Codename lotus, p.33
Codename Lotus, page 33
Naomi reached for his hand, an act so rare, so intimate that I barely recognized her.
“Remember what you just said,” she murmured. “You always wanted me to be your daughter-in-law. Well, I am.”
For a heartbeat, something flickered in him.
But then his jaw locked. He shook his head. “No. Marriage is between a man and a woman.”
He pulled his hand away from Naomi’s, the rejection so stark.
Naomi’s mouth opened and closed. It broke my heart to see it. The embarrassment was spilling out of her.
This is what I have dragged you into. A life of this.
Why should Naomi endure rejection and humiliation at this point in her life?
I straightened, wiping my tears. I exchanged a knowing look with Naomi, who immediately understood and rose to her feet.
I sat in her place.
“Baba, I didn’t come to ask for permission. I’ll stay tonight so you and Mum have time with Shai. But this is not up for discussion. I am an adult. A woman with the right to make my own choices. And it’s time I choose my happiness, not yours or Mum’s. By God, I will always honor you both, but you can’t ask any more of me than what I’ve already given. I can’t keep making myself small so that you two can be content.”
My breath caught, but I steadied myself. “Tomorrow afternoon, Shai, Naomi, and I will go to London.”
He rubbed his forehead, exhaling sharply.
And Naomi took that as a cue. “I’d better go,” she said. Perhaps it was the crumbling of such a proud figure that Naomi understood well. Perhaps in his place, she too, would have preferred to break down in private.
I rose to my feet and took Naomi’s hands. “Where?”
Baba scoffed at our touch, disgust sharp in his voice.
Naomi flushed, awkward in a way I’d never seen.
“It’s pouring,” I protested.
“I’ll be fine,” she said gently. “Be with your family. Do what you must.”
Her hand squeezed mine, then slipped away. Seconds later, the heavy front doors thudded shut, and absolutely nothing felt worse.
A surge of panic crushed me. It was as if I was fourteen, watching it all happen again, and taking it. Accepting it.
From the corner of my eye, I caught my father’s flaring temper. The scolding face and arms flinging about.
“How can you be so selfish, Saanya?! After everything we have given you, this is how you repay us?!”
His voice boomed in the stillness of the room, and then it quickly started to fade away into the background of my own fears.
The words became a distant drone, the same phrases that had once cornered me into denial and sacrifice. Each syllable echoed the countless times I had folded myself away, a piece at a time, to fit the mold of a dutiful daughter, a compliant wife.
In that very instant, for all intents and purposes, I was back in 2002. The year of the plane crash. The day Naomi’s parents died. The moment Naomi walked out of my life. The first day of my gradual decline.
Because it was as if I were suddenly suspended outside myself, seeing everything that awaited younger me. Hiding, denying, concealing. A string of failed relationships with other women—relationships I, myself, would sabotage for fear of what? Of losing it all? All so that Manish could walk into my life and destroy whatever was left anyway? One broken rib or bruised cheek at a time. Chipping away at my self-esteem until only scraping bone was left.
I couldn’t lose Naomi, not again.
The room spun, and a surge of desperate clarity gripped me. Naomi’s departure wasn’t just physical distance—it felt like losing a part of myself all over again. The part of me with all the courage.
Without another word, I turned, hiked up my saree, and rushed toward the door, my father’s shouts chasing after me.
“Saanya! Get back here! Where the hell are you going?! What the hell are you doing?!”
“Fighting for her.”
I burst into the night, the rain beating against my skin. My saree clung to my legs as I ran; the wet fabric was a minor hindrance compared to the burden of years of self-imposed suppression.
The fear of breaking the mold. Of being cast out and left alone.
Alone.
Naomi had been all alone all those years ago.
“Naomi!” I cried, my voice breaking through the downpour soaking us through.
Only a few paces ahead, she turned to look at me—surprise pinching her features, concern flickering in her green eyes.
I reached her, breathless, heart pounding. And without hesitation, I threw my arms around her neck, pulling her close.
The cool, unrelenting rain washed away the last barriers between us.
Not this time. Not ever again.
“Please stay,” I murmured desperately, our noses touching, water on skin. “Don’t go away. Stay with me. Please.”
“Saanya,” Naomi said, hands to my waist.
I kissed her.
Through the falling rain and for everyone to see.
How could a kiss illuminate someone’s entire soul?
Naomi’s lips were so soft—our life ahead just within reach. Because this was more than two mouths crashing, it felt like everything that could have been finally reuniting.
It felt like finally coming home.
EPILOGUE
Two years later.
My parents’ garden hummed with the last echoes of my brother’s wedding. I was still wearing my lehenga as I moved through the courtyard—for a fleeting second, I might have been a rajkumari from a fairy tale; it was that magical out here.
