♥ ♥ ♥
THE UNIVERSE HAS IT OUT FOR ME. I'm convinced this is the culmination of all my sins. My unholy punishment. I'm going to hell but first I'm going to have to suffer here just a little bit longer. I expect a divine laugh track to start up any moment now to make fun of the not-so-funny sitcom of my life. That time I broke my mother's watch when I was nine and lied about it? What is it? Thou shall not lie? Or when I was sixteen and stole Petra's car keys to drive to Abe's for ice cream with Dima in the passenger seat, nearly crashing ten times on our seven-minute journey. Thou shall not steal. All those times I didn't pet Cinna? Thou shall pet thy dog. Anyway, this is what I get for kissing boys. Thou shall not kiss boys.
I turn so sharply in my seat that I almost upend my water glass, a thousand scattered little pieces. If not for Dija's quick handle of the glass, her pink, sparkly nails bared instinctively over the rim. Her lashes beat against her cheeks as she catches my expression. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," I snap, tone harder than I mean for it to be. She clearly doesn't believe me by the expression on her face, likely a reaction towards my own wild expression. A deer caught in headlights. That's exactly what I must look like. Wincing, I quickly say, "I'm sorry. I'm just— surprised."
That's an understatement.
I don't dare turn around, back poised straight as a board and desperate to remain unseen by those in the doorway.
But he saw me. I know he saw me. We'd locked eyes. Fuck.
These are literally the last two people on the planet who I want to run into today. What are they doing here?
Some part of me hopes that they would just vanish into thin air, nothing but a figment of my imagination.
But, no, just as Dija's brows draw together into a worried line, there rests a small, warm hand on my shoulder.
Kajal Shankar is the most non-threatening person I've ever come across. Yet, from the way I nearly spring out of my seat when she touches me, it might as well be a loaded gun she's pointed in my face.
Honestly, I'd take a loaded gun over this.
Kajal, dressed in a sage green blouse with puffy sleeves, two pretty braids pinned away from her face, the rest in a waterfall of dark waves, little pearl drop earrings bobbing at her ears and warm eyes that remind me of her cousin's, leans over my shoulder and says something but all I hear is the shuffle and scrape of feet behind her and my name on familiar lips.
"Mira," he says just as Kajal lets me go with a passing look that leaves me certain of two things.
One. She knows. Of course, she does. Aryan gives me bits and pieces of information and I don't ask for more. I'm not pushy like him and he's not cagey like me. And maybe just maybe I live for those little moments when he hands me novel pieces of himself of his own accord. Hold up—definitely not. But I do get the gist of things with his relationship with his cousin and that Kajal's barely spoken to him recently and that it bothers him. I understand my part to play and I understand that I've been too selfish to acknowledge it.
Two. Ivan Nazarenko is not who she expected him to be. I wish I could say this is a surprise to me, but I know him, or at least, I know enough. I haven't spoken to him in weeks, not since those texts, deciding that the ongoing bitter taste in my mouth was enough of a sign. Yet, here he is.
Dija stands to hug Kajal. Kajal, who has a nervous quality to her. Dija shoots me a look over the other girl's puffy sleeve yet all I think about is that I'm no longer a deer in headlights.
I'm roadkill as I slowly rise to my feet and meet a pair of blue eyes.
And I become certain of a third thing.
Three. There'd been some type of contentment brewing in my chest this morning. It was weird and warm and welcome, a pair of dark eyes just like his cousin's, glinting at me through a mirror. I'd tried to run from it, straight into enemy territory, but found it waiting for me right on the edge of my bed afterwards. And I didn't even realise I'd been holding onto the feeling all morning until I feel it slipping through my fingers like sand, replaced by the thrum of guilt faced with Kajal, replaced by something else entirely as I face Ivan.
He looks as he always does, dressed like the starving artist he isn't, a trust fund the size of Calabasas hidden somewhere underneath all that preening pretentiousness.
White rumpled shirt, black leather band wristwatch, brown hair, a few shades darker than Dima's, swept to the side, that condescending half-smile that I thought was so endearing. My eyes dart to his hand, ink on his fingertips as always, because it's reaching for me, stained blue.
I don't breathe. Not a single breath.
Not when he steps close, seals that little distance, a hand curling right at my jaw, my attention latching onto the blue ink I'd once thought was so charming but now I'm certain it's all part of the image. My skin prickles under his fingertips and my eyes blow wide.
Because he leans in close and presses a kiss to my cheek.
