A/N: Here it is, the last part of the flashback series! I hope you have enjoyed this journey of self-discovery and healing for Heather. Of course, her story is far from over (she'll be present in the rest of WTHG), but it's been such a joy to explore this part of her life. Many thanks and praises to Anj for the character of Heather Bloomsdale, and for the English phonetic spellings of the Punjabi phrases used in this chapter (glossary at the bottom)

Next chapter will go back to the regularly-scheduled WTHG content; I have a buffer of seven chapters already written and ready to roll. Thank you for sticking with me and this story!

A Hundred Summer Suns Part V

White was the traditional color of mourning.

As a result, the whole palace looked like a snow storm: white saris and anarkalis and dupattas floating down hallways like specters, billowing in the wind of the courtyard all the way to the river. And wasn't that a funny thought? Snow in Jaipur. Something to laugh about if laughter was a appropriate at a time like this.

The funeral of Queen Riya was to be attended by any and every dignitary that existed. Or something of that nature. There were so many names and nationalities on the guest list that Heather gave up half way through. Which wasn't like her, but her brain was miles away.

More like on a certain person flying in from miles away. A certain person who had definitely arrived and was likely walking these very halls, waiting for a chance to see her.

Semantics.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Siddhartha asked.

He had spent the night. Nothing had happened. He held her as she cried, as she grieved the sister she would never know, and as the sun rose to greet another day, he combed his fingers through her hair and let her doze on his chest. It was very intimate. Very personal. Made Heather question everything she thought about this situationship and what it could mean.

"I'm sure," Heather said, spraying her face down with setting spray. There would be lots of tears shed today, and her mascara had to remain flawless.

She was ready.

A funeral shouldn't have to be a political statement, but the funeral was for a world leader, and so every choice Heather made had to be deliberate. Choosing to show up with Siddhartha Subramani on her arm gave a clear message that she was moving on. That she was not focused on the past. That she was not pining over the king she left half a world away.

It also told her aunties and uncles that she was serious about pursuing a future with a 'proper' Indian boy. Which wasn't an unpleasant thought, the more she actually thought about it. For the first time, she could see a future outside of what came tomorrow, and that future had Siddhartha in it.

That scared the shit out of her. Last time she indulged in those thoughts, she dreaded wearing a crown upon her head and a life spent as as useless figurehead. Now, her future could be bright and shining, with a soft, solid man at her side.

She walked over to where he sat on the bed and leaned over him. He still had morning stubble on his cheeks, and she ran her fingers over its coarseness. Just another thing she had come to like.

"I don't think I could do this without you."

Siddhartha smiled, a small one that had Heather feeling like a giddy school girl. Butterflies lashed in her stomach as he tilted his head up and kissed her. Gently, so gently. He was careful to keep his hands at her waist, not messing up the hair which took hours to tame. So considerate.

"You ready?" she asked when they parted.

Siddhartha nodded, and together they walked hand in hand out her room down to the main level. So many aunties and uncles had already gathered, sharing condolences and munching on finger foods. If it were not for the sea of white, it would look like another party.

Heads turned as they made their appearance. Heather sucked in a breath as she felt the eyes on her. Eyes that had picked apart and judged her since the day she arrived. Now, she gave them real reason to talk, and not just for her choice of escort.

Heather had given up on the pretense of ever being truly one with this place. Yes, it was her home, her inheritance, her blood. But she was also Illéan. She could not ignore that part of her, the part that screamed out of neglect. The part she had tried to hard to stuff in a box and shove to the darkest parts of her memory.

Today she wore white, but she wore it her way: a pantsuit with a cape and high heels. Technically it came from a bridal line, but it suited this occasion just as well. Freya Jackson had remembered her measurements from when she made Heather's tea party gown nearly one year ago. Heather had compensated her handsomely for the rush order.

Perhaps it was jarring to see her this way, an outsider amongst a sea of saris and dupattas. But it didn't matter what Heather wore; she would be an outsider regardless. It was time to own it.

Siddhartha squeezed her hand, bringing her back to the moment. He smiled at her, a private thing meant for just to two of them. Strange, how easily that calmed her. How it put her at peace.

They floated through the crowd, accepting condolences and exchanging pleasantries from people Heather could not name if her life depended on it. She used to be so good with faces. Perhaps it was because she used to care. The only face that mattered at this moment was Siddhartha's. The only words she cared about were the ones he whispered into her ear to distract from her sadness.

