My Heart Sings Your Song--A Story of First Love, Family and Destiny by Saz Vora

Author:Saz Vora
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary Romance, Romance Novels, women's fiction, British asian, Bollywood, South Asian, wedding, multi cultural, family drama, Indian wedding, Gujarati, South Asian Romance, First love, college romance, popular women's fiction, young love, destiny, Indian, multigenerational, Women Writers, Friendship, University Life, star-crossed lovers
Publisher: Saz Vora
Published: 2020-01-12T00:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

“DO WE HAVE TO GO?” I pleaded with him for the umpteenth time, as we came off the motorway and headed towards Loudwater.

I wasn’t sure the people who lived there would welcome me with open arms after what had happened to Nik last summer. I remember the first time Nik had brought me to Shakti Bhavan

March 4th, 1983

THE ANXIETY I HAD FELT rose like the tide, as we drove to Loudwater after dropping Umi home. My mind was concentrating on the technique I’d learnt to deal with my nerves, repeatedly saying ‘Om’ and taking slow breaths.

Nik took my right hand and drew it up to his lips. “Don’t worry, my love. They’ll love you.”

I smiled timidly up at him; my experience of high-society Indian families didn’t agree with his. I had been at enough functions at the mandir to know how they treated people like me. We were just there to pander to their needs: ‘fetch me water, where’s my seat, take this away—’

We turned left into a winding country lane lined with foreboding trees on both sides. He stopped to allow a large black Land Rover to pass before he turned into a small turning; on either side was a small grass verge planted with primroses. We stopped at a brick wall, flanked by an ornate metal gate; beyond it there was a shiny-black tarmac road. On two identical stone pillars, there were marble plaques. Nik opened the driver’s side window and pressed the buttons to open the automatic gates. I read the white marble house sign, SHAKTI BHAVAN, written in ornate-gold painted incision lettering. On the other plaque, there was an outline of Ganesh, to match the lettering. It was definitely a Hindu house.

As we drove further up the tarmac road, my jaw dropped, and a gasp escaped my lips. I knew he was rich, but not this rich. He chuckled under his breath and a shy smile developed on his face as he fixed his eyes straight ahead.

The house was gargantuan; the sun accentuated the red brick and the white-painted arched tall windows lined its face. In the middle, there was an ornate carved white stone portico, supported by two Georgian pillars. It all smacked of dripping wealth.

He turned left into the courtyard and parked the car outside one of the garages. He slid effortlessly out of the car and opened the door for me. I was glued to the seat. My eyes were anxiety-filled. He smiled, tilting his head to the right, lowering himself to my eye level; he gazed reassuringly into my frightened eyes. My heart was thumping uncontrollably inside my chest.

“You’ll be fine, my love.” He stood up and held out his hand.

We walked through a rose-covered arched gate into a walled garden. I quietly thanked Umi for the wardrobe advice. She had suggested I wear my heeled red court shoes, and the rest sort of fell into place. I was wearing a spotted black and white T-shirt, a vintage silk scarf used as a belt and one of my least-faded pairs of Levi 501s that I had found in the Oxfam shop.

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