I wait for it. The riot in my chest when I inhale his cologne. Even something content and warm for my clenched fist to unfurl and grasp on to. But there's nothing but a sharp awareness that this is wrong.
A friendly kiss but we're not friends and I feel the urge to take a step away because he and I don't work in the daylight.
Not in broad daylight. Never. By the way his lips tilt, smiling, I think he knows exactly what he's doing. It's almost like a taunt. It doesn't feel playful, not to me, not when he's never wanted daylight. Shadows and secrets. He relishes in those. He likes it that way. I do too. Right?
This morning lingers in my head. A bathroom kiss in the morning light.
I'd successfully convinced myself that I don't like sunlight traced gold across splayed limbs and red toothbrushes held in devastatingly tender hands or snarky goodbyes at the door. I suck in a breath.
There's relief when he pulls away. I'm not playing.
"Right," Kajal's voice cuts through my quicksand thoughts. "Mira, you know Vanya."
Vanya. The nickname catches me off-guard. I watch his lips tilt into a half-smile that makes me wary. Ivan's amusement is palpable, his eyes skirting across the words on my sweater and the urge to cover them up is strong. I didn't even realise how much I don't want anything to do with him until I'm standing here, closing a fist around every part of me he can reach out to. Vanya feels like a thing of the past.
But it's what Dima calls him. Of course, Kajal would use it too, though without the usual curl of disdain that Dima speaks it with. Dima, who spits his brother's name like a curse for as long as I've known him, miles apart even when they lived in the same house, desperate to be as far away from one another as possible. Dima, who's never shown any interest in introducing his girlfriend to his brother. My head turns to Kajal.
She wears a stitch of nervousness when she gestures to the man idling like a poisoned tree behind me, explaining to one very confused-looking Khadija, "This is Ivan. He's Dima's brother."
Dija offers him a smile and I don't look to see if he smiles back. If he did, it must be small because I don't feel it, like the blazing sun, against my back.
My teeth press into my lower lip and I mentally dance between making a total break for it or asking. I'm not enough of a hypocrite to ask, am I?
It doesn't matter because Ivan speaks first. "Kajal invited me to brunch."
He sounds nothing short of amused by this tidbit of information.
My eyes fly to Kajal who doesn't look as amused. That nervous streak is back, flickering behind her eyes, a sharp, unsure contrast to Ivan's slow Cheshire smile. I recognise that expression well, too well. She may be the one who invited him but he's pulling all the strings. Alarms go off in my head.
"Can we—," I start, surprising myself entirely as I attempt to speak with Kajal privately when a minute ago I was ready to flee. Only, I don't get to finish that sentence, cut off by yet another ding of the bell.
The sound shouldn't be surprising as it is— it's about lunchtime now, yet I look up anyway, the ring of the bell beaconing my attention for some inexplicable reason.
My eyes fly over Ivan's shoulder and— Fuck my life.
There's the inexplicable reason for my raptured attention.
This is what I get for kissing boys.
Dark hair, dipped head, skin— glistening from exertion and very, very exposed in one of those loose-fitting gym vests that just looks indecent on him, revealing skin taut over distracting dips and curves of lean muscle, biceps, triceps, the perfect makeup of specimen for the diagrams of the human muscular system in my Biology textbooks, a flyaway curve of collarbone that I want to trace with my fingertips, with my lips, and when he leans his shoulders back ever-so-slightly with each of his steps, fabric tightens over his chest. I'd seen him just this morning in less than he's wearing now and yet my heart picks up. This man is a walking thirst trap.
He hasn't seen us yet. His head is lowered, brows drawn, but I know my heart will beat even harder when he looks up, the familiarity of that gaze like a brand, so I do the one thing I can think of.
"We need to talk," it's a rush of words. Then, I'm grabbing Kajal, whose lips part as she notices Aryan's abrupt entrance, and Dija, for moral support and also because I don't trust Ivan around her or anyone for that matter. I straight-up bolt with them in tow.
I'm breaking towards the lady's room when I feel him look up, feel his gaze latch onto me, feel the strong, inexplicable urge to turn around and meet it. My heart falters and I let go of an arm to grab the door handle and push inside.
The door slams behind Kajal just as he takes a step forward, dark brows furrowing.
I loose a breath. One boy problem at a time.
For now, it's just us girls.
♥ ♥ ♥
I'M NOT GOING TO STORM INTO THE LADY'S ROOM. Or, at least, I'm not going to so long as I keep suppressing the strong urge to do just that by repeating this little mantra in my head.
I tap my foot as I wait in line.