An open door distracted Heather for a moment. The door was familiar, and curiosity won over common sense.

"Go ahead," Heather said, letting go of Siddhartha's hand. "I'll be right there."

Inside, the council chambers were empty. Pillows usually covered with men arguing sat oddly empty. The smell of chai was absent, the smell of curry even more so. No one would be working on such a somber day, but it was still a shock to see the place so barren. Every seat stood empty.

Except for one.

Rahul sat silently on his high seat at the end of the table - his body bent over itself and his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He looked ragged, beat down. As eldest son, he bore the responsibly of arranging the procession, of leading the funeral rites and the prayers. Of scattering his mother's ashes. It was a large burden to bear.

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown."

"Tutti," Rahul cursed, somehow managing to bonk himself in the head as his arm slipped from its place on the armrest. "Sly demon. How did you get in here?"

"The door was open."

"Here to make more demands of me?"

"What have I demanded of you other than respect?" It was meant to be rhetorical, but it was as if a dam had broken in Heather's soul and the words started to pour out. "All I have ever wanted since I came here was a place to call home. I wanted you to like me. Not love. Like. Even that is too much to ask for. Well, I am done asking. Hate me if you must. You will not get me to back down or betray my beliefs. You will not silence me."

Her chest was heaving by the end of it, her heart racing. It was one thing to speak her mind so freely in front of Riya: someone who appreciated her acerbic commentary. Rahul was a different beast entirely. Rahul did not like her, did not take kindly to anything Heather did. Rahul was -

Rahul was laughing.

"You remind me so much of your mother. So much it is hard to look at you and not see her staring back." Rahul's eyes were dark, as if he were seeing through her and into the past. "She never gave anyone room to speak, not even if they were trying to help. No doubt she told you of those times, all those days we spent in these very halls playing ruler."

"She did not speak of you at all," Heather corrected. This seemed to shock Rahul, his eyes widening, then narrowing into slits. As if he could not comprehend her mother's dedication to a grudge. "You were dead to her the moment you told her her child was gone, as she was dead to you. Sending me in the summers was a kindness to my grandmother, nothing more."

None of this was new. Yet, the silence between them grew as Rahul sat with the weight. Perhaps this was the first time he really sat with it, allowed it in. Allowed himself to grieve a woman he pushed away because tradition demanded. A relationship he could never heal, never gain closure.

Years creased between his forehead, lines that sprung from nowhere and took away his youthful arrogance. He was not that young, but time had been kind to him. Until now.

Moments went by, and finally, Rahul stood.

"Then let us meet each other not as family, but as equals."

"You are a raj."

"And you are my counselor." That shocked Heather. True, that was her title, but it was the first time Rahul had recognized her as such, had said it with respect and not the condescension with which she was accustomed. "Stubborn, yes. Young beyond belief. But I have read your work. I have seen the hours you put in. The rani was many things, but stupid was not one of them. Her approval was hard-won and never misplaced. I would be remiss to dismiss you so suddenly."

"Is wounded pride the cause of your change of mind?"

"Each blow landed to a good man makes him great," Rahul said as if reciting some great poet or author. "With you on my council, I will become great."

"Or I will lose my head."

"We shall see." The smile on his face was only half-menacing. The other half was genuine amusement. And, perhaps, support. "Do you really have any other offers?"

"You're still a bastard, Your Majesty," Heather said with a quick curtsey. Like she would back down to a challenge once it was given. This was her home. She would fight for her spot in it, then fight to dismantle it and build it back better. "I will be at council at nine sharp. Try not to be late."

Out in the hall, guests milled about, talking in hushed voices. No doubt they all spoke about each other. Funeral or no, all the aunties knew how to do was gossip.

Heather couldn't find Siddhartha. He must have truly gone ahead with the procession. He would be waiting by the river. Heather would have to make it there on her own, and for a moment, she regretted her decision to send him along.

At the end of the hall, standing in a private alcove by a fountain, were Heather's cousins. Hemali and Ananaya spoke quietly to themselves, hands covering their mouths as their eyes darted across the room. Searching for suitors most likely; they had no shame. Naina had arrived earlier that day, fresh from her honeymoon and ready to put on a good show. She kept one arm thrown across her face (the arm which held the hand upon which her giant ring sat, the diamond sparkling in the light for all to gawk at) while Auntie Janki tended to her with a towel and glass of water.

