Life, Ravan never thought of how lucky he was to live or to have never experienced any loss of a loved one, but that night Ravan seized what provoked the torrents of tears at funerals. Sorell wasn't dead, but the thought alone brought him down.

The doctor told them to go home to rest, but Ravan stayed. Marlene said she would come back the following day. As for Zaraㅡ.

"I'm sorry, Zara."

"Don't worry, Ravan, take care of her. We'll talk later."

It was neither the time nor the place to have a conversation, but also, Zara didn't wish to hear the intro to the breakup song then.

Ravan managed to contact Sorells' aunt on her Instagram page. Mireille took a late flight from Tokyo, where she worked the Rakuten Fashion week shows. She left her sister a message and hoped the woman would come to see her child.

"Let me off here. I'll walk," Mireille told the taxi driver.

It was 6 AM, and her driver had a challenging time maneuvring as channel vans paved the way to the hospital. Sorell wasn't the most famous person, but it wasn't every day that a journalist hit the columns with such a story. Also, summer was a quiet period where all paparazzi did was follow politicians and celebrities on vacation. Sorells' story shook the French news scene.

Her aunt slalomed her way through the cars, asked the welcome desk for directions, and went up.

"Ravan?"

Occupied by observing Sorell, the man didn't even hear the woman enter.

Ravan got up, "hi Msㅡ."

"Can't you call me aunty like you used to?" Mireille asked as she took him in her arms.

How time flew, Mireille knew Ravan, the boy. She met the teen several times, and now he was a grown man who didn't make her seem any younger.

The moment was an odd one for Ravan, too. He thought he would see her again around a meal, perhaps, but he never imagined it would be in these circumstances.

"How is she?"

"She's unconscious. The doctor explained all these things. All I retained was it's the body's way of recuperating."

Mireille approached the bed. Sorell was thinner than when she left, see, even slimmer than when she first arrived.

The woman noticed the headscarf on Sorells' head. Mireille doubted it was a nurse. The person who tied it knew her tutorials.

"Ravan, do you know who this belongs to?" Mireille asked.

"Oh, it's Marlene. She was a senior year student. Sorell and her were close. She'll be back in a few hours. You can meet her then."

Mireille sighed and looked at Sorell, "what have you gotten yourself into, Sorell, huh? You always have to make me worry and push gray hair to sprout in odd places. See what I do to you when you wake up."

None knew when Sorell would wake, and Mireille suspected her niece of not wanting to once she knew the whole story. No one in their right mind would wish to wake up to a world where they were the laughing stock.

Ravan went home and came back the next day and the day after. There was no change in Sorell's state. He looked ill himself.

He went to work, but he did nothing but space out.

"Ravan, you know we can take care of things here. You don't needㅡ."

"I don't need what? What do you know about my needs, Ayush? What do any of you know about my fucking needs?"

The man exploded as he realized he had spent half a year trying to be the obedient son, the perfect boss, and the boyfriend without tending to his needs and desires.

Ravan concluded he wasted time; he should have stuck to the essentials. The man estimated he should have been there with and for Sorell. It was wrong to believe she had it all and that he wasn't enough.

Ravan didn't just date Zara to test his feelings; he began to wonder if he was good enough. Wealth and status weren't the only factors he weighed. Ravan pondered on whether he had the shoulders to support her.

He faltered as a child, turned a blind eye as a teen, and now a man, he cringed every time the VHS of his time with Sorell played.

Who would desire to be with a man who let them down as much as he did? Ravan thought.

Ayush ignored his cousin's reaction. Ravan wasn't in his right state of mind. All knew it, but it didn't stop his parents from acting as though everything was fine.

"How is it going with Zara?"

Ravan put his fork down and looked straight into his father's eyes, "I won't marry her if that's what you want to know."

The answer was dry and straight to the point. One would say his parents asked for it.

Ravans' parents looked at one another before his mother replied, "I thought you liked her."

"I do. I appreciate her. I like Zara, but I don't love her, and I doubt I ever will. At least not the way she desires and deserves."

"Love takes time, Ravan," his mother said.

The man shrugged, "not really."

"What do you mean?" His father asked.

"Love doesn't always need time. Some loves are immediate, and they never die. No matter what happens."

His father cleared his throat, "you should invite Zara for dinner this weekend."

Ravan swiped his hands on his face and chuckled.

Again his parents exchanged glances.

"Are you guys serious? Have you forgotten Sorell is in the hospital? Do you really think I need or want to sit down for dinner with a woman I won't marry, eating chicken Makhani and Aloo Gobi."

"Ravan, you've already done enough for Sorell."

"Pardon."

"You've honored your friendship. It's time to move on," his father said.

"Honored what? How? I don't understand. In what did I honor anything?" Ravan said his gaze switched from his mother to his father. He remembered what Ayush said about Sorell speaking to his father and the details Paul gave.

"Dad, did you meet Sorell while I was away."

