“Come on. They can’t be that bad. And this smell is giving me a . . .” Don’t say hard-on. He didn’t say it, but he had a feeling she heard it nonetheless. He bit into a bright red tandoori drumstick and let out a moan. “Okay, definitely a hard-on.”

She punched his arm and they ate in silence for a while, because . . . because what words could get in the way of this? They kept piling each other’s plate with naan and chutney and perfectly seasoned melt-in-your-mouth pieces of goat and chicken. “This is food your mother brings you when she wants you to eat less?”

Her laugh seemed to come from the deepest part of her, and he felt like the king of the world.

When there wasn’t an iota of space left inside him, he walked his fingers toward the envelope still sitting on the black granite.

“Fine.” Naina shrugged. “At least someone is excited about those pictures.”

Not waiting for her to change her mind, Vansh slid the pictures out of the envelope.

A man with intense eyes and a sharp blue Sikh turban smiled uncomfortably for the camera.

“He’s kind of hot.”

Naina spurted out a laugh and choked on the piece of cucumber in her mouth.

Leaning into her, he started rubbing her back. They both laughed until they teared up.

“Let me guess. Doctor?”

“Even better. ‘Surgeon—the general one, like Shree  . . .’” Again she used her mother’s voice, and Vansh whistled. “‘Widowed . . .’”

“Ooh, exciting!”

“‘And the best part . . . childless!’”

“No! Seriously? Where did she even find him?”

Despite her laughter, her shrug was sad. “No idea. I didn’t even know childless widowed surgeons were still being manufactured.” Her smile got weighed down with hurt, but not in a terrible way. She had so many shades of sad. “Almost makes me wish I was in the market,” she added, voice light.

“You’re not?”

She looked horrified. “God, no! Not ever. Not even a little bit.”

He almost asked why she didn’t tell her parents that, but he wasn’t stupid. Of course she had. Probably multiple times.

For a while they sat there. Comfort, discomfort, anger, laughter, all of it strewn on that breakfast bar and mixed in with an embarrassingly small quantity of leftovers. They’d gone at the food like starving scavengers.

“Will you tell me something, Naina?”

She gave him no more than a lazy blink, but he could tell that she was wide open, loosened by food and laughter. Strangely filled up, if he could project his own feelings for a second.

“Why did you and Yash break up?”

A sip of water. An angry swallow. “Technically it wasn’t a breakup. We ended our arrangement. And I answered that already when you asked me before. Watch the press conference. I’ll send you the link.”

“I’ve watched the press conference. I mean, what’s the real story?”