Codename lotus, p.32
Codename Lotus, page 32
But the woman only smiled. “It’s quite all right. No judgments here.”
“How did you know?” I was so confused. Was it written on my forehead now?
She gestured at Saanya’s hand, fisted in my robe. “Body language. And, well…” She gestured vaguely between us.
I looked down at myself. My abdomen and cleavage were exposed, all while Saanya’s hand was making direct contact with my naked, wet, of course wet skin. I cleared my throat and fixed my lapel.
“Oh, bollocks.” Sidharth made a strangled sound. His hands were deep in his scalp again.
“Ahh!” Saanya cried, sweaty and breathless. “I’m sorry to be rude, but please shut up. I need to push!”
Dr. Banerjee leaned in. “All right, Saanya. When you feel the next contraction, I want you to push. I’m right here.”
I squeezed Saanya’s hand tighter, caressing her damp hair. “He’s almost here,” I whispered, my lips brushing her knuckles. Her gaze locked with mine.
“Push!”
Squeezing my hand and gripping the towel beneath her, she bore down, breathless, face contorting, hair plastered to her temples. Absolutely beautiful.
The scream ripped out of her throat, loud and free.
And then a new one joined it. A piercing cry filled the air.
Dr. Banerjee lifted the tiny, wrinkled, red bundle, and Saanya gasped, overwhelmed.
“Ten fingers, ten toes,” the doctor said, laying the baby on her chest.
A strangled noise came from my left.
I turned.
Sidharth was crying.
The baby was crying.
And then, from the other side of the bedroom, where I had forcibly exiled him—
“Is that the baby?” Ravi sobbed.
Silly idiot.
“Yes,” I said, laughing as I wiped the corner of my eye.
Saanya, exhausted, still smiled. “Imagine if we’d gone to the St. Regis.”
I chuckled.
What a date night this had turned out to be.
28
A NEW LOVE
SAANYA
The day after Shai’s birth, Sidharth left for Kolkata to bite the bullet with Baba. Relief swept through me. Call it cowardice if you want, but I knew my father. It wouldn’t be easy for Sid.
Nor would it be for me when I finally told him I was dating a woman.
The city’s hum drifted faintly beneath the high-rise flat where we’d found a temporary sanctuary. Ravi was ecstatic to host us longer—so much so that one morning, a rocking chair magically appeared in the guest bedroom we’d claimed as ours.
Naomi and I ordered baby essentials online—blankets, nappies, a crib. Thankfully, I already had the little clothes she’d bought in Geneva, folded neatly in my suitcase.
Meanwhile, I was learning to live in my new skin: hormones, sleepless nights, and tears at the strangest things. I’d read about the postpartum rollercoaster, but nothing prepared me for sobbing over spilled milk. Literally.
One night I was so exhausted I knocked over a bottle of expressed milk and collapsed into a meltdown. Another morning, I cried because I’d put Shai’s sleepsuit on backwards. There was the hysterical laughter-turned-sobbing fit, and the adverts—God, the adverts.
Once, Naomi walked in to find me silently crying while watching Shai sleep.
“Saanya, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”
I choked on my breath. “I just…can’t believe he’s mine. That I’m—”
“Oh, dear.”
But how could I not? He was so small. So soft. So absolutely perfect. His cheeks, his pouty lips, that irresistible baby smell. Shai was a tiny baby—which probably explained my small belly—but he was everything. I would cry myself into a puddle if it meant I’d get to have him in every lifetime.
Yes, I was a disaster—my schedule, my hair, my moods. And I’d never been happier.
And Naomi, my Naomi, had been devastatingly good. She made sure I ate, forced me to rest, shouldered night shifts. My poor ice queen had even developed dark shadows under her eyes, yet she still looked effortlessly beautiful.
But the biggest surprise wasn’t just her kindness; it was how naturally she fell into this. The woman I’d once thought untouchable and cold was holding bottles, pacing floors, and rocking my son with a tenderness that stole my breath.
