1: Déjà vu

The air on the plane was stale. The passengers around us were chatting softly. The plane glided through the clouds as I gazed out of the window to take in the grandeur of the Atlantic Ocean. No matter how frequently my travels took me through the skies, the ocean’s immense size and unfathomable depth never failed to astound me. Once again I was filled with awe, and humbled by the sight of the great expanse of water below me.

The summer of 2006 had arrived, and like clockwork, we found ourselves en route to London Heathrow. It had become a familiar pilgrimage for us, as we had been visiting the UK almost every year since 2000. The underlying reason behind these visits? Guilt.

After moving to the United States, I had been preoccupied with one thing or another. In the initial years, my focus revolved around my marriage, striving to establish a strong foundation. Subsequently, my career took precedence, fueled by the illusion that I would retire at the age of forty. Regrettably, amidst these pursuits, I unintentionally neglected my relatives in the UK. Though it was not a deliberate act, it does not change the undeniable fact that I did so.

Now adults, my nieces and nephews were only babies when I moved to the US. The weight of realization settled heavily upon me, reminding me of the countless moments I had missed in their lives. Birthdays, graduations, and other significant milestones flashed through my mind, intensifying the pang of guilt that coursed through me.

One particular incident from 1999 stood out, etching itself deeply in my memory. I failed to attend my niece Aditi's engagement. The consequence of my absence lingered, haunting me, as Aditi expressed her disappointment and dissatisfaction. No amount of apologies could ever truly compensate for me not being there on one of the most significant days of her life.

It must have been an incredibly daunting day for her, as she found herself engaged to a complete stranger and committed to spending the remainder of her life with him. Despite being born and raised in the UK, and we were on the cusp of entering the twenty-first century, Aditi had no choice but to adhere to the traditions of an Indian arranged marriage. Her fate was sealed with a single vow, binding her to a path chosen by others.

Therefore, as the new millennium commenced and the year 2000 unfolded, I set a New Year's resolution for myself. It was a goal that went beyond monetary pursuits or retirement plans. Instead, it was something far simpler yet incredibly significant: to visit the UK at least once every year. I vividly recall my wife, Asha, exuded excitement when I shared this resolution with her.

“About time you put family first.”

The year 2006 held a distinct significance as my sister's daughter, Tulsi, was preparing for her engagement. What made this occasion particularly unique was the fact that Tulsi had been secretly dating for over a year. Although her parents initially disapproved, they had eventually come to terms with the reality that Tulsi would not be swayed toward an arranged marriage.

It dawned on me that when it comes to Indian celebrations, simplicity is a notion that rarely exists. I couldn't help but anticipate that I would soon face a similar ordeal when it came time for my own daughter. Since our arrival a week prior to the engagement, we had been burning the midnight oil almost every night. Despite not indulging in alcohol and mostly keeping to myself in a corner, the lack of sleep took a toll on me. There was no respite from the persistent jet lag either.

Asha, being a traditional Indian woman, held the belief that her responsibilities were not fulfilled until everything was spotless after the last guest had left. This unwavering dedication meant one thing: we would remain at my sister's house until the early hours of the morning. Without fail, we were always the last ones to leave. To alleviate the burden on Asha, I sought the assistance of my childhood friend, Raj, in convincing her to ease up on her duties. Thankfully, Raj's persuasive efforts proved successful, and we eventually departed for my brother's house around midnight. In comparison to previous nights, it was relatively early.

Exhaustion consumed me, rendering me practically unconscious as soon as my head touched the pillow. I had no idea how Asha managed to cope with even less sleep than me. On top of that, she tirelessly dashed around like a headless chicken throughout the entire day.

The following morning, I remained in a blissful slumber until a gentle nudge jolted me awake. Opening my bleary eyes, I found my wife towering above me, her expression conveying a sense of urgency. She silently mouthed the words, “Your sister” and placed the phone in my hand.

Still mired in the haze of sleep, I asked groggily, “What time is it?”

She cast a disdainful glance at the clock positioned across the room as if my oversleeping was a grave offense. I turned my attention towards the ancient timepiece, which had tormented me the previous night with its incessant ticking—an irritation of the highest order. Anticipating the worst, I struggled to suppress a groan when I discovered that it was merely seven in the morning. There was no need for an alarm; I knew my sister would inevitably call to remind me. But why so early? The question echoed in my mind as I attempted to fully awaken from my slumber.

