“How about we make it two Arnold Palmers,” he told the waitress, and waited until she left before facing me again. “I had a feeling there was more to you than your love of laddus.”

“I had no idea that was a setup, by the way.” I touched my face nervously with the tips of my fingers. I could feel my cheeks getting hot.

“Neither did I.” He grinned. “But I think that was the point.”

I was relieved to know he hadn’t been involved with the ambush. It made him seem more likable. More trustworthy. The waitress came in with our drinks, and Zain politely thanked her.

“So what made you reach out to me after all of that?” I stirred my drink with the thin red straw and took a sip. “One afternoon of torture wasn’t enough for you?”

“Well, to be honest, I felt bad.”

“Oh?” I asked, trying to push aside my disappointment. He felt bad? I knew he’d only contacted me out of pity. I tried to play it cool, but I could feel the heat rising in my face once again.

“I felt bad,” he repeated, taking a sip, “that we didn’t get a proper chance to meet each other the first time around, so I wanted to do it right.” He gazed directly into my eyes, and I blinked, looking away. It was the first time I noticed how attractive he was. He had warm brown eyes that half squinted each time he laughed. His short hair curled neatly at the nape of his neck, and there was a small black mole right above his upper lip that disappeared whenever he smiled. “You’re definitely someone I’d like to spend more time getting to know.”

“Really?” I squeaked, then suddenly looked down, embarrassed about coming across as too eager.

“Really.” He smiled. My skin tingled as I felt his eyes on me. I liked that I didn’t need to compete with his phone, or an ex-lover, or his passion for singing to get his attention. I had it all, and there was something exhilarating about that.

“I do feel like there’s something missing, though,” he said.

I looked around the enclosed room, the sounds from the other side of the curtain filling the small space. “Our mothers?” He chuckled and moved in closer on the cushion next to me. The top of his knee bumped against my leg, and for a brief second, the room felt electric.

“I was thinking food.” He grinned, motioning toward the waitress, who had come back inside.

After we had given our orders, I asked Zain about the new clinic he was opening in Los Angeles. He shrugged and said, “You don’t really want to talk about that, do you? Why don’t you tell me more about all the young minds you mold?”

I smiled and began telling him about teaching—how I stumbled into it accidentally and ended up falling in love with the idea of somehow making a difference. I talked about my friends; my family; my life. I was drawn to his sense of ease. His humble mannerisms. He was confident but not arrogant. Affectionate without trying too hard. On past dates, conversations had felt loaded, fraught with nerves, but talking to Zain was comfortable. Easy.