Page 99 of The Encore’s Crown

“I recovered quickly.”

“As it would seem.”

There was something in his voice that made me look at him again, but he had already turned toward the courtyard.

Guests continued pouring in through the carved doors. Family, friends, actors I recognized from films, directors whose names had appeared in every entertainment magazine in Los Angeles, children already reaching eagerly toward the bowls of color while their parents tried to keep them clean for another few minutes. No one seemed especially concerned by the fact half the people gathering had faces known across the world. Here, they were simply family.

Mr. Malhotra gestured for me to follow him toward the center of the courtyard. The musicians quieted. Conversation softened around us. A large brass bowl stood on a low table nearby, filled with deep red powder.

Mr. Malhotra looked out across the gathering.

“Holi has many stories,” he said. “Different families carry different parts of it.”

His voice moved easily through the courtyard without needing to rise.

“For some, it begins with Holika and Prahlada. Pride and cruelty destroyed by the very fire meant to protect them. A reminder that power cannot make wickedness righteous.”

The remains of the previous night’s bonfire were visible beyond the garden wall, darkened wood surrounded by flowers.

“For others, it is Krishna and Radha. Love made playful. Color used to erase the distance between two people who believed themselves different.”

At the sound of her name, my eyes found Radhika. She was already watching me. Her father continued.

“It is spring after winter. Life returning. Forgiveness after anger. Joy after hardship.”

Children fidgeted impatiently around us. Mr. Malhotra noticed and smiled.

“But more than anything, Holi reminds us that beneath the color, we are equal. Wealth, age, title, pride. For one day, all of it becomes difficult to see.”

One of the aunties called something from the crowd. Everyone laughed.

“What did she say?” I asked quietly.

“That some of us could use several days,” he replied.

I looked toward the aunties. One waved at him innocently. Mr. Malhotra reached into the brass bowl and gathered a handful of red powder. I expected him to press a little against my forehead. Instead, he hit me across the chest with the entire handful. Red exploded over my white shirt, my neck, and the lower half of my face. The courtyard went silent for half a second.

Mr. Malhotra looked at me. I looked down at myself. Then at him. His mouth curved.

“Happy Holi.”

All right, let's fucking go.

I reached into the bowl. Radhika’s eyes widened. Her mother covered her mouth. I smeared red powder across Mr. Malhotra’s cheek. The aunties erupted. Cheers rang through the courtyard. One of the children screamed with laughter, and then everything broke open at once.

Color filled the air.

Pink burst over the crowd from one side. Yellow followed from another. Children charged with handfuls of powder while adults abandoned every trace of dignity and attacked one another. The musicians began playing, drums pounding hard enough to vibrate through the stone beneath my boots.

Someone hit me in the back with blue. I turned and caught an aunty fleeing with both hands over her mouth. Another threw green into my hair. Within seconds, white clothing vanished beneath color. Powder drifted through the courtyard like smoke, hanging in the sunlight before settling over skin, hair, flowers, tables, and marble.

Mr. Malhotra had disappeared into the chaos. Mrs. Malhotra hadn't.

She came directly toward me with both hands coated in yellow. She smiled sweetly as she pressed both palms to my face. The family cheered again. I caught her wrists too late.

“You were the nice one.”

“I still am.”