“Mummy, please. He’s not regretting anything. We were dishonest with you. We were never together. It was my fault.” Naina had made him do it. Lie to everyone. Although he’d gone along quite happily. Or unhappily. It didn’t matter anymore.

“Of course it was your fault,” her mother said, determined hope taking root in her eyes. “So correct your mistake.” She turned to Yash. “Please, beta. At least say you think about it.”

Shame should have choked Naina. Pride should have made her get up and leave. Fortunately for all present, she’d had too much experience squashing both shame and pride when it came to her mother.

“He will not say that. I don’t want him to think about it. I don’t want him to.” She couldn’t look at Yash. Couldn’t bear the unshakable understanding in his studiedly neutral face. The face that had always been there for her when she’d needed someone. His mask of non-judgment had been the support she’d needed. It had made her lean on him, push him into doing terrible dishonest things.

“Go, Yash,” she said. “Please. You cannot make this situation better.” But he had tried to, and she didn’t want to be grateful for that but she was.

He squeezed Naina’s hand across the table and threw another gentle look at her mother. “See you soon, Auntie. Everything will be all right.” Then he listened to Naina and left.

Naina waved at the waiter for the check. Maybe doing mother-daughter things wasn’t for them after all.

“Why you keep sending him away?” her mother said, voice trembling as she took an angry bite of the halwa.

Because I have to keep doing what you didn’t do for yourself. What you didn’t do for me. “I’m not sending him away, Mummy. He was never with me.” Then, no matter how hard she tried to stop herself, she met her mother’s disappointed gaze, tried not to reflect it. “You cannot leave someone you were never with. But leaving someone you are with and you don’t want to be with, that is not impossible.”

Chandni Kohli was a master at only acknowledging conversations she could process. It wasn’t in the least bit surprising that she looked away from her daughter as though she had no idea what she was saying.

“If you got him back, then your daddy would agree to talk to you again. I would convince him.”

“You would convince him?” Naina probably should not have said that with such anger, because her mother put her spoon down when there was still some gajjar halwa left in the bowl and Naina felt like a piece of shit that someone had stepped in. “I’m sorry,” she added. “It’s best for everyone if Dr. Kohli and I don’t talk.” She attempted a smile. “His blood pressure is much better, I’m sure.”