Chapter 4: Holi Promises

Amit sensed my unease, but didn’t know the truth. He thought it was just a young woman’s private worry. On Holi night, beneath a sky full of lanterns and colour, he swore to me:

Our little home was bright with Holi—pink and blue gulal at the threshold, kids laughing, Bollywood songs from the neighbour’s window. Sticky gulal clung to our hair and skin, and the air outside was alive with shouts of “Bura na mano, Holi hai!” Inside, the smell of gujiya and bhang lassi lingered.

"I, Amit, will never let you down in this life!"

He said it with boyish seriousness, gulal still on his cheek. I smiled and teased, "Even if I’m a wanted criminal? Even if I’ve done terrible things? Even if I… lie to you?"

Amit squeezed my hand tightly. "If you are a criminal, I won’t cover for you, par main kabhi tumhe chhodunga nahi. If you live, I live; if you die, I die."

His stubborn loyalty left no space for fear. I laughed and hugged him, calling him a fool. But tears slid down quietly. Once, in the palace, someone else promised me the same—but in the end, he broke it.

I turned away, pretending to adjust my dupatta, but Amit’s hand found mine, squeezing softly. The night outside was noisy, but inside, it was just us—two people trying to build a new life with trembling hands.