There's only one person in front of me but they're ordering up a storm and it feels like eternity has passed between their acai bowl topped with cacao nibs and their third everything bagel with vegan cream cheese— 'Hold the lox because I'm like not trying to totally die of mercury poisoning before Coachella.'
I tap my foot again.
For all I know, Mira and Kajal are just doing that thing that girls do where they ask each other for tampons in hushed voices hoping the guys nearby don't notice. We do. It's not a big deal.
It's not a big deal, Aryan.
Yet, Mira's quick-paced steps towards the red door of the lady's room, my cousin and Khadija in steadfast tow, feels like a big deal.
I pull in a breath.
I'm not going to storm into the lady's room.
My nerves are just on edge, I reason. Raf's offer still rocks through me. I told him I'd think about it but all I wanted to say was What the fuck? I'm still very close to storming outside to where he and Kenna are waiting in the car, banging on his window and asking it anyway because What the fuck?
Kenna must've sensed the undercurrent of vapid tension between us because she'd tapped my shoulder as I drove and pointed me towards this place, a lit-up neon pink bagel on the sign. She was rectifying tension the best way she knew how. With carbs.
If only Mercury Poisoning in front of me would finish listing off all their allergies maybe I'd have the bagels in hand by now. I don't even think someone can be allergic to bread not toasted at the right temperature. California is truly a gem of a place that attracts the most interesting people.
As for me, I'm one of them, a true caveman, the polar opposite of a gentleman, with absolutely no respect for boundaries and a loose leash on his sensible train of thought when it comes to a pair of grey eyes, because once Mercury Poisoning starts listing the intricate requirements of their cold brew order— exactly thirteen ice cubes because thirteen is their lucky number just like Taylor Swift—, I drop my foot flat on the tile and turn towards the red door.
My feet fly across the cafe's tile, eyes locked on red. I won't storm in. I'll knock first.
I don't get very far, before a hand extends my way and a voice goes, "You must be Aryan."
I pause at the sight of the extended hand. My eyes fire up to its owner, an unfamiliar face fitted with a blue-eyed gaze that flies along my face with keen interest.
He's still holding out his hand, lips in a line that could almost resemble a smile if you tilt your head enough, when he introduces, "Ivan," like that's supposed to mean something to me.
He stands where the girls were, one hand in his pocket, and his lips twitch downward ever so slightly as they flick between me and the red door. Unlike me, he hasn't made a move toward that door, even though it has his attention too.
My hand never reaches to shake his before the door swings open from outside and I hear a familiar filthy mouth. "What's taking so damn long?"
Even though he was mild with his language, I twist around to find Raf earning a glare from an elderly woman seated near the entrance.
Kenna, skipping at his side, sunglasses pushed up through her blonde hair, apologises to the woman on his behalf and grabs him, steering him down the tile as her green eyes land on me. Eyes bright, Kenna skids over, nails latched onto the curl of ink on Raf's forearm, and chirpily asks me, "Yeah, what's taking so fucking long, Aryan?"
The old woman drops her bagel on her plate with a thunk and glares at my friends. I wave apologetically at her but that only earns me an extra glare. I lower my hand, suddenly wishing Charlie was here.
There's a silent scoff behind me.
Ivan or whatever his name is no longer has his hand out for me and from the way his eyes slowly peruse me, Kenna and Raf as I glance back at him, I'm glad I didn't shake it.
I square my shoulders and glance down at him just as he comments, "Nice crowd."
My gaze narrows to slits.
His sarcasm layers onto each word, so faint that I could almost be imagining it. But I don't imagine his hands shoved into his pockets, wrists tight like he's clenching fists.
"Thanks." An insincere word. I tilt my head, grinning a slow grin against his barely-hidden hostility. I think of Zahed, and how I grin at her whenever I want to tick her off. My hostility looks different from curled fists. I smile and ask plainly, "Do I know you?"
Raf snorts.
But I'm not done yet. I don't wait for his answer. Smiling, I jab a thumb towards the red door. "Those girls run away from you, bro?"
I catch his eyes flare and something like pure arrogance makes my smile tip upwards, his irritation risen to the surface now. A hand tears from his pocket. He's got ink on his fingers and wears an old-fashioned watch that's about two minutes too slow and from the way his fingers twitch slightly, he definitely wants to swing at me. Interesting.
"We're not bros," he says and I wonder if he'll swing then but he doesn't, hand straightening out and his expression flattening into a half-smile like he knows something I don't. Never mind. This fucker is boring.
I go so far as to yawn.
His eyes narrow, smile faltering.