One afternoon, I’d been napping—Naomi had practically ordered me to bed—when I woke and padded to our room.
I stopped in the doorway.
Naomi sat on the bed’s edge, cradling Shai. Her voice was a soft whisper.
“Meri jaan, kivein aa? Shhh…let’s not wake your mother. She’s wonderful, but she’s napping in silly Ravi’s room. You can bear with me this time, can’t you? I know it’s feeding time, but let’s give her a few more minutes.”
Meri jaan. My darling.
Since Shai’s birth, Naomi had slipped into speaking Hindi and Punjabi more often. She read him bedtime stories, whispered lullabies she’d clearly found online—Naomi Smith-Chopra definitely didn’t know any lullabies before the baby—and even told him stories of her greatest business conquests, as if he were her newest protégé.
She rocked him, thumb brushing his tiny foot until his cries softened.
She’s got you hypnotized too. I can’t blame you, my little Babu.
I watched her for a long moment, something deep and fragile blooming inside me. God, I loved her. I hadn’t said it since that night, but I felt it more and more each day. Watching her hold my son, call him hers, look at him like she already loved him too—how could I not fall harder?
I stepped in. “You’re a natural,” I said softly. “If only the world knew.”
She glanced up, a faint pink on her cheeks. “This is only for him,” she said with a wry smile. “I do have a reputation to uphold, believe it or not.”
She shifted Shai toward me. I took him, settled on the bed, and unbuttoned my shirt. His tiny mouth latched, his hand splayed warm against my heart.
“What a life,” Naomi mused, watching. “Would it be wrong if I said I’m jealous of him?”
I laughed softly, but beneath her teasing was a quiet longing.
We hadn’t properly kissed in weeks. We’d kept the no-sex boundary, but even without crossing that line, we had fallen into an easy, intimate rhythm. Domesticity had softened us both, tangled us together in ways neither of us had expected.
Maybe it was all those months of practice. Or maybe it was something simpler.
I wanted her.
And I wanted this.
More than anything, I couldn’t wait to be back in London, just the three of us.
I pressed a kiss on Shai’s brow.
Naomi traced his cheek. “Shai,” she murmured, as if testing the name on her tongue. Her gaze lifted to mine. “How did you decide on it?”
We’d searched for hours—books, endless lists of our favorite names. Everything felt too common or too contrived. Nothing fit.
“It came to me a while ago,” I said. “I didn’t want just any name. I wanted it to mean something. Then I remembered the swing set.”
Naomi frowned. “The swing set?”
“In Geneva. The one in your garden.”
She froze, her finger going motionless against Shai’s soft skin. Then, realization dawned. “Wait…Shai is short for Shailendra?”
I nodded.
Her breath hitched, eyes suddenly bright and watery. “Really?”
That quiet afternoon returned to me: I’d been walking through the garden when I noticed it—faintly carved into the worn-out corner of the wooden swing set, like the kind of secret people press into tree bark, hoping time won’t erase it.
“I hope it’s all right. It’s okay if it’s not—I mean, perhaps this was presumptuous.”
Her gaze lowered before she looked up. “That would have been my name had I been a boy.”
I blinked. “What?”
“My parents had an agreement. Dad named the girl, Mum the boy. She must’ve carved it before I was born.”
“Is it okay?” I asked softly. “We can change it if—”
“No.” She looked back down at Shai, smiling, then up at me again. Her lips curved, impossibly tender. “It’s more than okay. It’s perfect.”
She nudged his little cheek. Then, she met my gaze, measured. “Shailendra…Singh?”
“Oh, I am dropping that.”
A tiny light sparkled in Naomi’s eyes again. “Good, Shailendra Hazra has a stronger ring to it.”
I exhaled, shifting my gaze to his curled little fingers on mine. “I don’t know. After tomorrow, I may need a new family name for both of us.”
Naomi’s hand trailed over my thigh, grounding me. “Why tomorrow?”
