Page 114 of Reasons We Break

Without waiting for a response, she rises, tossing her chunni over her shoulder in one dignified motion. She glances at the photo on the wall of Rajan’s mother, and then at his father. “Thank you for the chah. I am very sorry about Arshdeep.”

SIMRAN’S HANDS SHAKEthe whole drive home. She barely pays attention to the road. A part of her knows she shouldn’t be driving tonight, not when she’s like this. But today has been bad decision after bad decision. What’s one more?

After puking at Neetu’s party, she fled. She didn’t know where she was going until she stopped on the roadside to text Yash about Rajan. Somehow, she no longer cared about leaving a digital trail of her feelings for him.

Of course, once she saw Rajan in person, once he spelled out every reason they shouldn’t be together, she felt stupid. But she stillwantshim. It’s completely illogical, given how difficult that would make her life, given the blowup it would cause, given he didn’t even answer her question about whether he wants it too...but there it is.

Simran’s dad is waiting when she arrives home, and she gets the sense that her parents have spoken in the hour she’s been MIA. She mumbles hello and is about to escape to her room when her dad suggests, of all things, that they watch a movie.

So she reluctantly sits with him on the couch, bracing herself. But he doesn’t say more, just places popcorn between them. Simran barely pays attention to the animated movie.

Her dad’s loving it, though. He nudges her when the characters break into song. “This guy’s so funny.” He offers her the popcorn again. She shakes her head, and he shrugs. “More for me.”

He’s being so gentle. Acting like nothing’s happening. But hemustknow about the party.

“Dad,” Simran ventures. “Do you believe what people are saying about me?”

He lowers the popcorn to look at her then, face serious. “I don’t believe anything about you unless you tell it to me yourself.”

That’s an invitation. She hears it under his words.

But Simran turns back to the movie, and eventually, so does he. She wonders if she’s imagining the disappointment in the silence now.

The credits are rolling when the front door opens. Simran whips around—her mom’s there, taking off her shoes. Simran steels herself—time for her lecture—but her mom just says, “I brought leftovers.”

Simran forces down some curry to appease her. The whole time, she’s waiting for her mother to start the conversation, but she never does. In fact, she seems brighter than usual. She smiles at Simran and refills her plate. She asks if Simran’s stomach is upset because she sees her clutching at it, then makes saunf water with honey. She notices Simran shivering, and puts a hand on her forehead.

“Maybe you’re getting sick,” she says. Simran stares into her eyes. Her mom stares back steadily. Is it not obvious to her what was obvious to everyone else? Did no one murmur their suspicions about Simran to her? Could she have gotten off scot-free?

“I’m tired,” Simran says eventually.

“Yes.” Her mother kisses her forehead. “Go. Sleep it off.”

Sleep what off? That seems an odd thing to say about an illness. When her mom releases her and steps back, andespeciallywhen she smiles again, Simran can’t help but feel like they’re playing a game.

By morning, whatever mental fog was left from the drugs has lifted, leaving Simran painfully clear-headed. It’s surreal to think back to her evening at Manny’s mansion. At its best, the high wasincredible. She can see why Rajan has a hard time staying away from it. Just the memory makes her feel almost as giddy as when they kissed.

And yet.... she has no desire to repeat it. Even with how good it felt, she hated being that out of control. Not to mention the consequences—her apology tour has grown by several stops after last night. She feels sick, but not in the way her mother was saying. She feels sick in her soul.

It’s one in the afternoon when she finally descends the stairs. Her dad’s at work. Her mom’s there, though, calmly watering the plants.

“Can you help me with something?” Simran asks in a small voice. Her mother looks her up and down before nodding.

They work in the kitchen together, side by side, making small talk. Her mother is pleasant. Too pleasant. Simran goes along with it because she doesn’t know what else to do. And an hour later, Simran packs their homemade semiyan and sets off for Neetu’s house.

When the front door opens, Simran actually watches Neetu’s mom’s face fall slightly. “Oh. Simran...it’s you.”

“Sat Sri Akaal, Auntie ji.” Simran attempts normalcy, as if she didn’t make a scene around Neetu’s future in-laws and then vomit on the side of their house. “Is Neetu home?”

“She’s busy with the reception preparations, very busy...” She trails off. It hits Simran. Neetu doesn’t want to see her. Of course she doesn’t.

It was a mistake to even come. “I understand.”

She’s walking down the driveway when Neetu’s voice calls from inside.

“I’m not busy. Come in, Simran.”

Simran turns back slowly. Neetu’s halfway down the stairs, her hair loose, wearing sweatpants and a tie-dye T-shirt. She beckons Simran inside, expression perfectly neutral.