The Diwali party shines like a dream, loud and bright and saturated in gold. The fairy light wires detect every window, every door, gently flickering against the dark velvet every night. Sitar music mixed with laughter and distant pop of crackers. Somewhere down, someone had closed a sparkler fountain, the polish flooring tips ripped into tiles.

Arav bowed against a column near the edge of the room, a glass of soda in the hand, moist fingers with condensation. He was not sure why he did not come - Rhea insisted, and practically pulled him into the chaos of celebration. "You are doing a lot of work," he said. "Let's breathe. Meet people."