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She made her way to the podium, mind spinning in a dozen different directions. She was silent as she looked at the crowd, noting Lucky’s absence again. She hoped he was okay, because she wanted—needed, actually—to speak to him. It was a matter of some urgency. She would find him just as soon as she finished with this speech, and tell him . . . the truth, at last.

Dina turned to her sister and Samir, who were both staring anxiously, perhaps wondering if they needed to intervene. She turned back to the crowd with a smile that was relaxed, powerful, and entirely at ease.

“My sister asked me months ago to give a speech at her wedding,” she said, smiling at the crowd. “How could I refuse? With Hania, the opportunity to speak without interruption, or without a live stream, are few and far between.”

The audience laughed, and Hania blew her a kiss. Dina continued.

Lucky heard the crowd laugh, but he was too busy staring at his uncle to wonder why. They made a small, angry trio outside the white tents, facing his uncle Mansoor.

His taya had been welcoming when they had first arrived in the city, encouraging them to stay in his home for a few weeks while they settled. Even after they moved out, his tayma would send over meals or drop in to chat with his mother. Lucky had been friendly with his cousins, who were much younger than him and Saleem, as his uncle had married later in life. When his father was first diagnosed with cancer and his health started to fail, his uncle had stepped in to take over the restaurant without complaint while Majid underwent rounds of chemo and doctor visits.

It wasn’t until his father was admitted into palliative care that Lucky first felt his uncle begin to pull back. He had been too busy trying to keep his family together to think on it too deeply, but after the janazah and burial, after the Khatmat Quran at his uncle’s house, the change was dramatic. Mansoor would change the subject when Lucky brought up the restaurant, then stopped answering his calls. Which left the family without any source of income or savings.

As he stared down at his uncle now, Lucky felt a roiling mix of anger, disappointment, and deep grief. He wasn’t sure he could speak coherently, but he had to protect his family. He needed to protect his mother, his brother, he needed to act, but it was all too much . . .

Huma stepped forward, eyes fixed on her former brother-in-law. “Why are you here?” she demanded. “Yahya is not your friend, and Samir would never invite you after what you did to us.”

Mansoor ducked his head. “The wedding planner hired me to cater part of the meal. It was a subcontract. I took it only to have a chance to speak with you all. I’ve been calling—”

“How does it feel to have your calls ignored, Taya?” Lucky asked, his voice arctic cold. His uncle flushed and hung his head.

“I behaved badly,” Mansoor said. “Mujhe maaf karo.” “Please forgive me.” The words, delivered in Urdu, landed like a blow that nearly made Lucky stagger. Beside him, Saleem inhaled sharply, and to Lucky’s surprise, it was his brother who stepped forward now, eyes flashing in rage.

“We went through hell,” Saleem said, his voice rising. “My brother dropped out of school. My mother had to take in catering jobs. I got married and had a kid. You weren’t there. For any of It!” The last words were a roar, so loud Mansoor cowered. Lucky had never seen his laid-back, easy-going brother this angry. He reached out and put his arms around Saleem, but his brother shook him off.

“Kabhi nahi maaf karunga,” Saleem said in Urdu, his voice shaking. “You don’t deserve our forgiveness. You abandoned us. What would my father think of you now?”

Mansoor was crying now, eyes streaming, as Lucky pulled his brother back once more. They stood in silence for a moment. Beneath his arms, Lucky could feel his brother shaking.

“Let us go,” his mother’s voice broke the quiet. They turned to go, but Mansoor spoke up, his voice thick with emotion.

“You are right. I do not deserve your forgiveness. I only ask for two minutes. Please, Bhabhi,” he said, beseeching.

Huma stopped walking and nodded for him to go ahead.

Mansoor took a deep breath. “I thought Majid would recover. Even until the end, I was convinced he would survive, return to the restaurant, that things would be as we had always dreamed when we were young boys. I was in shock during the janazah. Afterward, I fell into a deep depression. My children, my wife, they were frantic.”

“You didn’t pick up my calls,” Lucky said.

“I did not get out of bed for months,” Mansoor said. “My family pretended that all was well. They ran the restaurant themselves. There was no money.” His voice cracked. “I failed them. I failed you. I am a failure.” He bowed his head, shoulders shaking.

“What about afterward? It’s been years. I saw you outside the restaurant just yesterday, working,” Lucky said.

Mansoor nodded. “My wife kept it going until I could return to work. By then, I was too ashamed to reach out. My shame kept me silent. You were right not to pick up my calls. I deserve your anger.”

Lucky and his family stood, not moving toward him but also not walking away, silent witness to his grief. Again, it was his mother who spoke, and as Lucky watched her, he realized she was the strongest person he knew.

“We all suffered, Mansoor Bhai,” she said quietly. It was that last word—bhai, “my brother”—that made his uncle struggle to regain his composure. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a white envelope, which he thrust into Huma’s hands.

“My brother’s share of the restaurant. Plus half of the profits since he passed,” Mansoor said. “It is my blood debt. Please accept it, even though it is late.”

Huma stared at the envelope for a long moment, then folded it in half, her hand trembling. She met Mansoor’s eye. “You have harmed my family. You have dishonored my husband’s memory. You made our life more difficult because you did not talk to us about your struggles and disregarded our own. I am not sure if we will ever regain our relationship, Mansoor Bhai. But for the sake of my own heart, I forgive you.”

She turned around and started to walk back toward the white tent. After a beat, her sons followed, but Lucky came up short.

Dina stood in front of him, and from the stricken expression on her face, he knew she had heard it all.

Chapter Thirty-Two