Dadu comes in a moment later, holding out a box of tissues. I immediately gauge how much distance is between me and Ace—thankfully, still a safe amount.

“Be careful with her, she’s an ocean,” Dadu tells Ace in Bengali, handing him the entire box, before walking off.

He gives me a confused look. “What did she say?”

I laugh, the sound wet and choked off. “She said to be careful. I’m an ocean.”

“More tears?” Ace says.

“More tears,” I agree.

Ace sighs, leaning farther back into the couch. “He’s definitely going to die.”

I laugh again and shove his arm after making sure Dadu isn’t looking. “Just watch the movie.”

As we’re watching, Ace’s phone keeps buzzing. He glances at it a few times and irritation flickers across his face before he puts it away without replying. I’m tempted to ask, but it’s not my business.

One of my favorite dance numbers comes on, and Ace nudges my foot. “How come you never dress up like that?”

I roll my eyes, though I’ve also been imagining myself in Naina’s shimmery lehenga. “She hasn’t been dressed up for the entire movie, Ace.”

“Yeah, but she’s dressed up now.”

“This is her engagement party!”

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Say what?”

“That someone needs to propose to you in order for you to dress up. You know, technically, I did prompose, so maybe you could wear one to prom—”

“Oh my God, be quiet.”

Ace makes an mhmm sound but mimes zipping his lips shut when I shoot him a glare.

A scene with Aman’s doctor comes up, and my skin crawls. It must show on my face, because Ace reaches forward to pause the film. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say.

He frowns. “You’re shaking.”

I glance at my hand and realize my fingers are trembling. Ugh. I should’ve been more careful when choosing a film. I’m always extra sensitive the day after an anxiety attack, and things trigger me more easily. Right now, apparently seeing a doctor on the screen is enough to make my body protest.

I take a deep breath, trying to inhale the scent of cinnamon in the room. It helps a little. “Um...it’s just. Doctors.”

“Are you scared of them?” he asks, sounding baffled. His gaze darts to the candle on the table in front of us, and his eyes narrow before he looks back at me. “I thought you were in Pre-Med Society.”

I smile faintly. “You would remember that.”

“Don’t change the subject, Ahmed.”