"Good," I reply when my yawn dies, a grin cresting onto my lips, his own turning into a deep scowl, and then I'm walking away towards the red door.
"Kenna," I call over my shoulder and she grabs Raf again, one hand still on his arm but he glares at that Ivan or whatever so thoroughly that Kenna uses two hands this time to pull him with her towards me.
Raf's dark eyes meet mine and I know, even with all our digs at each other, Rafael Herrera would always have my back in a fight.
I pocket this knowledge beside all my thoughts on his offer from earlier.
I spare Ivan no more looks as I lean against the wall opposite the lady's room, Kenna and Raf joining me.
"I came for bagels, what was that?" Kenna blows out a breath.
"A motherfucker who needs to get beat," declares Raf, a threatening set shadowing over his shoulders.
"Please," Kenna scoffs, dropping her hands from a scowling Raf to press them to her hips. "You can't even beat up a bunny, Rafael."
"I'm Bugs Bunny's worst fucking nightmare." Raf glowers at her.
I think of Mira's horrified expression at Bambi and pinch my brow, sighing once before interrupting them because knowing them, they could start an entire discourse on assaulting bunnies right now.
"Kenna," I splice in, jerking my chin between her and the door to the lady's room. "Do me a favour."
♥ ♥ ♥
CHECKERED TILES AND VINTAGE STYLED SINKS and a whole lot of bullshit about to leave my mouth.
I press my back to the cherry red door and stare across at Kajal, her teeth sunken into her lower lip, and Dija, wide-eyed, confused.
The award for worst brunch companion belongs to me.
There's a long pause and the tile, patterned blue and white, stretches between us. Kajal hesitates, crosses her arms, taps her foot, bites her lip then starts, "Is this abou—,"
"I know you and Aryan are close," I start at the same time then I hate the words immediately because fuck.
We pause.
Kajal cuts her sentence off and stares at me in surprise.
I wince because this is not where I was taking this.
But she knows. I know she knows.
They haven't spoken in a week, an apparent feat for them. He said that they spoke every day, even when he lived in another country. It bothers him.
Kissing in the dark is second nature to me. I have next to no idea what to do when the light starts pouring in. All I know is that I've been too selfish to switch them on myself.
Kajal isn't selfish like me, I can see it. She and Aryan share that blinding streak of selflessness. It's exactly why she's here with Ivan.
"Okay," I say a little too quickly. "Yeah. I slept with your cousin." Dija's eyes blow wide. Kajal's lips part but I shake my head, rushing out, "More than once. Honestly, I don't even know how many times." Kajal's mouth shuts as I wildly throw out an arm. "Listen, that's not the point of this. Moving on—,"
The door behind me rocks roughly against my back, cutting me off.
"Ayo!" I hear Rafael Herrera's loud call on the other side. "Someone needs to take a shit here!"
Kajal's nose wrinkles and I turn to clamp a hand on the door handle when the door cracks open, even under my weight. "Stay out of here, Herrera," I warn, clutching the handle.
It's Kenna's blonde head that peeks in from the other side though. She isn't looking at me as she glares over her shoulder, saying, "Shut up, Raf. Everyone knows that girls don't poop."
Then, she turns back to me and pushes the door open with a resounding show of might on her part. I stumble back and I don't even glare at her because my attention latches on his dark eyes, sparking across at me from where he stands outside the bathroom with Raf at his side, his arms crossed, and then I'm glaring at him. I push past Kenna and slam the door in his face. "No boys allowed."
Kenna laughs at my side. "I don't actually need to use the bathroom, by the way."
"Yeah, no shit." I turn on her, hands on my hips. "He sent you to spy on us, didn't he?"
Kenna clutches a hand to her heart. "Me? I owe those clowns nothing." She winks and dips her head in a mock bow for good measure. "Besides, everybody knows the lady's room is a sacred space. Thus, I'm hereby bound by girl code."
There's a bang on the door behind me and I would've jumped if I didn't know exactly who was on the other side. Instead, I glower at the door as if he could feel it through the wood as he asks, "What about bro code, McKenna?"
Kenna scrunches her nose and bangs back at the door. "Are you seriously listening right now, you creeps? Go away! Girl code trumps bro code. Now, go get me my damn bagel or you'll both be sorry."
Then, miraculously, there's the sound of two pairs of feet starting to shuffle away.
"Wow, that worked," Dija notes, impressed.
Kenna beams proudly. "They're like my little bitches."
"We can still hear you," sounds Raf's barked reply faintly as the distance between them and the door lengthens.
