One year later, their cafe in Besant Nagar is called (The Letter). On the wall, framed in gold, is the smudged wedding invitation.

Her mother called from the kitchen, “Anju! The saree for the wedding is here. Try it on.”

Arjun wasn't the groom.

Anjali stood by her window in Alwarpet, staring at the wedding card in her hand. It wasn’t just any card. It was his handwriting.