“What time are you going to the hall?”

“I’ll come around nine and pick up Neil and the decorations.”

“Okay, see you then.”

She sounded a little uneasy. I assumed the reality of her baby growing up was settling in. Regardless, the initial plan for the engagement was an informal affair. We had intended for it to be a modest ceremony held at home. However, as the guest list expanded, we soon realized that accommodating 60 to 70 people within the confines of her house would prove challenging, if not impossible. The need for a larger venue became evident.

Indian events often have a reputation for being notoriously disorganized, which inevitably leads to a certain level of stress. However, in our particular situation, we managed to maintain a sense of control. Decorating the relatively small hall wasn’t a big deal, and we should be able to handle it with relative ease.

After ending the phone call, I took a brief moment to collect myself. Though I didn't believe I had fallen back asleep, it was already eight o'clock by the time I mustered the energy to leap out of bed. Glancing at Asha, it was evident that she wasn't particularly pleased with me coming down late. It certainly wasn't the kind of morning I had envisioned.

In contrast, I realized that Asha had been awake since six, diligently preparing for the day ahead. I couldn't fathom how she managed to handle it all. Okay, perhaps I deserved the scornful glare.

I had asked Raj to come over around eight o’clock, and he probably arrived even earlier since he liked to hang out with the ladies. As we prepared to leave, Raj handed me a cup of Indian tea, its lukewarm temperature apparent even before I took a sip. As we walked towards his car, a displeased expression crossed my face because I preferred piping hot tea.

“That’s what you get for waking up late, mate.”

Nearly two decades had passed since I last lived in Northampton, and as we traversed its streets, I found myself confronted with a startling realization—I had forgotten the intricate network of smaller roads that once held familiarity. Moreover, the town had undergone significant growth and transformation during my absence. Many local streets had been converted to one-way routes to accommodate the surge in traffic. In an effort to enhance traffic flow, numerous traffic lights had been replaced with mini-roundabouts, designed to be more efficient.

Yet, I found them to be exasperating, particularly given Raj's audacious approach to navigating them. With seemingly no regard for caution, he would accelerate upon entering the roundabout, relishing in the sheer amusement evoked by the terror that crossed my face. It was a nerve-racking experience, met with Raj's laughter echoing through the car as we triumphantly emerged from each mini-roundabout.

I clenched my fist, mustering all my strength as I aimed to strike Raj's bicep, seeking to land a blow that would at least jolt him. Alas, my efforts were in vain. His robust physique absorbed the impact effortlessly, and he continued to revel in laughter. In my younger days, I used to call him Kingpin, reminiscent of the formidable comic book character. While Raj himself was far from being a villain, his imposing physical stature bore a striking resemblance to the fictional Kingpin.

We reached the community hall, eager to begin decorating for the event. Each of us grabbed a box of vibrant decorations, our spirits high as we made our way toward the entrance. Yet, as I neared the door, a peculiar sense of déjà vu washed over me, enveloping the atmosphere in an uncanny familiarity. It was as if I had been here before, though I couldn't quite pinpoint when or why. A subtle unease tingled in the air, refusing to dissipate. A shiver coursed down my spine, intensifying the mysterious aura that surrounded me. Determined to shake off the unsettling sensation, I quickened my pace, hastening towards the waiting caretaker who held the key, hoping to immerse myself in the tasks at hand.

“Sorry, we’re running a little late.”

“Don’t worry, mate. All good.”

Ascending the steps and crossing the threshold, I found myself instinctively glancing to the left, inexplicable anticipation tugging at my senses. And there, just as I had expected, stood two doors adjacent to the entrance. It was then that realization dawned upon me, illuminating the mystery of the familiar building. In an instant, recollections flooded my mind, vividly painting the memories I had long tucked away. She resurfaced in my thoughts, her presence undeniably intertwined with this place.

Driven by an unseen force, my legs propelled me forward, following a path embedded deep within my subconscious. Unaware of my own intentions, my body acted upon muscle memory, guiding me to a destination I had sworn never to revisit. Unconsciously, my hand pushed against the door, revealing the washroom beyond. Time seemed to stand still as I found myself suspended in the midst of disbelief. The box of decorations slipped from my grasp, crashing to the floor, as a gasp escaped my lips, betrayed by the sheer shock that overwhelmed me.

