By the time they sat up, the sunlight had turned from white to yellow. The city had already long been marching around them and the breakfast hour had ended. Omkar picked up his phone and started listening to the messages he had received over the course of the night. His parents had called him 23 times since the incident the day before and they had left 16 messages. At first, the messages were angry. Then they were worried. They were worried even before Omkar did not come home for the night. Now, in two of the messages that his father had left in the early morning, Omkar could hear his mother in the background crying and telling Neeraj what to say.

Omkar set the phone down and looked at Aria. “I think I should go talk to them. They are really freaking out. They sound like they might be willing to at least hear me. I can pay for another night and you can stay here until I come back if you want.”

Aria thought about asking to go with him, but decided against it. She didn’t want to feel the pierce of whatever they might say about her. But sitting in an antiseptic motel room felt isolating. Some part of her was afraid that Omkar would come back through the door later that night, having been talked into following their advice, and tell her that he couldn’t see her anymore. She didn’t want to sit there waiting all day under the vulture’s wing of that potential.

“Um, actually, there’s a church up the street from the shop. Is it OK if you drop me off there? I have a couple people I might want to see there,” she said.

“Yeah, OK, sure,” Omkar said, happy that in his absence he would not have to carry the guilt of her waiting on him. “Are we supposed to take these to the front desk?” he asked, holding up the little plastic cards that served as room entry keys.

“I don’t know,” Aria said, giggling at their naivety.

“I’d better just take them to the front just in case. I’ll be back in just a minute. When I knock, let me back in, OK?” Omkar said, tying the laces of his shoes before exiting the room to return them.