The centerpieces were cascades of ivory roses and white jasmines spilling from the pergola like sand slipping through an hourglass. The scent of jasmine mingled with something else—something that two years ago would have sent me spiraling. But tonight, the faint smell of lavender no longer held power over me. I chose to admire the gorgeous flower arrangement instead of running. It felt good to be in control, even over something seemingly insignificant.
The house staff scurried about, their tired eyes mirroring the weariness that had settled in me over this past year.
“You’ve all done more than enough tonight. Please go rest,” I told them.
After a few protests, they retired for the night and left me alone with the garden’s hush. The mandap where the ceremony had taken place was covered in fragrant clusters of white hydrangeas and lights.
My thoughts drifted to the last time we’d been here and everything that had happened since.
If only I’d known then the whirlwind that would be unleashed after that night, when I finally came out to Baba and ran after Naomi. Life had brought so many unexpected difficulties, but also new beginnings, many firsts, and the purest form of love I had ever known in the form of my son, Shai.
I bent down to pick up a scattered decoration when a voice sounded behind me.
“Got you.”
Naomi’s arms slid around me, steady and warm. But I immediately noticed something was off. She kept turning toward the house as if she were on alert. I could have sworn I’d seen a flash of anger in her eyes. She glanced over her shoulder one last time.
“Are you all right?” I asked, cupping her face and studying her in detail. “Your cheeks are a bit flushed. Did something or someone upset you?”
“No one. Must be the heat,” she said, brushing it off. She refocused on me quickly. “How about you? Everything all right?” Her nod drifted toward the centerpieces.
I took a deep breath, the mild scent filling my senses. “Actually, yes. I noticed them earlier. I’m fine.”
“I thought your parents were under the impression that lavender gives you migraines. Why would they approve it for the wedding?”
I had decided to lie to my parents on that front, sparing them from the long list of horrors Manish had made me endure. It was enough that they had to live knowing he had emotionally abused me for years.
“It must have snuck through the florist.” My gaze fell to her lips. “Mmm.” I smiled and kissed her. “There’s only a handful of it. I’ll be okay.” My thumb grazed the edge of her lipstick. “Where’s my babu?” I looked around, expecting to see him run out into the garden any minute.
“He finally fell asleep,” Naomi said, her eyes twinkling with something akin to fatigue and fondness.
She looked exhausted. We all were. It had been such a long week. But that’s a traditional wedding: a day for Haldi, another for Mehndi and Sangeet, then the morning puja, the groom’s procession and dancing, the late-night ceremony, the bride’s farewell, and then her welcome into the groom’s home with more rituals and games. And technically, we still had two more days left. And did I mention more dancing?
Naomi had confessed to attending a couple of traditional weddings in the past but had never stayed this long for any of them, though this one was special for us both. We had to be here for Sidharth. After all, we had both lost our bet. My brother had finally closed that chapter with Priya for good and found true love in the kind, vivacious, and wonderful Puja.
“Did he give you trouble?” I asked.
“Not much, but you’d think he’d snuck in some sugar.” Naomi huffed, stretching like she might collapse into the nearest bed.
“He didn’t have any sweets. Unless he convinced my mum or one of the guests fawning over him that we starve him.”
Naomi lifted a suspicious brow. “Hm.”
“What?”
“It could be my ears failing me, but I’m fairly certain I heard him say Mummy and ‘stawbees’ in the same sentence.”
Shai was addicted to bananas and strawberries, which he called “stawbees.” He was so fond of them that Naomi and I had to spell the words around him instead of saying them, trying to avoid the inevitable ambush and subsequent sugar crash, because with the most endearing face, Shai always got what he wanted. And when it came to his beloved strawberries and bananas, he’d eat them all or cry.
I laughed. “I did not! Though he did smell suspiciously like bananas.”
As our laughter faded, I leaned in to kiss her, lingering briefly before pulling back and raking my eyes over her body.
“You’ve changed,” I said, taking in the sight of her in flats and jeans after the heavy lehenga. In traditional attire she’d been a goddess; in jeans she was domestic and soft and somehow even more mine.
“And I see you still haven’t,” Naomi teased, both arms circling around my neck.
“You know me, boring and predictable.” I winked at her.
Naomi’s brows arched suggestively. “Darling, you are anything but boring. I still have the marks from last night to prove it.”
“Naomi,” I whispered, flushed, my fingers clutching her shirt. “What if someone hears you?”
“Then let them,” she said, bold as ever. That effortless confidence that always turned me into putty. “It drove me crazy how every man—and may I say…a few women—gave you shameless looks all night. At least this way everyone will know you are spoken for. If they didn’t figure it out earlier. It’s not like we hide it.”
“Hardly, love,” I said as I fiddled with the collar of her shirt. “You are the only one whose eyes I felt setting my skin on fire all night.”
Naomi’s response was a low purr. “Then your senses are keen, Miss Hazra.”