I met her eyes. “Do I even have to say it?”
“Ah. Your father.” Her lips pressed together. She nodded, quiet. Both of us knew what my second coming out meant.
If Baba stripped me of my inheritance, so be it. I had a house, savings, my career, and the small fortune I’d accumulated as a shareholder of GlobalLink. I could provide for my son.
I wanted Shai to have his grandparents, to know where he came from. But even if they rejected me, I had him. I had myself.
I only prayed my father wouldn’t try to shove me back into the closet again.
29
HOME
SAANYA
When we arrived in Kolkata, the night air had wrapped around me like a familiar shawl, heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth and shiuli.
My parents’ home was as I’d always known it—warm and welcoming. White walls. Jali lamps scattering shadows like banyan leaves on stone. Arches, latticework, and marble cool beneath my feet.
The garden outside breathed the grounding smell of damp grass, while the clouds above hung swollen, inevitable.
Inside, I watched Baba’s face light up with pride as he sang Naomi’s praises and recounted every reason why he’d once hoped she’d one day become part of our family.
For a moment, I let myself have it. A reckless second where I imagined absolute acceptance. That my father could welcome my love with open arms. It felt like sunshine after months of winter. Hope flickered, fragile, daring to burn despite the dampness of a reality that tried to smother it. I swear things snapped into color—life felt whole for me too.
“Naomi, you’ve always been like a daughter to me,” Baba said, taking her hands in both of his.
Then came the words that snuffed that flicker of hope. Just like that, I understood. Naomi—the unattainable girl I had yearned for in silence—was being embraced into the family, but not as mine. Never as mine.
The pride on my father’s face wasn’t meant for me.
“You and Sidharth were inseparable,” he went on, oblivious. “The perfect pair since you were teenagers. Always together, always understanding each other. Once you two became adults, I always imagined you as my daughter-in-law—my perfect daughter-in-law. Leading the business with him—and my Saanya, of course.”
He extended his arm to me. “The three of you running GlobalLink.”
His voice swelled with certainty. “And you turned out exactly as I foresaw. A business mastermind, without a single blemish in your career. A woman with an indisputable reputation.”
Something closed painfully around my throat.
Naomi offered him a measured, polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Hazra. Though I’ve had plenty of blemishes.”
Her tone softened. “I wanted to take this moment to apologize, face to face, for what my dealings cost you. Please believe me when I say I never took it lightly. But unfortunately, I saw no other way out. I will not make a profit out of this, of course.”
She meant the pending sale of GlobalLink to Vertex Group, only months away from being finalized.
Sadness flickered in Baba’s eyes before he masked it. “Well, resignation comes at a cost. But it has finally arrived. And you were very generous in your offer. It’s in motion, so there’s no looking back.”
That small price had been Sidharth’s to pay. Thankfully, I’d been spared his bad mood these past two weeks while in Mumbai with Shai and Naomi.
By the time we reached Kolkata, Mum had transformed my old room into a nursery with everything Shai could possibly need, and beyond. Handmade wooden toys, designer clothes, high-tech baby monitor, jungle-themed soothing lights, and a cotbed to match the outrageously expensive Silver Cross pram he was comfortably sleeping in right now.
I eyed him. He was curled up and peaceful, his tiny hands tucked against his cheek.
“I’m eternally grateful for what you’ve done for my children and my grandson,” Baba told Naomi, sincerity ringing true. “Whatever you need, consider it done.”
I knew my father was a man of his word, and he would honor it.
Whatever you need, consider it done.
Anything? If I asked, if she asked?
Hope flickered again.
I stepped forward, my heart hammering. “Baba…” My voice trembled. “There’s something I have to tell you—”
But before I could, my mother’s voice swept through the foyer:
“Where is he? This girl of mine…surprising me like this without warning!”
She rushed into the living room like a gust of fresh air—the clink of bangles, the rustle of silk. She dropped her bag and keys onto the sofa, eyes already finding the baby as she adjusted the dupatta of her saree.
