I immediately shake my head. Rosie lives in Brooklyn, which is a drive in the absolute opposite direction. Taking me home will mean double the trip. “It’s fine,” I say, forcing my mouth into the shape of a grin. “My sister is waiting for me at the subway anyway.” It’s a lie, but it’s a believable one. Rosie doesn’t think so given the way she rolls her eyes, but she knows better than to argue.

If nothing else, it clears up the remaining guilt on Mr. Hardy’s face. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” I say and half-heartedly catch the kiss Rosie blows my way. “Bye, Rosie. Bye, Mr. Hardy.”

When the blue car disappears from sight, I roll my shoulders, attempting to relieve some of the lingering tension from earlier.

I start down the road, pulling out my phone to text Anam my ETA. Instead, I see three missed calls from my dad.

I furrow my brows but ignore it for the time being, instead texting my sister a quick: heading home rn, have the popcorn readyyy.

And then my phone starts ringing again, my dad’s face lighting up the screen. I press my lips together but slide my finger across the screen, answering the call. “I’m on my way home, Baba,” I say, turning the corner. “Calling me ten times doesn’t make my commute any faster.”

My dad grunts on the other end of the phone. “Go to the supermarket on your way home and pick up some bell peppers.”

“You called me four times because of bell peppers?” I ask tightly.

“And be home by six,” he says. “Or else.”

Then, without warning, the call drops.

“What the fuck,” I say to my phone, staring at the time with an uneasy sense of dread slithering through me. 5:33 p.m.

I’m never going to make it in time.

And even worse, I’m going to be late for my movie marathon with Anam.

“Shit,” I whisper, immediately dialing my dad’s number. It goes straight to voice mail. Something starts building in my chest, rising up my throat and choking me slowly.

“Goddammit,” I mutter, my eyes suddenly burning. Why is it that when one thing goes wrong, a million things follow in suit?

I go to call my dad again, but clearly the universe is plotting against me because I crash headfirst into someone instead. My umbrella goes flying one way, my iPhone the other.

“What—” I stare at the wet pavement in dismay, my bottom lip trembling “—the fuck.”

There are hands wrapped around my forearms, keeping me from falling over, but that doesn’t do much to protect me from the torrential downpour.

Then I look up at the person holding on to me, and my brain comes to a sudden halt. Even the insistent pressure behind my tear ducts eases up, my entire attention focused solely on the boy in front of me.