The room had undergone a transformation since the last time I had set foot in it. Renovations had left their mark, altering its appearance, yet the core structure remained unaltered, evoking a sense of familiarity that stirred my soul. The toilet stalls lined the left side, the washbasins resided against the far wall, and the row of benches stood steadfast on the right. It was a tableau frozen in time, reminiscent of my memories.

Drawn to the last bench, I retraced the steps of the past, settling down just as I had done more than a quarter-century ago. This time, however, solitude enveloped me, devoid of the presence that had once shared this space. The silence stretched before me, absolute and profound, allowing me to perceive the sound of my own breath catching in my throat. My fingers danced gently over the textured wallpaper, brushing against the remnants of the past as the hush of the room carried me back to the year 1978.

The essence of that Saturday night in June enveloped my senses, transporting me back to a bygone era. The memories unfolded before my mind's eye with striking clarity. We had gathered together to commemorate the milestone eighteenth birthday of my friend, Sunil. Our preparations had been meticulous, stocking up on an abundance of drinks, delectable food, and even a concealed stash for a select few.

The community hall boasted a circular layout, its walls adorned with ribbed wooden panels harmonizing with the elegant hardwood floor. A small kitchenette served as the culinary hub, providing just enough space to warm up dishes and oversee a makeshift bar. The venue had been designed to accommodate a maximum of approximately seventy-five individuals, which seemed more than adequate for the anticipated fifty guests. However, as the evening unfolded and the crowd began to arrive, it felt as though the numbers had tripled in an instant.

The atmosphere swelled with an exuberant energy that transcended the physical limitations of the space. While I had played a significant role in organizing the event, as the night wore on, the responsibility of maintaining order became an arduous task, fraught with challenges I hadn't anticipated. What initially appeared as a promising endeavor gradually transformed into an overwhelming burden, casting a shadow over my initial enthusiasm.

The place felt as if it was the only watering hole in the land and all the animals had gathered to satisfy their thirst. The sheer magnitude of attendees overwhelmed me. I tried to make the best of the situation, but I was having no fun whatsoever—not that I knew how to have fun anyway.

The thunderous beats of the flamboyant Bollywood music reverberated endlessly, reaching a deafening crescendo. While one might assume that no volume of music could be too loud for a teenager, I found myself challenged by its intensity. The sheer force of the sound waves seemed to penetrate deep within my being, rattling every bone in my body.

How can anyone enjoy this?

That question echoed in my mind as the music filled the surroundings. It felt as though the reverberations carried for miles, defying all boundaries. I half expected the blaring tunes to summon uniformed authorities to the scene, yet no such interruption occurred. The limitations of the space we occupied seemed inconsequential to the merriment unfolding. Despite its crowded expanse, the dance floor remained a vibrant hub of exuberance, bodies drenched in sweat pressing against one another with infectious energy. It appeared that a room filled with teenagers, alcohol, and incomprehensible cacophony was the formula for a good time.

However, I found myself estranged from the notion of fun that seemed to captivate the typical teenager.

Is there something fundamentally wrong with me? Maybe I’m just an outcast. Maybe my idea of fun didn’t fit the norm.

I just wanted to get out of there. On the other hand, even though it wasn’t my birthday, it was supposed to be a special night. I had been looking forward to this night for the last couple of weeks because of one beautiful reason: Siya. Well, that was the name I had given her.

At that moment, though, I wished I hadn’t invited Siya to the party. Running around like a headless chicken, I barely spent a minute with her. Even though I was almost eighteen, it was my first ever date. It was the first time I had gathered enough courage to ask a girl out.

From a young age, I had always been an introvert, and my relocation from India during my formative teenage years only exacerbated my social challenges. With my limited grasp of the English language, communication was an arduous task, leaving me isolated from meaningful interactions.

Being shy, interacting with girls was even more difficult. Throughout my high school years, opportunities to engage with them were virtually nonexistent. Why? Because I attended an all-boys school—none other than the Northampton Town & Country Grammar School, later aptly renamed Northampton School for Boys. School is supposed to be one of the prime agents of socialization. Instead, for me, it was about a lesson in survival. Each day, the goal was to return home without being beaten up. On a positive note, there were no girl problems.