Again his parents exchanged stares. They didn't understand why their son suddenly brought up the subject.

"We met at the store once, maybe twice."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

His father shrugged, "you were abroad. It seemed irrelevant. If you're wondering, you weren't the topic of our conversations. She never asked about you. She just suggested a few influencers that could promote our stores."

Paul had told him. There was a period when their business wasn't doing well. Other stores opened, and with the arrival of Aliexpress and its three-day delivery, the Charakabarati were slowly whinin' and boglin' towards bankruptcy.

"So you're telling me that Sorell gave you names of influencers? You called, and those people decided to promote our stores just like that," Ravan said and snapped his fingers.

"Yes, why? We sponsored them. They got free products for one year."

"It didn't occur to you that perhaps Sorell got them to accept."

Ravan remembered the publicity they got and how his family made a profit.

"You see, this right there is what I don't understand everyone who has ever gravitated around Sorell leeches and never gives her any credit or consideration. Me, this family should thank the day she walked into our lives. I don't understand how you can shrug Sorell off after everything she has done for us."

"Ravan, you're tired. You should get some rest," his mother said.

"No, I don't need rest. Can you please stop deciding for me?"

"Okay, Ravan, tell us what it is you want," his father said.

"What I need right now is for Sorell to wake up so I can tell her I love her. What I need is for you to accept it because I know now the feeling is immutable and non-negotiable. ㅡI tried, I really did, but it's her and no one else. ㅡI know it's selfish and that my decision might impact your reputation. Perhaps you might even disown me, but it's the truth. I can't carry on ignoring my feelings. I don't want to waste time anymore. So I'm going to clear what I can with Zara and wait for my first and only friend to wake up to tell her it's her I want to be with in good times and bad. Come what may."

"Ravan, everyone is talking about Sorell already."

"They can talk. I don't care."

It was time for the Ms. Chakrabarati nagging show that began with, "you can't you do this to us. The Chopras expect a wedding. How can you be so self-centered."

The woman spoke, but Ravans' mind was elsewhere, and the knot in his stomach began to unravel.

"Say, something babu," [modern way of naming husband. Traditionally Indian women do not call their husbands by their first name].

Ravans' father knew from the very beginning things would come to this. Ravan was stubborn like him, and it seemed he loved like him. He fell in love once with Ravans' mother and never loved another. If there was someone who understood how Ravan felt, it was him, for, despite the present appearances, his parent's union wasn't meant to be, but there they were. The older man firmly believed in the saying where there's a will; there's a way.

It took the man time to remember why he wished to move to Europe. Of course, he sought ways to make money, but he also wished for his children to grow up in an environment that broadened their mindsets and values. Like any parent, he feared his son didn't seize the realities of being in an interracial relationship when it was he who worried about the cultural difference.

There, it was a conversation with Mr. Patel, Ravans' father recalled. Mr. Patel regretted how he and his family welcomed his sons Vincent's ex-fiancée. He said she was so willing, but they were hostile, and even if they managed to fix a few misunderstandings, the damage was done.

Vincent was now with someone else, and she still wasn't Indian. Mr. Patel concluded by saying his son Vincent preferred non-Indian women, and they just had to accept it. It wasn't like they could force a grown man who had his own business to marry who they wanted. Fear is a bad thing, my friend Mr. Patel said. The Patels let themselves sink into the psychosis of how people of the Indian community would see their family or grandchildren. Thus Vincents' fiancee went on to marry another man. Though Vincent had gotten over his aborted wedding, he still held his parents accountable for part of its failure.

Ravans' father didn't wish a rift to wedge itself between Ravan and them. Besides, it wasn't as if Sorell popped out of nowhere.

"Babu, are you listening? Tell him he can't just call everything off."

"Ravan, can you pass me the salt, please," his father said.

His mother threw her hands in the air. All knew the man's lack of verbal reaction meant consent.

Ravan passed the salt while his mother continued to lament, "oh my, I won't be able to show my face at the woman's group for at least two months. Ms. Chopra will never speak to me again. Ravan, you see in what position you put your poor mother in.' Oh my, we already chose the fabric for the garments."

While Ms. Patel finished her dramatic take, another chapter began for Sorell, who opened her eyes to a familiar face.

"Hey, you. Welcome back."

"Ma-Marlene."

"Aunty, she's awake," the woman yelled.

Mireille cut short her phone conversation and hurried to the bed, "Sorell, Chile, ah, you know how to make a grown woman cry-o."

"What, where am I?" She tried to sit up.

"No, Sorell, don't move."

"What happened?"

Marlene briefed her while Mireille went out to call Ravan. Though it was late, Ravan hurried to the hospital only to hear.

"I'm sorry, Ravan. Sorell doesn't want to see you."

Hi friends,

You didn't really expect Sorell to welcome Ravan with open arms, did you? 🙃

See you tomorrow.

Take care!