"Auntie, cousins, I grieve with you," Heather said, stepping in front of the mother-daughter scene.

"How could you know our grief?" Naina cried. "You barely knew the rani."

Naina's senses were fragile; she had always been so easily affected by bad moods. Still, the words stung in a way Heather could not have expected.

"Naina," Janki hissed, smacking her daughter on the arm. "It was hardly Heather's fault she was raised overseas. You know how well the rani thought of her, how she loved Heather."

"Mother, please," Hemali sighed, tugging on Janki's arm while Ananaya bit on her fingers. "You know how Naina gets - "

"My honeymoon was ruined for this nonsense, and now she is here soaking up the drama as if she is not set her eyes on our father's crown!"

People were starting to look, the whispers ceasing in order to spy on what the princess would say next. Heather felt horrific anger ignite in her stomach. For a moment, she wanted to hold Naina's head under the water until she stopped thrashing. But, beneath that anger, was a moment of clarity. Understanding.

"Where is all this coming from, dearest?" Janki was visibly distressed, trying to put herself between the two girls as if Heather and Naina would start brawling right there in the middle of the hall. "I thought you loved your cousin."

"Grief has a way of bringing out the worst in us," Heather said, eyeing the way Naina turned her nose to the air, how she refused to make eye contact. "This was a long time coming, wasn't it Naina?"

"Girls, please - " Auntie Janki tried to cut in, but was overpowered.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Oh, so this was how she wanted to play it? If Heather was burning bridges today, she might as well burn them all.

"You've always resented me. You've always been jealous of how well I know myself, how I know what I want, how I go after it. That's why you threw yourself into this marriage. You wanted so badly to have a purpose like that."

"Ki, tussi pagal hai?" Naina asked, offended. Anger was not pretty on her doll-like features. If her eyes got any wider, they would pop out of her inflated head.

"Perhaps," Heather said with a shrug. Maybe she was crazy. That would be tame compared to all the things she'd been called in her short yet eventful life. "But it's not my job to dull myself so you can shine. This is my life. I have earned the right to live it as I please."

"Kuri pagal hai," Hemali sighed, her body turned to her sister in conspiracy.

"Dimag khrab ya," Ananaya agreed, frowning in disappointment at Heather. "Aadj kaal, gori dimag khrab ya!"

"I do speak Punjabi, you know," Heather snapped, shutting her cousins up quickly. "I'm not white. I'm just as brown as the three of you. You can sit up on your pedestals and pretend you're better than me, but were are the same. The same blood runs in our veins and we grow from the same branches of the family tree. The difference is that I choose to do something about this world we live in while you are content to sit back and let things be. I wish I had that luxury. I truly do. I wish I didn't know what it was like to be wrongfully accused of something I didn't do and face the worst part of the justice system. I wish I didn't know what it was like to be discriminated against by my own family. Life must be so much simpler when everything is handed to you."

For brown girls, they sure got red, Naina the most of them all. None of them knew what to say. Janki, for all her mothering, stood silent and gaping like a fish. Even the nosy aunties and uncles eavesdropping remained silent.

Heather was sick of silence. She wanted this drama in the past.

"I wish you nothing but happiness, Naina," Heather said, meaning every word. She loved her cousin, even if she was a piece of work.

"Tussi kutti hai," Naina spat.

"You're right. I am a bitch. Wonder where I got that from."

Naina let out a frustrated squeal and stormed away from Heather, Hemali close behind. Janki gave Heather an apologetic glance as she chased after her daughters. Always trying to put out fires, that woman - all without knowing she caused them.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing, cousin," Ananaya said as she passed. "This can be a lonely place without friends."

As if this spoiled princess knew anything about true loneliness.

"Were you really my friends?" Heather asked, thinking of all the family dinners peppered with snide comments and low jabs about her father, her looks, her upbringing, her entire presence in India. "Or were you just going through the motions?"

She didn't expect an answer. Nor did Ananaya give one. The princess turned on her heel and followed her sisters.

Heather was alone, but it wasn't unbearable this time. It was liberating.

Slow applause caught her attention.

Heather turned around, and her breath caught in her chest. The floating liberation came crashing back to earth. The whole world shifted under her feet.

It was inevitable, she supposed.

Heather was alone with Kaden.