At any gathering, I was the quiet and awkward one hanging out by myself. To be brutally honest, I embodied society's definition of boring. I refrained from common vices of drinking or smoking, and my lack of dancing skills only added to the perception of my social ineptitude.

Contrary to the imagined and rehearsed conversations that had played out countless times in my mind, I found myself inadvertently neglecting Siya's presence. It was a stark contrast to the interactions I had envisioned, leaving me filled with regret. It was no secret among my acquaintances that I wasn't exactly the life of the party, and perhaps that was precisely why I had been entrusted with the duties of a chaperone.

Of all the nights, why did I willingly take on this responsibility tonight? What was I thinking?

The very purpose of this evening was to spend quality time with Siya. Even building up the courage to ask her out had taken a lot out of me. I remember stressing to the max—and being so nervous I could barely function when the moment finally came.

My connection with Siya spanned roughly a year, yet our knowledge of each other remained disappointingly superficial. For several months, I admired her from afar, immobilized by an overwhelming fear that deterred even the most fleeting eye contact. It was during this period that I volunteered at Lings Forum, dedicating my time twice a week in the evening to teach Gujarati, an Indian language. Multiple classes catered to diverse age groups and proficiency levels. I found myself instructing beginner-level Gujarati to students ranging from twelve to sixteen years old.

The Northampton Gujarati community established this program as a free service. Looking back, I cannot precisely recall how I agreed to volunteer as a teacher in this setting. It seemed like an unlikely fit for my inherently shy nature. After all, who willingly steps in front of a class filled with twenty to thirty teenagers?

Undoubtedly, it was my brother who wielded his persuasive powers, compelling me to participate by emphasizing the importance of giving back to our community. In hindsight, I realize that he must have sought to coax me out of my comfort zone, encouraging personal growth. In truth, dedicating four hours a week did not pose a significant challenge. It was the arduous five-mile bicycle ride to and from the venue that posed a constant obstacle. The winters proved particularly grueling, with bone-chilling temperatures piercing through the layers of clothing, especially during the late-night return journey.

Nonetheless, the evening that Siya joined the class, everything changed. To put it simply, she was breathtakingly beautiful—at least, that’s what I thought. From the very first glimpse of her, an indescribable magnetism tugged at my heartstrings. It wasn't solely her physical appearance—the way she dressed, her luscious wavy hair cascading effortlessly, or her radiant complexion. No, it transcended the superficial. There was an intangible quality about her, an allure that eluded definition, and yet it drew me in like a magnet, leaving me powerless to resist its pull.

She was an enigma.

Her radiance was so vibrant that it compelled me to pause and question whether what I had witnessed was real or merely a figment of my imagination. I found myself entranced by her ethereal presence, and in that moment, I knew I had fallen in love. Yes, it was the clichéd notion of love at first sight, an idea I had never truly considered until that very day. Yet, from that point forward, there was no denying the profound impact she had on me.

Her beauty was undeniable, captivating every gaze that fell upon her. Her flawless fair skin, accompanied by a warm and inviting smile, illuminated the room. Her twinkling brown eyes held a mysterious depth. Every aspect of her commanded attention, not just from me, but from all those around. Though not yet sixteen, she possessed an aura that made her appear older, closer to the age of eighteen or nineteen. Slim and graceful, her figure exuded a womanly confidence. Standing at around five and a half feet, she surpassed the average height for an Indian girl, effortlessly standing out among her friends.

To this day, I can’t say whether my feelings for her were mere infatuation or something more profound. It's possible that my adolescent hormones were at play, orchestrating a symphony of emotions within me. Nevertheless, I couldn't escape the relentless thoughts that consumed my mind, making it impossible to forget her presence.

I couldn't help but believe that it was more than mere coincidence that led me to volunteer in that particular setting. It felt as though destiny had guided me there, orchestrating our paths to intertwine. I couldn't shake the belief that I was destined to find my soulmate within those walls.

From that evening forward, the cold and damp weather held no sway over me. I made a conscious effort to arrive early, hoping to catch a glimpse of Siya if she were to arrive ahead of schedule. During the class, I eagerly posed questions in the hopes of hearing her sweet and gentle voice. One of the class rules stipulated that students must respond in Gujarati, which posed a challenge for Siya, as she had limited proficiency in the language. Despite this, there were moments when I deliberately singled her out, yearning to hear her voice, even if it meant breaking rules just for a fleeting interaction.

