She hadn’t realised how angry she was until right now.
Ordinarily, she was a laid-back person, happy to go along with whatever was happening to maintain the peace.
But this was her wedding they were planning and suddenly her groom, who had loved her to the point of smothering her, was suddenly distracted.
No. That was not on. When Marcus got back, they would be having words.
The act of identifying the emotion inside her as anger made her feel better.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and thought, So, this is anger.
It took a few minutes to breathe through the emotion as it unravelled and soothed itself away.
When she opened her eyes again, she felt much calmer.
Looking around, she saw that Sampath had stood up and was eyeing the darkening sky.
She scrambled to her feet and dusted the sand off herself.
‘We should head back,’ Sampath said. ‘It’s going to rain.’
As they walked back along the path, Sampath asked, ‘What did you think of this place?’
‘I think it’s wonderful,’ she said. ‘So quiet. I definitely needed that. Thank you for suggesting that Lal find us somewhere quiet today.’
He nodded. ‘You’ve had a lot to think about lately and I got the impression you found people tiring.’
‘I do!’ Unlike Marcus, who thrived on talking to people. ‘I mean, I can do social things. I just need a lot of decompression time afterwards.’
‘I understand. It’s—’ He stopped, staring at the trees. ‘Oh look. A parrot.’
She looked, but couldn’t see it. ‘Where?’
He leaned in and pointed. ‘There. About halfway up …’
He was standing behind her, leaning forward. It brought him very close to her. So much so that she could feel the warmth from his body. Her heart rate picked up speed. Oh no. This was getting out of hand. She swallowed. Thankfully, the leaves rustled and the bird flew out in a flash of vivid green.
She looked up at Sampath, who took a quick step back and cleared his throat.
‘So,’ he said, as they resumed walking. ‘Did you get a chance to speak to Marcus last night?’
‘Sort of. But I don’t think he was listening. I’ll try again tonight when he gets back.’
Sampath’s expression was inscrutable. He nodded and looked over his shoulder. ‘Uh oh.’
There was a faint hissing noise that was getting louder. The air smelled of petrichor. Kalpana looked back too and saw the band of rain racing towards them. It looked like a heavy tropical shower. ‘Oh no.’
‘Here.’ Sampath had pulled an umbrella out of his backpack and unfurled it. He handed it to her. He glanced back at the approaching rain and slipped his phone into the bag. ‘Would you mind taking my backpack? I don’t want the tablet and phone to get wet.’
‘Oh. Sure.’ She put her arms through the straps so that the bag was across her chest. The rain hit them.
Sampath said, ‘Urgh,’ and put his hands over his head to shield himself from the fat drops.
‘There’s plenty of room under here,’ Kalpana said. ‘We can share the umbrella.’
He gave her a look she couldn’t read. ‘We really can’t.’
The rain was pelting down. Even under the umbrella, her feet and ankles were getting wet. ‘Listen,’ said Sampath. ‘I’m going to run ahead. I’ll see you back at the van.’
He set off at a jog. The rain was pelting down so hard that his clothes were already sticking to him, outlining his shoulders and back.
Kalpana followed, hurrying along, umbrella in one hand, the other hand holding the rucksack steady against her.
The shower was heavy, but short-lived. By the time she got to the van, it was already easing.
She seemed to have walked in on an argument. Sampath, now completely soaked, was standing outside the van, with his hands on his hips, talking to Lal through the window. Lal seemed to be leaning across the passenger seat, holding the door shut. They were arguing in a mixture of English and Sinhala.
‘What’s going on?’ She cautiously put a hand out from under the umbrella. The rain had almost stopped now. Errant rays of sunlight caught the raindrops that were hanging off the trees and turned them into jewels. She closed the umbrella and shook some of the water off it.
‘This guy,’ said Sampath, tersely, ‘is not letting me get in the van.’
Lal leaned back at an awkward angle and unlocked the back door. Kalpana pulled it open and got in.
‘Hey,’ said Sampath. ‘How come you let her in?’
‘Miss is a little damp only. You are soaking wet,’ Lal said.
‘You are such a—’ Sampath said a word that Kalpana didn’t understand, but she got the meaning of it. He concluded, ‘What do you expect me to do?’
‘Just … try to dry off a bit? I’m telling you, if you drip all over them, the seats take forever to dry out. You’ll be the first to complain when your nice dry trousers get a big damp patch on them from sitting on a wet seat.’
Kalpana left the door open. It seemed rude to shut it on Sampath right now. She heard him grumble something like ‘fine, fine’.
Leaving the bag near the door, so that he could grab it when he needed, she moved across to her usual seat. Lal was right. She wasn’t wet. Her feet and ankles were splashed and muddy, but the rest of her was dry, thanks to the umbrella. She had put the umbrella by the door too.
She peered over to see what was going on. Sampath seemed to be shaking the water off his hair. He disappeared as he bent forward.
Near the door, the bag fell over. Kalpana scooted across to right it.
It wouldn’t do for it to fall out. Sampath was leaning over, squeezing handfuls of clothing to wring water out of it.
His shirt stuck to his back; the white cotton translucent so that she could make out the lines of muscle.
She shouldn’t stare, but she couldn’t help it.