Sunlight filtered through the curtains. Tara stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she was confused as she looked around; then she realised that she had woken up in a new room and a new bed, yet felt a sense of absolute serenity.

Her fingers moved to the side table but before she could lift it, her phone rang, giving her a start. She glanced at it and froze, her face turning pale. Vikram had not given up. He had called her 25 times through the night. “Vik” and a picture of his smiling face glared at her from the screen. Her hand trembled and the phone slipped from her grasp, falling to the ground. Its insistent ring continued for a while and then died.

Rising to her feet, Tara walked across to the window and flung it wide open. There it was – the ocean, stretching limitlessly, its salt-spiked breeze bracing. She wanted to forget where she’d come from and didn’t care where she was going. She just wanted this moment to herself.

Tara looked out at Mumbai through the veil of mist that blew from the sea – the city in its purest form as people slept, exhausted and intoxicated. She watched the spotless empty roads, silent and strange, devoid of cars and big red buses. She stayed at the window till morning broke and watched the grind of the city, its wheels churning slowly, coming to life. Fisherwomen strode down the streets confidently, their hips swinging rhythmically as they carried baskets of fresh catch. Newspaper boys on bicycles flung dailies with perfect precision into sundry balconies. Children, with huge backpacks, gathered at bus stops. Somewhere, a sheepish playboy tiptoed back into bed before his wife noticed him missing.

A knock on the door startled her. “Laundry?” called a voice.

Tara looked at her watch and rushed to change into her tracksuit. The smell of fresh bread wafted through the window, and she suddenly felt very hungry. Heading downstairs, she spotted Neville directing guests towards the open-air feast. Breakfast at Rustom’s was like being at a British garden party. Neville moved around with an oval tray, placing hot croissants, butter cubes wrapped in paper and home-baked scones on every table.

“Would it be eggs for you, ma’am?” he asked Tara politely.

“I am a vegetarian,” she replied with a smile. “But I would love some hot coffee and a platter of fruits.”

‘Coming right up, ma’am.” He nodded and then added, “Before I forget, Rustom has sent an invitation for you to join his table tonight.”

“The chosen one!” Kabir’s voice startled her as he appeared by her side. “Can I join the lady?”

“Of course,” Tara said, relieved to find she wouldn’t be eating alone.

“So, what’s this about being the chosen one?: she asked, rolling her eyes.

“Rustom invites selectively, so consider yourself very lucky,” Kabir explained.

“Well, then, I am honoured,” Tara replied, smiling.

“How are you today?” he asked, looking into her eyes. “Tara, you’ve told me very little, but if I can be of any help, please let me know.”

She met his gaze steadily, her walls firmly in place.

“I get it,” he said quickly. “I won’t ask you anything until you want to tell me yourself.”

Noticing the pensive look in her eyes, Kabir smoothly switched the topic. “Ah, the stars,” he said, pointing towards the sky.

Tara looked up at the blue morning sky. “Stars in the daytime? Is that supposed to be funny?’

“I have been reading about the invisibles around us. Trust me, they are there. Millions of them. But you can’t see them because the sun outshines them all.”

“Hmmm… Your conversation is always quite fascinating, I must say. Stars for breakfast,” she teased, giggling at his attempt to lighten the mood.

“We are always under the stars, Tara, even in daylight. Just know they are watching over you all the time,” he said, poetically.

“Yes, I guess they are always there, above us,” she replied, looking up at the sky thoughtfully.

“You and I are also stars. Stars who left their hemispheres, set out on uncharted paths and then – boom – we collided.”

“Nicely explained.” Kabir had managed to bring a smile to her face once again.

“How else do you explain two people from opposite ends meeting? It’s destiny, and one never questions it.”

“I do believe in destiny, but not in surrendering to it,” Tara replied, a touch of warmth in her voice.