"Yeah," Kenna says. "That was like the whole point. Anyway, now that the dogs are back to their kennels. What are we talking about, ladies?"
Dija lifts a hand in the air, her eyes widening once again as she recalls my previous admission. "Um. Well, I have a lot of questions."
I shake my head sharply. "No. We're moving on. One problem at a time."
Kajal shifts from foot to foot near the sink, barely processing the boys' poor espionage tactics or Kenna's appearance, thoughts elsewhere, her reflection casting a distracted image, but she falters when meaningfully I catch her eye.
Wrangling my words quickly, I tell her what I came here to say, exactly why she shouldn't be here with him, "You and Aryan are family and you're close. But it's not like that with them. It's not like that with Dima and Ivan."
"Oh, is that the douchebag out there?" Kenna guesses.
"Yup," Dija replies. "He's Dima's brother."
"Well, he was being a total smartass with Aryan. I don't think he got that Aryan is like— the most smartass smartass ever."
My stomach twists, trying to imagine how that went down. But I clear my head and tune them out, looking back at Kajal.
You don't always have to get along with your blood, Dima had explained once in simple, mild-mannered Dima fashion and I'd nodded along, understanding.
Kajal wears a frown. Maybe she doesn't understand or maybe she just doesn't want to. But I understood Dima then and I do now because my relationship with my father is a mess and I didn't grow up with grinning cousins or siblings— Daya and Naz's twin telepathy is bizarre to me and I'd call bullshit on it if I haven't seen it with my own eyes. Family is a faint concept to me and, standing in this bathroom, facing my best friend's girlfriend, I know I'm not very good at friendship either.
At this particular moment, however, I'd like to think that I'm trying.
I spare the sob story, explaining, "You came here thinking you can fix this for him, right? You were just trying to help." I continue, "But you just met Ivan. He's nothing like Dima, isn't he? They might be related but they're not alike and they don't get along. There's nothing to remedy between them. Trust me, it's just that simple. It's always been Team Dima or Team Ivan."
I catch my breath and wait. Team Dima or Team Ivan. I'd shake her by her shoulders if I could.
Kajal fiddles with a ring in her finger and doesn't meet my eyes for a moment, peering curiously at the tiles.
A silence pulls between us and Kenna and Dija's heads whip back and forth. I can't stand the silence though, I can't stand any possibility of Kajal Shankar getting knotted up in Ivan's spiderweb.
"There's a reason he looks so fucking smug to be here." My voice takes on a sharp note, piercing through the stillness. "He thinks he's somehow one-upping Dima by taking his girlfriend out to brunch." You're just a pawn, I want to say. "It's fucked up. But there's nothing good that comes out of Ivan."
Kajal bites her lip, her shoulders slackening.
I let out a breath, knowing I've finally struck gold.
After a beat, Kajal cracks, admitting, "Dima doesn't know I'm here." Apprehension peppers her words. I know why. They tell each other everything.
Maybe that's how she knows about Aryan— because Dima told her the frantic lie I'd told him in secret to cover up yet another secret. The thought occurred to me when Aryan first said she was upset at him but the idea that Dima had broken our trust was too much of a blow to consider for very long. Even though I'd broken his more than once.
"He's at some used bookstore right now and I told him I was out buying paintbrushes." Kajal shakes her head, guilt shadowing her features. "God, I— I stole his number from Dima's phone and arranged this. He always says that they don't get along and I should've just left it at that. The minute he stepped into the apartment, I knew it was wrong."
I could picture it. Ivan pulling an R.L. Stine paperback off Dima's shelf, holding it between two fingers and wrinkling his nose at his brother's literary choices, scoffing under his breath at the Funko bobblehead beside the coffee machine. It's Dima's space and Ivan would have no respect for it.
"Paintbrushes!" She cries, pressing a palm to her forehead. "I lied because I thought I could help. I should've just left it alone. This would hurt his feelings, wouldn't it? I'm the worst—,"
"Kajal," I interrupt sharply. She looks up at me with wide eyes. "Shut the fuck up."
Kenna whistles.
Kajal's mouth opens. Closes.
Perhaps I should've been more polite. I carry on anyway. "Literally, you're the best thing that ever happened to Dima." She flushes. "You were just trying to help. You have a great relationship with your family— with Aryan. You'd do anything for each other and you were trying to give that to Dima, which is so, so kind of you. Trust me, it's sweet as fuck. And I think— I think it's part of the reason he's so in love with you."
I clear my throat while Kenna and Dija start clutching each other, wiping away fake tears. I'd almost forgotten they were here if not for Kenna's exaggerated sniffling.