The last time this happened, she had lied to him. She had said the most hurtful, unforgivable thing she possibly could so they could both move on. She had been convinced then that she had made the right decision. Now, seeing him leaned up against the alcove in an umber suit that only made his hair and eyes look darker - so dark she could drown in them - she faltered.

Was it possible he had gotten taller in the six months they'd been apart? He was only nineteen - twenty now, a birthday she had not acknowledged flashing in her periphery - and still had so much growing up to do. They both did.

"I heard you from down the hall. I would recognize your dressing-down anywhere," he said, his voice light with teasing. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you."

Heather couldn't help but fidget under the full force of his attention. Time and distance had let her forget how unnerving it was to have those big, brown eyes focused solely on her. She used to get smug about it - how he always used to search for her in a crowd, how he relied on her for support. It made her feel powerful. Now, all Heather felt was guilt. Guilt and longing and undeniable sadness.

"Is Finnley not with you?" she asked for want of something to break the silence. Silence had never been their problem, but now she couldn't think of what to say, crushed by the weight of everything left unspoken.

"No she, ah, is still in Illéa. We decided that her first international outing should be something a little less ominous than a funeral."

"I didn't take you to be the superstitious type."

"The Selection changed all that," he said with a smile. It wasn't a particularly happy one, weighted down by the same sadness. "You know that."

"I do." They were the only two people in the world who could possibly understand. "And I am grateful you are here. The rani would have liked it."

"No she wouldn't. She hated Illéans."

"Not all. Just my father, but that was enough." Heather watched Kaden's face tighten just a fraction before smoothing out. Still, the furrow in his brow lingered. Heather had the urge to trace it, its newness strangely attractive. So, she did the logical thing and crossed the narrow hall to put him out of touching distance. She leaned up against the window, watching the guests file out the gates to start the funeral procession. Only a few stragglers now, she and Kaden the only ones who remained in this particular alcove. "I've learned some things about my parents recently. The circumstances of my family and how we came to be. Of the tragedy that followed."

Kaden's face clouded over, a storm on an otherwise sunny day.

"Anything interesting?"

"I have a sister." Words on the tip of Heather's tongue. In another life, she would have told Kaden immediately. They had no secrets. But lines had been drawn, and they needed to be reinforced.

"Nothing worth repeating," she said instead, crossing her arms over her chest. "The past won't change just because I know it."

Coming to terms with that had been hard, something she would have to work on for years to come. Gaining and losing a sister was...a lot. The circumstances of both of their existences had changed her fundamentally. Not even therapy would untie the knot of tangled emotions Heather had around that particular knowledge. But she was trying. She was trying so hard...

Kaden pulled at his jacket, the fabric at the cuffs tearing as his nerves got the better of him.

"Here, let me."

She crossed the hall in three long strides and had his hands in hers before Kaden had the chance to speak. Heather pulled at his cuffs, a second nature for all the times she had done this before. She acted before she could think, her fingers clamping the fabric and smoothing it down so that the cufflinks lay perfectly flat once more. She smoothed her hands across his wrists, his skin warm and pale beneath hers.

She pulled away, remembering herself.

"I called, I texted, and you never replied," he said softly with no reproach. Just a soft hurt. A silent question of why.

"What did you want me to say?" It was hard not to sound accusatory, to put blame where it did not belong. "Did you want me to tell you that I missed you? That I thought about you morning, noon, and night? That I regretted my decision to leave and every day was a struggle not to come crawling back for your scraps?"

Grief clogged her throat, made her eyes burn. Being so vulnerable was terrifying. It was hard not to fall apart, knowing just how easy and willingly Kaden would catch her. That would only spell trouble.

"I... I don't - " Kaden stammered, brown eyes lost and shining. He was so close she could smell his cologne - the same spicy-sweet mix he had worn during his Selection, during the night he had carried her to bed and cuddled her while she cried. He reached up to touch her, his arms jerking in tiny aborted movements before falling back to his sides. "Heather, I didn't know."

"You were never supposed to. Those were my burdens to bear. My problems to work through."

"I just wanted you to be happy. We could have been happy. Together."

"No, we couldn't." She raised his wrist so he could see the hole he wrought in his jacket, how the metal of his cufflinks stood on the verge of falling out. "One mention of that man, and you come undone. I know it because the same thing happens to me. We would ruin each other, Kaden. I can't do that to you, and you can't do that to me. You don't have to worry about me anymore. I will be just fine."