“I believe in reincarnations as well, but I have a different view on it. I think one person lives many lives in a single lifetime. All those reincarnations happen right here, right now. You were someone else somewhere else, but for me, the woman I see before me was born just last night.”

He casually lifted the camera hanging around his neck. Tara flashed a smile as he clicked.

“I know you from this moment onwards,” he said softly.

“You certainly have appeared as a surprise friend and saviour, Kabir,” she said, defining their connection. “I would have suffocated under Kamala aunty’s glare otherwise.”

As she spoke, Kabir watched her expressions change – he was smitten but understood she needed time and, perhaps, he did too.

“Look at these,” he said, holding out his camera. “I took these photos last night.”

Tara leaned in eagerly. His camera lens had stripped away the layers of make-up and captured the scar on her face.

“I had a fall,” she said.

“It’s okay. We all do, and we heal soon enough.”

Tara wondered if this man had a sense of her or whether Divya had filled him in.

“The hardest to heal is the heart,” Kabir continued, as though speaking to himself.

“What’s the most heartbreaking thing that can happen in life?” she asked, trying to draw him out.

“When someone goes away but their memory doesn’t.” He stopped himself abruptly and tentatively reached out, his fingers wrapping around a loose strand that had fallen out from the bun at the nape of her neck. “May I?” he asked.

She smiled back and didn’t object. His fingers grazed her bare skin and she felt an odd sensation. His touch felt alien, yet so warm. Rather boldly, Tara turned to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes was palpable; the blue in them seemed to give way to the deep black of his dilated pupils. She felt his thumb brush against the pulse beneath her ear, tilting her face slightly.

“Perfect,” he murmured.

Her lips parted, but before she could say anything, something came over his face. His hand fell away just as naturally as it had risen. Clearing his throat, he smiled faintly and wordlessly resumed showing her the pictures.

“You mentioned you are here to photograph music,” she commented, regaining her composure.

“Yes,” he said. “The next few weeks are going to be an adventure. From the music of red-light districts, where traditional instruments are used, to tracks made on modern systems for the films, I will go wherever my camera takes me, trying to capture the sounds. Challenging experiment!”

“How does one capture sound in a picture?”

“Come along with me and find out. Unless you have other plans,” he said.

Tara hesitated. Could she trust him? She had married a man whom she thought she knew completely, and he had shattered every rule in the book. She looked into Kabir’s face and mulled over her thoughts. It was time to follow her instincts. I have a good feeling about him, she mused. He’s got kind eyes. “Yes, I will join you,” she told her new friend, the one who

asked no questions.

Kabir smiled, resisting the urge to ask the question that lingered on his lips. He wondered what had made this beautiful woman come alone to Mumbai. Who is she? “It’s not my story to tell,” was Divya’s cagey retort to his questions.

Tara looked down at her phone; it felt like a menacing presence. She dreaded the next time it would ring. Her fingers moved nervously over the keys before she slid them across the screen. The phone switched off with a click.

“I once wanted to remain untraceable, so I pulled the SIM card out,” Kabir mentioned casually.

Tara could feel him solving the jigsaw of her life. She pulled out the SIM, broke it into two and dropped it into the teacup.

Kabir nodded.

Tara was now untraceable.

Lifting her handbag, Tara stood up abruptly. “I need to get some work done, so I will see you later.” With that, she walked away, leaving Kabir staring after her, confused.

If only there was a way to access my bank account, she thought as she stepped out of Rustom’s. She knew she had to get to it before Vikram froze it.

As she walked down Nepean Sea Road, the sight of a big red bus stopping at the junction tempted her. She checked the route on the chart displayed and hopped on – a small act that made her feel liberated. Memories flooded back to the days when she would come down to the big city for a wild break, away from the restrictions of home – when Mumbai buses were her second home. She leaned across to an elderly man and asked for the nearest branch of her bank and was relieved to hear it was just a few stops away.

Excerpted with permission from Tara: The Dream Chaser, Nelofar Currimbhoy, Rupa Publications.

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