Neel sat on the sofa, his body sinking into the cushions as if the weight of the past two months had finally caught up with him. He looked around the small living room — her living room — with tired, red-rimmed eyes. The walls were soft ivory, the floors warm beige, and the faint scent of rose hung in the air. It was a modest space, nothing like the cold, modern apartment in Canada, but it was warm. It was alive. It was hers.

Rooh went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. She was wearing a t-shirt and pajamas — the ones Neel had bought for her at the mall, months ago, when they had walked through the stores together, when he had picked out clothes in her size without asking, as if he had been paying attention all along. The fabric was soft, pale pink with tiny white polka dots, and it clung to her in ways that made his heart ache.