Holi arrived with its usual chaos — the house smelled of rosewater and color powder.
Sarees were draped. Dadi made laddoos before sunrise. Ren tried to convince everyone to let him DJ.
Leo was supposed to come.
He'd promised.
But he didn't.
A text buzzed at noon:
"Still in meetings. Got pulled into something last minute. I'll come by in the evening."
I watched everyone playing together — laughing, dancing, drenched in pink and green.
Even Amisha's boyfriend was there, wearing too much yellow.
Even Ren tried bonding with Uncle over bhang stories.
But Leo…
Wasn't.
And that absence felt bigger than the room.
Later that evening, I sat beside Dadi on the veranda, the sky fading orange above us. My cheeks still smudged with color, my heart weighed with something heavier.
She looked at me knowingly. "He loves you," she said softly.
"I know," I replied. "But loving me… isn't the same as being here."
"He wasn't raised for this," she said. "Family. Celebrations. Togetherness. He doesn't know how to make space for it."
I looked down at my hands. "I didn't ask for much."
"You didn't," she agreed. "But he's not absent out of cruelty, beti. He's absent out of habit. Give him time. Let him feel what he's missing."
"And if he doesn't?"
She set her cup down. "Then you ask yourself what you need. And whether love is enough… if it always shows up late."
That Night
Leo arrived around 10.
He had dinner with the family — quiet, polite, present.
But it felt like he was doing it because he was supposed to, not because he wanted to.
Like fulfilling a checkbox.
I barely ate.
I went straight to bed after.
He came in later. Slid into bed behind me, wrapped an arm around my waist.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I tried. I really did."
He kissed my cheek. Then my neck. His hand slid softly down my side.
I moved his hand away. "I'm tired," I said quietly.
He didn't argue.
He turned over. And we both lay there, facing opposite walls.
Eyes open in the dark.
Wondering how we could feel this far apart — even while touching.
I didn't sleep much that night.
Instead, I lay there asking myself the question Dadi had asked me.
If love is always late…
Is it still enough?