She tips her head back at the ceiling, her sunglasses toppling off her head with the motion, yet she doesn't seem to care as she exclaims, "Yo, God! When?"
Dija picks up Kenna's glasses for her and promises, "Someday. But for now, Kajal is winning."
This makes Kajal hide a lovestruck little smile.
I swallow. Kajal Shankar is the type of selfless that goes behind someone's back to fix something she thinks is broken.
I'm selfish down to my core which is why my throat is tight when I speak next. "Also," I say it like it's an afterthought, not the underlying thrum of unspoken knowledge between the two of us. Kajal looks up and I clear my throat. "I know it's wrong." I ignore those words and how heavy they feel on my tongue. "So, I'll uh stop sleeping with your cousin."
At that, Kajal blinks at me. "What?"
But Kenna's shriek tears through us. "Excuse me what?"
"I know right." Dija shakes her head ecstatically at bug-eyed Kenna. "I mean Charles told me that they were flirt—," She cuts herself off, eyes blowing wide at her slip-up.
But from the way Kenna and Kajal are both still staring at me, it's clear no one but me noticed.
Still, I shoot her a look, eyes narrowed. So much for scaring Charles Ross into his silence. And to think I had better luck threatening Herrera.
Kenna recovers enough to point an accusing finger at me. "Mira Zahed, you dirty, lying whore! Oh my god!"
I blink but she's already pointing at the other two menacingly. "And you knew?" Her attention swings back to me. "How dare you? I want details. No, I demand details. How? Why? When? How many times—,"
"She doesn't know," Dija cuts in, earning a glare from me.
Kenna chokes on a laugh. She slaps her knee. "Ohmygod. This is gold. This is just gold. Do you remember when she threw a coffee at him?" She wheezes, "No, wait. Please, was it before or after the coffee? Was there angry I threw a coffee at you makeup sex—,"
"I'm not answering that," I snap.
"There so was!" Kenna cries.
"No, there was not," I argue rapidly. "Raf walked in."
"Raf?" Kenna yells. "That traitor didn't tell me shit. He's dead. So dead. And so are you. And Aryan. How could no one tell me this vital piece of information?" She points at me. "Everyone is on my list. Watch your backs."
"Mira," Kajal's says after a stretching moment, slashing past Kenna's dramtics and I wince. "You don't have to do that. Why would you do that?"
My brows draw together. "Aren't you mad at him? I don't want to come between—,"
She shakes her head. "That's not your fault." My shoulders lower. Oh. "Besides, I'm not mad at him, per se. He's hard to be mad at." I could argue that point. I'm professionally mad at Aryan Shankar. "I was just giving him the silent treatment until he decided to stop being a lying cousin of mine."
"Turns out his girlfriend's got more balls than him," Kenna happily remarks.
"Yeah, no." I glare at her for the word girlfriend. Then, I bite my lip and direct towards Kajal, "So, uh, how do you know?"
I brace myself for her answer but it's Dija who says, "Well, it was kinda obvious."
"Not to me!" Kenna objects. "I had no fricking idea and we're lab partners!"
"Poor you." Dija pouts and pats her on the arm.
"Yeah, what she said," Kajal answers me. "It was pretty obvious. I suspected since Raf's birthday and Dima and I may or may not have theorised about it a couple times before that."
Before that? My eyes must be wide because she laughs. "You did throw a coffee at him."
"Is anyone going to let me live that down?"
"Nope," Kenna cheers.
I have the urge to flip her off but I'm too busy being a little glad that Dima and I still have our little friendship trust circle.
Just as my eyes are about to flick to the door, to the brother on the other side, Aryan's unmistakable shout resounds, "Bagels!"
"You done braiding each other's fucking hair in there?" Raf's question follows.
"Okay, I'm hungry. Carbs trump girl code," Kenna decrees. She taps her wrist, bereft of a watch. "Plus, I need to murder Raf."
"I didn't even get to finish my bagel," Dija says.
I'm sorry is on my lips but Kenna has already looped her arm through Dija's and paraded toward the door. "Murdering Raf is as good as bagels," Kenna says.
They're halfway through and I'm keen to follow and get this over with when I pause, realising Kajal has stayed put.
My brows draw together and I turn, the sound of the door closing behind Kenna and Dija echoing past my ears. "Listen, I'll take you home to Dima's. You can tell him or you can't. It's up to you. My lips are sealed."
She nods slowly. Then, lifting her gaze to mine, she hesitates before finally asking, "You and Ivan—," My stomach sinks. "There's something there, isn't there?"
