38. Erase The Distance #2
This was every sound in the world falling away except her voice.
Her family surrounded us. Her father stood somewhere behind her. Her mother and every aunty in Rajasthan were probably watching.
I didn’t care. I kissed her again beneath falling flowers and clouds of color, with drums beating through my chest and her arms locked around my neck.
For once, I didn’t think about the flight home.
I didn’t think about the distance waiting after the week ended or the questions her father kept asking about marriage, children, and futures I had never allowed myself to picture.
I just held her.
Radhika in my arms.
Her name in my mouth.
Her love given back to me in the middle of spring.
In that moment, surrounded by her family and painted in every color she had brought into my life, I believed wanting something might be enough to keep it.
The Holi madness softened into something more terrifying than a handful of powder connecting with my face by late afternoon.
Family.
Everyone gathered in the shaded part of the courtyard, where carpets and cushions had been dragged out and tables were covered in sweets, fruit, and trays of something fried and mouth-watering. Pitchers of a pale drink sweated in the heat. Radhika poured me a glass.
I eyed the petals and crushed nuts floating across the top. “Is it supposed to look like that?”
“Yes, just drink it. It’s called thandai; we always drink it during Holi. It’s sweet, like me.” Her eyes flashed with a challenge before she leaned her body into me, teasing. She pointed at it, lips grazing my ear as she spoke. “It’s just almonds, rose, and other things. You’ll like it.”
She watched until I took a sip.
“That’s… shockingly good.”
That seemed to satisfy her enough that she finally stopped torturing me by pressing her breasts against my arm.
I looked out on the courtyard again, taking in the scene.
The older relatives occupied the best spots like royalty while the younger ones crowded around the edges with plates in their hands.
Someone carried a large drum into the courtyard.
“That’s a dhol,” Radhika explained. “It’s played on both sides with different sticks.”
“Amazing,” I said solemnly. “I've always wondered what drums do.”
She swatted my arm. Another man settled beside a small wooden instrument with a keyboard and bellows.
“That's a harmonium. You pump air through the reeds while playing the keys.”
“Keys make notes too? You should let Rafe know, I don't think he's mastered that part.”
She hit me again, harder this time. I laughed and caught her wrist before she could manage a third.
She tried to pull her hand free but I kept hold of it and brought her fingers to my mouth.
Around us, the first deep beat of the dhol rolled through the courtyard, followed by the bright notes of the harmonium.
Radhika was beside me, cross-legged on a cushion, shoulder brushing mine. I leaned toward her.
“Is there a part of this holiday where everyone naps? I need a fucking nap.”
Radhika laughed, then immediately pressed her lips together because her father looked over.
Across the courtyard, Mrs. Malhotra clapped her hands before picking up a microphone.
The chatter quieted but didn't stop. This family never fully stopped talking.
It just changed frequencies like a radio, searching for a new station to carry it.
“Oh no,” Radhika said under her breath.
I glanced at her. “What’s happening?”
Then one of the aunties turned and Radhika froze.
“Radhika, beta.”
She shook her head immediately. Another aunty joined in. Then an uncle. Her name began moving through the courtyard. I looked at her, but she wouldn't look at me, then she covered her face.
“Radhika Malhotra, are you shy?” I whispered in her ear.
Mr. Malhotra called her name. “Radhi.”
The courtyard quieted enough to watch her decide.
Finally, she inhaled, and when she stood, everyone cheered.
She took the microphone from her mother, who kissed her and whispered something to her.
Radhika gave her a look, embarrassed and affectionate at once.
Her mother only smiled. Her father watched from his seat, arms folded, expression unreadable.
There was love and pride there. But also something heavier as his eyes flicked briefly toward me.
The music started. Radhika looked at the musicians and said something, adjusting the tempo with one tiny movement of her hand.
They followed without question. Then she sang and I forgot where I was.
Her voice wasn't what I expected. I knew she could sing.
But live, her voice was devastating. The courtyard fell silent for the first time the entire trip.
Then her eyes found mine. She kept singing, but the feeling changed because she was looking at me now, and every aunty in the courtyard knew it.
I felt the awareness ripple through them.
Radhika’s voice rose, and with it something in me rose too.
Wonder. Panic too, maybe. I'd had women sing lyrics back to me from crowds so loud the stage shook.
But that hadn't prepared me for Radhika Malhotra, barefoot in the courtyard after Holi, color on her throat, singing to me in front of the people who loved her most.
The song ended to applause and whistles.
Her cousins making dramatic swooning noises.
One uncle yelling for another song. Radhika laughed, embarrassed, looking down as color rose in her cheeks again.
I was still staring. Rithy would have kicked me under the table if he were there.
Radhika handed the microphone back to her mother and moved toward me. One aunty caught her wrist.
“Arre, Radhika,” she said, loud enough for me to hear in English. “For him only, hmm?”
The courtyard laughed. Radhika said something quick in Hindi, scandalized. The aunty waved her off and looked directly at me.
“You,” she said.
I straightened like I’d been called before a firing squad.
“Yes, ma’am.”
A few cousins laughed. The aunty pointed at Radhika. “You see? This girl sings like this, men become stupid.”
“I've always been stupid, I can't blame the song,” I said.
The aunty’s face split into a grin.
“Oh. Charming one.”
Another aunty leaned forward. “You must not make her cry.”
Radhika looked mortified. “Masi.”
“No,” the aunty said, still looking at me. “I am old. I can say.”
They all waited. I looked at Radhika. She was watching me carefully. I could feel the edge of something important and had no idea how close I was to it. So I did what I always did when I was outmatched. I told the truth sideways.
“I don’t want to make her cry,” I said.
Radhika’s face changed. I should've lied. I should've made it easy.
So I added, “If I did, I'd be dead before I got near the gate.”
Then the aunty threw her head back and laughed. The courtyard released and Radhika exhaled. The aunty patted my cheek with a hand still dusted pink.
“Funny boy.”
Everyone laughed again, and the pressure broke into warmth.
Radhika dropped onto the cushion beside me, face still flushed.
She reached for a sweet from the tray between us and broke it in half.
She gave me the larger piece. It was such a small thing but it filled me with a feeling I couldn't describe.
Radhika took a bite of her half and looked at me from beneath her lashes.
I took mine. It tasted like sugar, cardamom, and trouble.
I should have been afraid then. Maybe I was.
But she was smiling at me, still bright from the song, still brave enough to be shy after singing for millions.
So for a little while longer, I pretended being chosen by her didn't require becoming worthy of it.