And that was the truth. Perhaps not now, nor in a month or year from now, but eventually she would wake up and the hurt wouldn't flay her alive. One day, she would wake up and the good would outweigh the bad, and every horrible thing that had happened to her would have been worth it.

She patted Kaden's chest right over his heart, careful not to crumple the pocket square poking out the breast pocket. Blue, the same shade as her eyes.

"The past is the past. Let's put it to rest."

"I don't want to live without you."

"Who said anything about living without me?" she teased, slapping him playfully. Just like she had done countless times before. "There's an emissions conference in Frankfurt next month and I fully expect you to attend it. I have a lot to say about green energy and someone has to back my bills."

"Of course. How can I refuse?"

"You can't." Heather closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, she was ready to move on. "You're a great king, Kaden Schreave, and an even better man."

"So long as I do exactly what you say?"

"So long as you do exactly what I say," she agreed, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes but she refused to let them fall. She would not be sad. Not now. Perhaps later in the safety of her own room, but not now. She patted Kaden's lapels one last time and gave him a wide smile. "I've put too much effort into your reign to see you fail."

He wouldn't fail. She knew the man behind the crown, had vetted his new governors and seen the policies he'd put into action. He was shaping up to have an unforgettable reign that would change Illéa for the better. Kaden Schreave would go down in history as one of his country's greatest kings, and Heather wouldn't even make the footnotes.

"Can I escort you to the ceremony?"

"No," Heather said quickly. Too quickly by the way Kaden flinched. She backpedaled quickly. "I mean, no thank you. I just... I need a minute."

Kaden nodded.

Heather was choosing herself for the first time. And even though it hurt, even though it felt like her heart was being torn to pieces, she knew she would make it through this stronger. Every step along the path to the river brought her closer to the future she chose, the future she wanted to build here in the country of her ancestors. In this place where she would tend to the roots of the family tree her mother tried to cut off at its neck.

At the funeral, she stood side by side with Siddhartha and kept her eyes on water. On the pandit and Rahul leading the prayers. On the ashes scattered in the wind. On the way everyone sobbed but her eyes remained dry.

After the funeral, after everyone had retired back to the reception banquet to sing and dance and revel through the night as the late rani would have wanted, Heather remained by the river.

The last time she stood on these banks, it was in celebration. Naina had gotten married. Everyone's spirits were high. And yet, Heather remained just as solemn then as she felt now. As if, even in then, she knew she would wind up back at these banks with even more heartache.

She had released her petals into the river and prayed for direction. For love. For life.

Now, her petals were white. It was not tradition to make an offering in the wake of a death. But Heather was not traditional. The blood in her veins clashed, a war of cultures and beliefs roiling within her. She had been foolish to try and take sides, to tame them. The only way to find peace in her own body was to accept that she would never find peace.

She would always be different. She would always be an outsider.

Riya had understood that. Riya had respected that. Had cultivated that. Had pitted her against her own family in order to make Heather stronger. Riya was a toxic bitch, but her heart was in the right place. That, at least, deserved some respect.

Not everything had changed. Heather still didn't know how to pray. She still didn't know who or what to believe in. But she knew that India had lost a great leader, that this new raj was untested and cocky and had a lot to learn. Whatever powers above might not have lent their guiding hands to steer him, but someone had to, and Heather was more than capable for the job.

She no longer had to be purposeless.

"But you knew that, didn't you," she said to the water, dropping her petals into the deep, dark abyss. Ganga Ma swallowed them whole, sucking them down into her depths alongside Riya's ashes. This time, she let them all go. Heather could swear she heard the rani's laugh on the wind, felt her kiss on the mist that rose as the wind whipped across her cheek. Heather smiled and placed a kiss to her hand which she then placed on the dock. "Rest well, Your Majesty."

She would need it, for all the hell Priya was likely giving her.

Up on the hill, she saw a familiar shadow cut into the landscape. Strange, how she could recognize Siddhartha from so far away. Strange, how fast she could get attached.

Though an outsider, she no longer had to be alone.

"You're still here," he said, half astonished and half mourning.

"Of course I am." Heather stepped closer, footsteps silent on the stone patio. The sun had sunk below the horizon, the sky a bruise of purples and blues that cast Siddhartha into shadows. "Where else would I be?"

"Your king has come to take you away."

"And here I thought Rahul and I had come to an understanding."