That fucker. That fucking kiss on the cheek. My eyes flutter shut momentarily and when I open them, I shake my head so hard that the world shudders for a beat. "No. No, not anymore. I meant everything I said."
Kajal nods again, eyeing me carefully as she does, like she half-expects me to flee out the red door.
I swallow the urge. "Dima doesn't know." My teeth fall onto my lower lip. "I'll tell him eventually. Please, don't—,"
"I won't," Kajal swears, straightening. Her dark eyes skim me and she offers me a soft, solemn smile. "I promise. Your secret's safe with me."
Secrets and shadows. I hate it.
"You don't have to," I protest. "You're his girlfriend and you tell each other everything."
"And you're his best friend," Kajal answers. "He trusts you. And I trust you. So, you trust me."
I exhale, throat suddenly thick. "Thank you."
She waves me off lightly.
Dropping her hand, she clasps them nervously in front of her and says, "But I'd like you to take me home, for real." To Dima's. "I don't feel like brunch anymore."
And for the first time, it feels like Kajal Shankar and I have come to an understanding.
I nod at her. "I'll handle Ivan."
♥ ♥ ♥
KENNA COMES OUT OF THE LADY'S ROOM AND SMACKS RAF hard in the chest. "You knew Mira and Aryan were fucking on the low and didn't tell me?"
"I thought fucking everyone knew that," he scowls at her.
She smacks him again. He elbows her back.
"What happened to our bro code?" Kenna roars, betrayed.
"You just shit all over bro code like ten minutes ago," he shoots back.
"You did," I add but Kenna is busy throwing her head back and rolling her eyes.
"How many times do I have to tell you, Raf? Girls don't do that. Ew." She snarls, "Besides, bro code is shit since both of you—," She jabs a thumb at me, then at Raf, "leave me out of the loop."
"You're not out of the loop, Kenna, you just don't know how to mind your own damn business," I say and get smacked.
Not a second later, Raf tells her, "It's not my fault you're a dumb blonde who doesn't use context clues, Kenna." He earns a smack too. I'd like to think she hit him harder.
"You both deserved that," Dija chirps from beside me and I glance down at her as Raf and Kenna shuffle towards the door, seemingly deciding to talk about me and not to me. I roll my eyes after them. Those two are the biggest gossips I know.
The red door stays closed and I cross my arms, waiting.
Khadija peers at me curiously. She seems a little anxious in my presence and I have no idea if it's because I'm almost a foot taller than her or because she has no idea what to say, so I cut the tension, remarking, "So, I leave Mira alone for ten minutes and she spills all my dirty laundry, huh?"
Dija huffs a soft laugh. "My mother always says that women get more shit done than men. Well, not like that. She's a very religious woman so she'd rather eat sand than say the word shit but you get what I mean."
I chuckle and nod. "I get what you mean."
A beat passes and I wonder what's taking Mira and Kajal so long and the urge to enter the lady's room once again returns but I curb it, casually mentioning to Dija, "I think Charlie has a crush on you, by the way."
Her eyes blow wide and I think she actually squeaks but she doesn't get to say anything to that before the door spins open and out spills Kajal.
Kajal, who comes out and elbows me roughly in the hallway and states, "Your girlfriend has more balls than you."
Women are very violent.
I'm clutching my arm as I tell Kajal, "That hurt."
"Yeah, right." She does it again. "You told me I hit like a chipmunk three years ago. I remembered."
She does hit like a chipmunk but I want to make her feel just a little bit guilty for hitting me. Even though I probably deserve it. "Ouch," I complain and she rolls her eyes, hands falling to her hips. "And she's not my girlfriend."
Kajal snorts. "Sure."
I shake my head, eyeing her carefully. "So, we good?"
She points a finger at my chest. "Not if you ditch lunch at Nani's next Friday. Neha's coming down for wedding prep and I don't want to put up with all that drama on my own. You hear me?"
Neha, the bride to be and our cousin, is a lot and Kajal has very little patience when it comes to our other cousins, especially ones who threaten to get hitched in Vegas, the thought alone nearly giving our grandmother a heart attack.
I bite back a smile. "I hear you. Wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Good boy," she mocks me with a pat on the cheek and I roll my eyes.
The woman of the hour slips out of the bathroom at that moment and her eyes immediately rise to mine.
Mira's hair is wild around her face, framing that grey gaze that is as strong as some type of magnet for all my attention. She wears cut-off jean shorts, white string fraying around her thighs in a way that kind of makes me want to twist the thread around a finger. Her sweater is cropped and spells out Tree Hugger in green block script. Cute.
