Page 123 of Scars and Crowns

So we go.

By lunchtime, Sara has apparently decided that the park's food stalls exist specifically for her. She wants cotton candy first. Then samosas. Then something fried that neither Anamika nor I can identify. She sits between us, sticky fingers wrapped around a piece of samosa dripping with tamarind chutney.

"Papa." She holds it toward me. "You have to try this."

I lean forward and take the bite. She watches me with enormous seriousness.

"Well?" I chew thoughtfully. "Best samosa I've ever had."

She beams. "I knew it." She immediately turns toward Anamika and holds another piece out.

"Mumma." Anamika takes it, laughing when a little chutney lands on her finger. "You're feeding everyone today?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I'm happy." The answer is so simple that neither of us has anything to say to it. I watch her continue eating, telling us some elaborate story about a talking elephant she dreamed about last week.

Anamika listens like the fate of the world depends on getting every detail right. She asks questions. Sara answers them. Then Sara interrupts herself to add something completely unrelated. Anamika listens anyway. I sit across from them and let the noise wash over me.

There is something almost unreal about watching the two of them together now. Not because they're different. Because they aren't. They've simply stopped being careful around each other. There is no performance in their laughter. No checking whether the other person is still happy. No quiet calculation about what they can afford to want. They are simply happy.

And somehow, without me noticing exactly when it happened, that happiness has begun to feel like mine too.

"Papa." Sara pulls me out of my thoughts. She holds out a huge cloud of pink cotton candy. "Why don't you have some?"

"I don't really like sweets."

She looks genuinely concerned. "That's very sad."

"It has been difficult."

She nods solemnly. "I'll help you." She tears off a piece and holds it out. I take it. The sugar melts almost immediately on my tongue.

"Good?"

"Very." I lie.

She smiles.

But I don't tell her that I barely taste the cotton candy. What I taste is childhood. Something light. Something uncomplicated. Something I never had enough of. And somehow, she is handing it to me in tiny sticky pieces.

The afternoon passes in a blur of rides and laughter. The haunted house turns out to be so unimpressive that Sara spends most of it criticising the monsters.

"That ghost was fake."

"It was supposed to be fake."

"It wasn't scary."

"I think that was the idea."

"Then they should make it better."

Anamika laughs so hard she has to stop walking. By the time we reach the Ferris wheel, the sunlight has softened. Everything is gold. The rides glow against the darkening sky, their lights beginning to come alive one by one.

Sara climbs into the cabin between us. She's still talking when we start rising. Something about tomorrow. Something about wanting to come back. Something about how she thinks we should buy the park because then we could visit whenever we wanted.