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In a world without secrets, everyone finds their rightful place.

We return, invariably, to unfinished business, tripping ever so often over our own shoe laces that we should have tied, at the very moment of their undoing. Our secrets are our undoing. What lurks behind the locked doors of our hearts and our minds is our undoing. Because no secret lies still, forever. What we hold, holds us in return. Like Shalini and Zarin, holding each other, we are held hostage by our own choices in life. The secret could escape into the light of day, or, die once and for all, but there is no release for the one who has held it, not unless they can unravel the fine embroidery of their lives, painstakingly put together, and begin again, holding threads that are free to come together, in a whole new pattern, avoiding the least stitch meant to deceive, themselves, or, others, willing to unravel and to retrace at every moment, a weave that is flawed. Shalini, Ram, Amit, Aarush, Rushi, Nana, Marzia, Ammijaan, Shakutai, Joshikaka, Aunt Kathy, Lara, Sophie, Murtaza, Tulsi, Zarin and even her son, fine threads in an extraordinary weave of a novel taking us on a journey to that field beyond right and wrong, where ultimately, the only orphans are the secrets no one cares to hold, unlike Rushi, unlike Aarush, both children, living in the light.

In a world without secrets, everyone finds their rightful place.