She paused, a playful smirk on her lips. “To show you how unpredictable you actually are, I will tell you that I was expecting to find you in the kitchen, replacing Anjali on dishwashing duty.”
“She kicked me out.”
“So, instead, I find you folding tablecloths,” Naomi observed, glancing at the neatly stacked linens beside us. “Where’s everyone?”
“I sent them to bed,” I said. “They looked exhausted.”
“And of course, you offered to take over their jobs.”
I shrugged. “They already do so much. I can do this myself, so why not?”
Naomi observed me intently for a moment.
“Does it bother you?” I asked.
She cupped my face, took my chin. “On the contrary. It’s what I love most about you. Your kindness, your beautiful humility. It grounds me and brings out someone decent in me, someone I hardly recognize, but who should prevail over my more self-serving side.”
“Aw, meri jaan,” I murmured, smiling.
“Even after all this time, I can still make you blush,” she said, grinning.
If only she knew she could do far more than just make me blush. Naomi had been the one throwing open every window in me after I’d been living in captivity for far too long.
I took her hand and brought it to my lips. “Speaking of time…do you remember when I told you about my sindoor story?”
“The night of the blackout. How could I ever forget? Looking back, I think it was the night when things started to change for me. When I subconsciously started to see you differently.”
I led her to the small pedestal of cascading white jasmines where the gold sindoor box sat as part of the ritual setup. I guided her hand, kissed her finger, and dipped it into the vermilion powder.
She caught on and looked at me with wide, understanding eyes. “Are you serious?” she murmured.
“Would you?” I asked.
When she hesitated, my heart shrank. “I-I know it’s been such a year. So much has happened. Devika’s legal case...” I lowered my gaze. “And unfortunately, it isn’t over yet.”
Naomi brushed the hair away from my face. “I know it isn’t. But you and Shai—you’re all I need. Don’t you see that?”
“But this is important to me. Unless I spoke out of turn. Unless you don’t want to—”
She let out an incredulous laugh, the edges of her eyes reddening. Glistening. “That I don’t want to? Saanya, I—” Naomi let out a small huff as she stood there, hands frozen, unable to move with the blood-red powder still piled delicately on her finger.
“Just forget I asked. It’s all right. We don’t need conventional.” I glanced around—surely there had to be something to wipe her finger with.
“Sweetheart.”
“Some napkins would do—”
“Saanya,” she said, this time loud enough to make me stop. “Look at me.”
I did.
She took my arm with her free hand. “I am right-handed and therefore momentarily disabled.”
There was a shy gleam in Naomi’s eyes. “So I will need your help with this.”
“Huh?”
“In my right pocket.” She motioned with a tilt of her head. “Would you?”
My heart raced as I reached into her pocket and my fingers brushed against something solid and soft. I pulled out a small velvet box. “Naomi?” My breath hitched.
“I’ve been carrying this around for weeks, waiting for the right moment.”
“Is this…?”
“It was my mother’s engagement ring,” she said. “My father couldn’t cope with the ‘no ring tradition.’ How very Western of him.”
My eyes stung. “Naomi…”
“Open it,” she urged gently. The sparkle in her eyes made me feel like a girl again. Full of hope and dreams for the future.
With trembling fingers, I lifted the lid of the box. Inside lay an Art Deco ring with a single flawless emerald flanked by two sparkling diamonds. The emerald gleamed with a richness that spoke of history and of a love that had stood the test of time. Of life and death.
It was the ring I remembered from all those years ago.
I gasped. “My love…oh God, it’s beautiful.”
“Meri jaan,” she said. “You gave me a family. You and Shai gave me what I didn’t know I needed. I know this isn’t the easiest moment in our lives, but nothing will ever be blemish-free. I want to face whatever comes next together.”
I nodded, trying to hold back tears that inevitably fell. “Yes,” I said, trembling. “I want that too.”
It was a tricky maneuver and, as always, we managed to do even this the unconventional way. I slid the ring onto my own finger, and in the same breath felt the soft pressure at the parting of my hairline as Naomi smudged her finger there. I tilted my head back, letting the meaning of the moment sink in.
“Thank you. You know how important this is to me,” I whispered, and dipped my own finger into the vermilion, carefully applying it to her. “It’s sacred.”
“You are sacred,” she murmured, pulling me in.
“Oh,” I breathed, melting into her arms like honey.
“O lotus heart, enchant me with your glance, and let my devotion be yours forever.”
HIDDEN TRACK
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Yiliana Ferran is a novelist who writes intimate, character-driven stories about love, power, and longing. Her work centers women, their interior lives, their resilience, and the complicated ways they learn to choose themselves.
She believes stories are refuge and recognition—where fiction and truth meet, and healing begins. When she isn’t writing, she is usually thinking about fictional people, collecting moments, or chasing the feeling of home across continents.
Yiliana Ferran, Codename Lotus
