Tinu stood waiting at the front of the church, his white suit jacket already damp under the arms. Kerala’s heat seeped through the open doors, thick with the smell of Happiness. Tinu came in on her father’s arm, her dress rustling. When she reached Roshan, his hand shook a little taking hers. You could see where her kohl had smudged at the corner of one eye from crying earlier. After the vows, they walked out into the sun. Someone handed them cake — too sweet, the icing melting fast in the heat. Tinu’s collar was fully wilted now. Roshan leaned into him, laughing at something he said, her veil hooked on his sleeve button. Red dirt from the church path coated the hem of her gown. No one cared. It felt like them.