One fateful night, during the break, I summoned the courage to approach Siya and initiate a conversation. However, she was always surrounded by her group of girlfriends, the ones who had convinced her to join the class. To approach her meant confronting the entire flock, a daunting prospect that made my heart race and my throat tighten. I took a deep breath and ventured toward the cluster of girls, determined to make a connection.

As I approached, I mustered small talk, attempting to engage Siya in conversation. However, despite my efforts, she remained unresponsive, seemingly disinterested. It was a disheartening moment.

I need to be more direct, I thought.

“So, do your parents speak much Gujarati at home?”

The answer was a short “No.”

The encounter did not unfold as I had imagined. Disappointment settled upon me like a bitter taste. I didn't believe Siya was deliberately playing hard to get; instead, I sensed a shared shyness between us. Our verbal exchanges remained fleeting, hampered by the challenge of sustaining a meaningful dialogue. Her responses were often curt, leaving me grasping for ways to keep the conversation flowing. Despite my own shortcomings as a conversationalist, I persisted in my attempts, even if it meant stumbling over my words and occasionally making a fool of myself.

My heart ached for Siya, recognizing the potential depths of my feelings for her. However, I found myself navigating unfamiliar territory with no guidebook to follow. I was clueless about how to proceed, unsure if she had even the slightest inkling of my affection towards her. The uncertainty weighed heavily on me, amplifying the vulnerability I felt in this uncharted emotional landscape.

Have you ever been in love before?

I’m not talking about the fake kind of love that they show in the movies. I’m talking about the force that engulfs you entirely, leaving you breathless and floating on a cloud of emotions. A potent and unexplainable feeling that can leave you both exhilarated and vulnerable, stirring your deepest desires and fears simultaneously. That powerful yet indescribable feeling that makes you wish you could live and die a thousand times over, even though all it takes is one moment in which everything can change forever. And yet, there are moments when you wish you had never known the true meaning of love, for it opens your heart to profound depths of emotion, exposing you to both the heights of joy and the depths of pain.

In retrospect, I can't deny that I may have been foolish, impulsive, and overwhelmed by the intensity of my emotions. Perhaps I had allowed myself to be influenced by the grandiose love stories depicted in Bollywood movies, projecting my own desires onto a romantic ideal. It was a realization that hit me like a splash of cold water.

Lost in my own thoughts, I suddenly heard a faint call, as if someone were calling my name from a distance. The sound gradually grew closer, snapping me out of my reverie. It was Raj, standing in the doorway, his eyes widened in curiosity and anticipation. I found myself staring at him, momentarily lost for words, unable to explain the tangled web of emotions that had consumed me.

“What the fuck man? You’re bonkers. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Raj's words were practically hurled at me, piercing through my thoughts. Taking a deep breath to collect myself, I exhaled with a sigh, attempting to compose my scattered emotions.

“Are you okay, mate?” Raj inquired, concern etched across his face.

Before I could formulate a response, my nephews, sensing the tension in the air, joined Raj's side, their curious expressions mirroring their eagerness for answers. Caught off guard by their sudden presence I mustered a feeble response.

“Come on, let's go,” I muttered, my voice barely audible, gesturing for them to follow me. With a mixture of relief and uncertainty, I led the way, hoping that the simple act of moving forward would provide some respite from the emotions that had engulfed me.

While my nephews immersed themselves in the decorating tasks, I confided in Raj, expressing my need for a breath of fresh air. Stepping outside, I embarked on a leisurely stroll across the parking lot, allowing the cool breeze to wash over me, momentarily easing the weight of my thoughts. My path led me toward a nearby strip mall, a modest establishment that housed a convenience store once owned by Siya's father. I assumed that over the course of the past three decades, the store must have exchanged hands numerous times. Nonetheless, a sense of curiosity propelled me to venture inside.

I proceeded to the drinks section and grabbed a can of Coke, then headed towards the cashier. My mind was preoccupied with memories and the bittersweet nostalgia that permeated the air. Behind the counter stood a warm and friendly cashier, exuding a welcoming aura despite the bustling nature of the store. In her thirties, she effortlessly attended to the needs of the customers, offering them genuine smiles and polite greetings. As I approached the counter, she extended the same warmth my way, acknowledging my presence with a friendly demeanor.