Her grey eyes cut into a glare immediately and that glare doesn't move from me at all while she fishes her keys out of her pocket and tosses them to Kajal. "Let's get out of here."
But she doesn't move as Kajal and Dija glance between us, Mira's keys in hand.
"See? Like I said," Dija whispers to Kajal as they bustle away. "Obvious."
"Give me a second," Mira says to me once they're gone and cuts around me, heading back to the dining part of the cafe.
"Leaving so soon?" I hear the slow, condescending drawl greet her and I step around the hallway immediately, just in time to catch Mira shaking her head at him.
Her teeth flash when she warns in a flat tone, "Lose my number. Lose hers too. And leave Dima the fuck alone."
Ivan opens his mouth, eyes tracing her head to toe in a way that kind of makes me wish he'd swung just so I could swing back, but Mira doesn't let him get a word in, already turning on her heel and walking away.
I fall into step beside her easily and feel her glance up, and there's that magnet again, making me glance down, both of us successfully sparing not a single look back for the eyes behind us.
"You didn't have to tell her, you know, Zahed," I say, gratitude in my tone anyway. "It was my mess, not yours."
Her eyes turn thoughtful. Mira gives me a shrug. "Maybe," she says. "But I get why you were slow to tell her."
"You do?"
She shrugs again. "Whether I like it or not, I'm getting to know things about you, Shankar."
When she doesn't elaborate, I lift a brow at her, pushing the door of the cafe open and waiting for her to step out and challenging, "Oh, yeah? Like what?" She brushes past me and I inquire, breath whistling through her hair, "That I'm unbearably handsome? So damn handsome that even though I was in your bed this morning, you'd invite me back tonight and the night after, and the one after that—,"
Her palm pushes my face away and she walks out the door. "Desperate much, Aryan?"
I let the door swing shut behind me, turning to grin at her on the pavement outside the cafe, the sun a halo in her hair. I could almost believe the image if she didn't rake those blue nails right through that hair, pushing it back in waves to stare at me.
"Me? Desperate? Never." I shake my head, leaning towards her. "I just know what I want."
"Yeah, and what's that?" She hums back. "To annoy me for all of eternity?"
A slow smile curves my lips. "Of course."
Her eyes skirt my face for a beat, then she leans back, spacing between us. "Ambitious," she comments.
I think of Raf's offer. The glaring mass of it. Ambition has always been mistaken to be something selfish. But ambition is a living thing and it would devour that opportunity. Selflessness is something lighter and it would do anything for his friend, with or without those heavy promises. Selfishness is something else entirely.
I shove my hands in my pockets.
"So I've been known to be," I say. I jerk my chin. "Come on, Zahed. I'll walk you to your car."
"Did you get any red cards?" She jokingly asks as we fall into step, the car park and her black Range swimming into view, the two girls already inside.
You don't know what a red card is, I want to lazily say back to her again but I don't. I'll tell her what it is. I'll explain the whole damn thing even if her skull is made of pure concrete and refuses to process a single sport-related thing. But first, I look down at her and earnestly say, "Thank you."
Mira glances up and I wonder if the magnet exists in my eyes too. She hesitates for a beat. Then, nudging my arm with her shoulder, she goes, "What are friends for?"
It's a very awkward nudge on her part and yet, I grin. I grin even wider, pure mischief, when a little smile twitches at her lips.
Flinging an arm over her shoulders, I feel my heart hammer when she relaxes under it.
"Me and you? Friends?" I laugh. My lips tip towards her head as we steer toward the car. I feel Kajal and Dija staring but for now, I don't care about anything other than her rosy shampoo filling my senses, the way her body electrifies when my lips curl at her ear. "You threw a coffee at me, sweetheart. I don't forgive and forget."
And then, Mira's nose wrinkles and then she's throwing my arm off her shoulders and striding away. Too bad I have longer legs and keep up easily. "Call me sweetheart again and I'll make sure you don't live long enough to forgive and forget, to begin with."
"Alright, Zahed," I correct myself with a nod as we stop outside her car door. Her eyes drink me in, the sun beating against my back as I plaster a hand against the window above her head. "But we're not fucking friends."
♥ ♥ ♥
hi hi hi it's been a while i've been super MIA from writing but i convinced myself that if i do not write this chapter i will never write again
idk what happened in this chapter but eh i kinda like it and i missed these characters SKKSK I HOPE YOU MISSED THEM TOO