“Isn’t Sid Dashwood famously reclusive? Didn’t he refuse to take pictures of the president and First Lady once and cause a stir?” Naina asked. “Why would he want to photograph your project?”

“Honestly, he doesn’t strike me as particularly reclusive. But then, reclusive people like me. I help them loosen up.”

She made her most incredulous face.

“Look at you. Look at Hari.”

“Sid’s sister is dating your brother,” Naina said. “And you think this has to do with you?”

He must’ve looked as hurt at that as he was, because she added, “Vansh, I’m not trying to be a killjoy here. But you have to be cognizant of why people hand you things. There are costs involved. You have to be aware of those.”

“Really? Costs? What about Hari?”

“Come on.”

“What?”

“You’re Vansh Raje and you’re acting like he’s your best friend. Of course he’s grateful and happy. Tread carefully, Vansh.”

“Tread carefully? What do you think I’m going to do to him?”

“I’m not saying your intentions aren’t always noble.”

He hated when she did this, reduced him to being well-intentioned. “And you? What about you? What do you gain by spending time with me? By cracking yourself open to me when no one else can get close?”

Her laugh was bitter. Of course it was. Her What am I going to do with you? laugh threaded together with her How dare you! laugh.

“Laugh all you want. But you know you feel differently around me. It’s who I am, but it’s also someone I work hard to be. How can you refuse to acknowledge that?”

She pulled off the clip that was barely holding her hair together, then twisted and pinned it back up. “Fine, I acknowledge that people are drawn to you like moths to a flame because you offer up everything you come with without one thought to how dangerous that is.” Her voice cracked, which mortified her so much her chin went up.

“Dangerous for whom?” he asked. For her? For him? For Hari?

Her laptop pinged and her eyes darkened with worry as she checked it.

“Is it Nepal? What’s going on?”

She rubbed her temples but didn’t answer and started typing out a response.

“It’s stunning how little respect you have for me, Naina.” What more did he have to do to prove himself?

She kept typing. “What am I supposed to respect exactly?”

Ouch. “I’ve worked on charitable missions from the age of eighteen, in the toughest parts of the world. That’s eight years of trying not to live only for myself. That’s not respect-worthy enough for you?”