Handing her a £5 bill, I waited expectantly for the change, feeling a tinge of disappointment. While she diligently gathered my coins, I let my gaze wander around the store, searching for any semblance of a clue, a trace of familiarity. An overwhelming sense of emptiness washed over me, rendering my mind devoid of any topic that could serve as a starting point for a conversation with the cashier.

In my desperation, I blurted out, “I knew the man who owned this store twenty-odd years ago.”

Okay, why did I blurt out such an outright lie?

I barely saw the man for a few seconds. In fact, I still shiver when I think of that man.

“Oh, must have been my dad. Actually, he passed away a few years back.”

Why did she decide to share that with me? Did she think I’m a friend of the family?

Was I being impolite by not showing any emotions for her father? My throat suddenly felt dry so I popped open my can of Coke and took a sip. The cold effervescent drink felt refreshing.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“He had a heart attack. It was sudden, no warnings or anything.”

I side-stepped so she could continue to serve other customers.

Could she be Siya’s younger sister? But I didn’t think she had any siblings. Why am I surprised? After all, I barely knew her, let alone her family or their names. In fact, I don’t even remember her last name.

The sudden realization that I stood face to face with someone who had a connection to Siya sent my heart into a frenzied rhythm. The world around me seemed to blur as my mind raced with endless possibilities. It was a scenario beyond the wildest realms of my imagination, leaving me at a loss for words.

Do I mention her name? What do I ask? How’s Siya doing? God, no! That would be ridiculous.

The proximity to potentially finding Siya made it impossible for me to simply walk away; the desire to reconnect with her burned fiercely within me. Yet, the looming question remained: how could I continue the conversation without stumbling over my own words? The passage of nearly thirty years left me uncertain if Siya would even recognize me. With a deep breath, I resolved to approach the conversation with genuine sincerity and an openness to whatever lay ahead.

“Can I ask you a question? I guess you must be Siya’s sister… Sorry, I mean, you must be…”

As the question left my lips, the cashier abruptly turned towards me, her movement swift and filled with a sense of urgency. Instantly, her body froze, as if time had momentarily ceased to exist. Confusion clouded my mind as I tried to comprehend why such a simple question had evoked such a peculiar reaction from her. And then, with a mixture of disbelief and astonishment, she uttered my name.

“Vish?”

The sheer shock of hearing my name escape her lips hit me with the force of a winter storm. The familiar smile I had grown accustomed to had vanished, replaced by an expression of profound surprise. It was evident that she, too, had never expected our paths to intersect in this manner. For a suspended moment, her face slowly began to regain its composure, features morphing back into familiarity. Yet, her gaze remained fixed upon me, lingering with a sense of awe and wonderment that mirrored the emotions swirling within me.

How could she have known my name? Even if she had heard of me, it’s been a lifetime. How could my name be remembered by someone who had never even met me?

In response to her question, I instinctively gave a slow nod, affirming that she had indeed addressed Vish. The bubbling effervescence of her personality once again radiated, illuminating her face like a vibrant Christmas tree. Yet, despite her infectious enthusiasm, I found myself unable to reciprocate her excitement. Instead, a troubled and worried expression clouded my features, as shock continued to reverberate through my being.

As I observed her infectious personality and enthusiasm, a flicker of hope ignited within me. I couldn't help but wonder if Siya possessed a similar charm. Such a connection would undoubtedly ease the daunting task of engaging in conversation with her.

However, as the reality of the situation settled in, a surge of nervousness washed over me. My stomach churned, its contents seemingly turning acidic as anticipation and apprehension intertwined. Seeking solace, I took another sip of my drink, allowing the cool liquid to soothe my frayed nerves. Thoughts raced through my mind, searching for the perfect words to bridge the gap that had separated us.

If Siya’s sister remembers my name, then surely Siya would too. What do I do now? How do I get more information?

“What’s she up to these days?”

Oh my God! I’m such an idiot. Did I just say that?

I was used to chastising myself and today was no different. As she was serving another customer, she paused and then continued the conversation.

“She’s late. She should have been here at least a half-hour ago. I cover for—”

Once more, the incessant chime of the bell resounded throughout the store, signifying the arrival of yet another customer. Irritation welled within me, for I yearned for an uninterrupted moment with Siya’s sister.

“Well, speak of the devil.”

“What?”