“Oh, my little prince, there you are!” she cooed, scooping him into her arms. “Look at you, amar shona. So perfect, just waiting for your Didima, weren’t you?” Shai started to pout as she admired him. “Who’s the most beautiful babu? Yes, you are, yes you are,” she murmured as she swept him away in a trail of perfume.
“Um. Hi, Mum? I missed you too!” I called after her.
“Go on, mishti,” Baba urged.
The term of endearment—mishti—meant sweet in Bengali. Would he still mean it after I confessed?
I drew a breath. “Baba, I’m with someone. A woman. And I won’t be living in Kolkata. I’m moving to London.”
I had long since buried all hope of ever coming out to my family. Years ago, I’d resigned myself to a loveless marriage that turned into a hell I still carried in scars.
But this—this was me taking a stand. Choosing myself for the first time.
No longer the girl whose first kiss had turned into the most traumatizing, humiliating moment of her life. I still remembered Naomi staring at me with such depth and silence, witnessing it all from the other side of the scandal, the safe side. And now here we were. I never in a million years would have thought it would be us.
The words were finally out.
My father paled.
His face contorted, the pride and warmth from earlier twisting into something colder, sharper—something that cut straight through me.
“What nonsense are you talking about?” he burst out. “After all these years, after everything that happened before, you still bring this up again?”
“Baba—”
He shook his head and scoffed. “So, this is what you’ve decided to be? Without considering that you are a mother. What sort of example will you set for your child?! This is—appalling, Saanya!”
My eyes burned; my father blurred. Naomi moved closer, but I lifted a trembling hand—
“It’s all right,” I whispered, and she held back.
“Baba, please try to understand—”
“Understand?!” he spat, his every word spiked with fire. “How can I understand this? You agreed to marry, to live properly. And now you throw it all away for—” He waved a dismissive hand through the air, unable to even say it.
He couldn’t even say it.
“For what? What even is this you propose? Just some—unnatural relationship?”
Unnatural.
Thunder rumbled outside. That storm I’d foreseen earlier.
My breath hitched. Every sentence coming out of his mouth was like a paper cut.
“So unedifying, Saanya,” he muttered. “Do you know what this will bring to our family name? Talk, gossip…I’m—” He hesitated, and in that hesitation, I somehow knew what was coming next.
“Please reconsider your next words, Baba. I beg you. Do not say something you can’t take back.”
The barely contained cry in my voice frustrated me further. I hated how small I sounded. How small I felt.
“I never thought I would say that I…” His voice trembled, a bright wetness held at his lower lashes.
Oh, Baba, please don’t say it.
My very soul was shattering.
“…That I am ashamed of you.”
Outside, the rain finally broke.
My tears fell as the man I adored most—my source of love and strength—severed me from him. I stood frozen as my father placed a condition on the capacity of his love for me.
“Aren’t you ashamed?” he demanded. A shadow of humiliation flashed in his eyes as he barely looked at Naomi. “How can you say this so casually? And in front of—why now, in front of our guest?”
I couldn’t take it.
My hand trembled as I drew it over my lips, and turned away. Ugly-crying was real when it came from the roots of your soul.
I just couldn’t handle it.
How do you gather yourself when half of your world is falling apart?
My happy ending wasn’t going as expected.
All along, Naomi had kept a short distance, respectfully giving us our space. But the distress in her face was hard to miss. From the corner of my eye, I watched her move in fast.
I intercepted her. “You don’t have to do this,” I whispered, barely catching the fabric of her sleeve. “What’s the point in him loathing you too?”
But there was only certainty in her eyes when she stepped forward.
“Vikram,” she said evenly. “I am the woman Saanya is seeing.”
The room stilled. My father slumped onto the sofa, stunned.
Coming from someone as imperious and dignified as Naomi, the declaration should have landed like a gauntlet at his feet. But instead, she moved with quiet grace, settling beside him. And for the first time, I saw my father speechless, adrift in disbelief.
