Page 101 of Reasons We Break

Simran accepts it. “Thanks.”

“Give Jassa my hello,” her mom adds.

“I will.”

She holds herself stiffly as she leaves, feeling her mother’s eyes on her back the whole way.

Nick picks up immediately when Simran calls on her way to the gurdwara. “Alive, are you?”

She merges onto the highway. “No thanks to the Lions.”

“That was a surprise ambush. We don’t know what they were looking for.”

“Yes, we do.Me.” His silence confirms it. “So much for your security.”

His voice becomes curt. “I’m not doing this over the phone. Where are you?”

“Meet me at the gurdwara in an hour.” She hangs up. She has to atleastshow her face at this kirtan practice first. She’s flaked on Neetu too many times.

Upon arriving at the gurdwara, she stuffs Rajan’s hoodie under her seat, taking a second to run her hand down the soft material. She misses him already. But it feels vaguely incriminating to text him, especially after the near disaster last night with her mom. Her parents aren’t the type to snoop through her phone, but still—with everything going on, maybe it’s best to lie low for now. She’ll ask Nick about him instead.

When she enters the room where practice takes place, several elementary-school-age kids are already with Neetu in the corner. Neetu’s playing something in Raag Dhanasari on the harmonium but stops abruptly when she sees Simran. Her eyes widen; clearly, she hadn’t expected Simran to show.

She recovers quickly, though. “Simran! You made it! Could you take them through some scales? I have to use the washroom.”

Simran nods, feeling guilty. Neetu’s been overseeing these kirtan practices on her own for a while, and that can’t be easy with all the kids to supervise.

She takes her place in front of the harmonium and begins with the gentlest smile she can muster. The kids are rambunctious and difficult to corral at first; they interrupt her lesson to ask what happened to her face. She replies that her music instructor bashed her head into the harmonium. That gets them working.

For a while, the practice is uneventful. She’s taking them through renditions ofsa-re-ga-ma-pa-dha-ni-sawhen a loud sound erupts from outside. It sounds a lot like a gunshot.

Instantly, Simran freezes. Her fingers stumble on the keys, her voice dies in her throat, and without warning, she’s somewhere else.

Gunfire. In the dark, her cheek pressed against the ground. Immobilized by terror. Rajan ordering her to stay close—

“Simran Bhenji? Are you okay?”

She blinks, and she’s back. The kids stare at her with concern.

She releases her white-knuckled grip on the harmonium and glances out the window. Of course it wasn’t a gunshot—just someone dropping a recycling bin. Why’d she flinch? “Yes. I’m fine.”

She continues the lesson. Then Neetu returns and splits the kids into groups to teach them new shabads. At some point, Simran’s phone rings with a private number. She looks out the window again and spots an ice-cream truck at the curb.

Of course. She’s gone ten minutes over the hour she told Nick. She turns to Neetu, a few feet away. “I have to go. Can you finish here?”

She feels terrible asking, especially when Neetu’s smile dims, but it returns again. “Okay, but only if you do me a favour.”

Oh no. “What do you need?”

“Gurjeevan and his family are flying in tomorrow. We’re hosting a backyard party for them. I know you’re busy, but it’d mean a lot if you came. Bring your family, too.”

How polite of her to say Simran isbusyinstead of the truth, which is that she’s flaky. “Okay.”

Neetu lights up. “Really?”

Her enthusiasm makes Simran feel even worse. “Yes. I wouldn’t miss it.”

She leaves, telling herself she won’t.