"Please, Heather. Do not play games with me. Not about this."

"Then stop saying such foolish things." Irritation flashed, a gift from her father. She calmed herself and took a deep breath and tried again. "I am not going anywhere. My place is here, in this palace arguing with my cousins about who ate the last of the panjiri and driving out the country to dance the bhangra during Vaisakhi and challenging these crusty old bastards who make the laws."

Siddhartha remained confused and unconvinced.

"You've known him most of your life. You've been here six months. How could you give up everything you know for such a risk?"

"When I picture my life ten years from now, it's not on some throne in a country where everyone knows my name for the worst reasons."

It was hard to think of Illéa now, hard to remember the good inside so much bad. It made her homesick in a way she could not understand, but she also knew her mind played tricks. Home was not a place, but people. And the truth was, she had more people here she cared about than she ever did in Illéa.

"I know it's a risk, but it's also a choice. I choose this family, this council, this country. And I would very much like to choose you to be by my side."

It was still so sudden, so soon. Heather would not blame him for backing out or running away. There was still so much explaining she had to do. She just hoped she had the time and space to do it. Hoped he was as good as she suspected and would stay.

Finally, he looked at her. The ice broke, and Heather knew they would be okay.

"I'll be honest, I'm a bit nervous," he said, his lips quirked into a side smile. Still, he took her hands in his, let his thumb run over the ridge of her knuckles. "Ever since I saw those sapphire blue eyes, I knew there was no going back. There's no one quite like you, Heather Bloomsdale."

Their kiss felt like a promise. A future built over the horizon of a hundred summer suns.

.o.O.o.

Heather shut the diary.

All these years later, and the ache in her heart had not dulled. It had gone away from time to time, hid itself in the annals of her brain until it found the chance to rear its head, but it had never left her. Grief was funny like that. It imprinted on her soul, wove its way into her bones.

Priya's grief was Heather's grief. It was Heather's birthright, her inheritance.

Foolish to believe that the diaries would provide any guidance. All they offered was sins and tragedies.

She pulled the jar of coins out and dusted the glass. Inside, the rupees jingled and chimed as they were disturbed from their resting place: the coins collected as she and Siddhartha spent summers lying under the stars, rolled up in their tents in the countryside as they tried to better understand the people they served. The very first coins they had earned not from family wealth or blood money, but from hard, honest work.

She took the ribbon out next. One of the hundreds that had held together the bouquets from Riya's funeral. Even now, the touch of the silk brought back the scent of roses and juniper. She had used that own ribbon to tie her bridal bouquet. Her 'something blue' - one western tradition she had held onto much to the dismay and superstition of her cousins. They had seen it as a curse to include such a sad artifact on a happy day. Heather had seen it as including the first woman who believed in her, letting Riya - in her own way - walk Heather down the aisle.

So many relics, so many lives, so many years.

Sometimes it felt like the blink of an eye. Other times she felt the weight of all the years heavy upon her shoulders.

The phone remained silent. Kaden hadn't called back. She didn't expect him to. This was a touchy topic. The fact he had called at all spoke volumes about his head space.

Resentment welled in Heather's chest, irrational and fleeting. She wished Kaden hadn't called. She wished she didn't know, didn't have to face this, didn't have to make this impossible choice: Look this demon in its eyes and lay it to rest or let it haunt her until she joined her mother in the afterlife.

Heather left her room and walked down the hall to Zahrah's room. She lingered in the doorway, watching her daughter play with Siddhartha's beard as he nodded off on a bed made for a child - too small for his larger frame. Laughter played at her lips as Zahrah caught her eye and that same mischievous glint Heather was used to seeing in her own eye reflected back at her.

The child would be a beast in the morning. Staying up past bedtime spelled disaster.

Yet, Heather entered the room and joined her family in bed. They were squished on the tiny pillows, but Zahrah was delighting, laughing as Heather pulled her close and breathed in her sweet, sweet scent.

No decisions had to be made tonight. They could wait until the morning. For tonight, Heather simply wanted to enjoy this family. This love.

Glossary:

"tussi kutti hai" — you're a bitch

"kuri pagal hai" — she's crazy

"ki, tussi pagal hai?" — what, are you crazy/insane?

"dimag khrab ya" — literally means "brain gone bad": used when implying someones an idiot

"aadj kaal, gori dimag khrab ya!" — these days/currently, white people are stupid

"tutti" - shit