Page 150 of Reasons We Break

“That letter in your truck,” he says. “From the math prof. You should email them back. Tell them you changed your mind. Beg them to let you transfer.”

She doesn’t understand. That conversation was forever ago. “You...You want me to leave?”

“No,” he says, and repeats, sounding anguished, “No, Sahiba, I don’t ever want you to leave. But youshould. You should go to Vancouver and level up to the sort of math nerd you’ve always wanted to be, and I should stay here and go back to school like Kat has been telling me to do, and you should rejoin debate and I should teach my brothers how to play baseball. We should both...We should...” He takes a breath. “Live.”

Simran’s already shaking her head. These are arguments she shut down long ago. She’s not sure she can bear to open them again. “Iamliving.”

“Yes, but not the way you want,” he argues. “I know you, Sahiba. You need a challenge. You’ll be miserable here. Did your parents not let you go before?”

“I never told them,” she whispers. “They would’ve let me. But they would be unhappy.”

“Then let them be,” Rajan says firmly. “Let them, and me, and whoever else, be unhappy you’re not around twenty-four seven. Jesus Christ. You’re not in charge of our happiness. We are. And it’s better for all of us not to be dependent on you. Go, okay? Go.”

His gentle urging has tears forming in her eyes and she doesn’t know why. She didn’t realize how much she needed it; for someone she cared about to not only tolerate her dreams but encourage them.

And why shouldn’t she go? Rajan, clearly, has made the choice to hope again. She sees it now; a lightness, apeaceabout him that wasn’t there before. That somehow, since the last time she saw him, he’s forgiven himself for the things he couldn’t control. And maybe even for some of the things he could.

If he can do that, she can do this.

Simran finds her voice. “Okay. I’ll go.”

His eyes clear entirely. No more words from him; he leans in and kisses her.

It’s different from last time. He is gentle in a way that makes her burn—none of the desperation, all of the heat. Her chest aches in a good way, a hollow place refilling. She clutches at his Hillway shirt, and he pulls her closer, unhurried. Half on this desk, half in his arms—but she’s not worried about falling. She always feels safe with him.

It’s too soon when he pulls away. “Listen,” he says roughly. “Just listen, okay?”

She nods, their noses nearly brushing. He takes a deep breath.

“I’m scared shitless I’ll screw up, and you’ll wake up one day and realize you can’t take it anymore.” His voice becomes raspy. “I’m even more scared that you won’t. But if I canstopmyself from screwing up, then I will. And I think this is part of it. You, me, we both need balance. I want to be part of yours. Even if I can’t be someone your parents like. Or claim to understand math. Or play tabla like that prick Jassa, or—Dude, stoplaughingat me—”

She’s trying not to, truly. “Is this really what you worry about?” She cups his face. “I don’t want a carbon copy of me. I wantyou.”

At that, any tension remaining in his body dissipates. His hand runs down her braid, wrapping it around his wrist. “Simran.”

Sim-ruhn.Again, her heart flutters. “What?”

“I’m so fuckin’ glad I failed eighth-grade math.” Then he takes her leg and swings it fully over his lap, and they don’t talk again for a while.

Later, Simran finishes locking up and finds her dad’s car waiting in the Northridge parking lot. She wonders if he saw Rajan leave through the same exit. She doesn’t feel the fear she used to about that.

“Where’s Kiran?” she asks when she gets in.

“She asked me to pick you up. I think she’s busy.” Her father sighs. “She didn’t explain, as usual.”

Something about his defeated tone compels Simran to speak. After all, Kiran stood up for her back at the party. It’s time she does the same. “You know,” she says casually, “that fight she had with you guys last year—she’s not refusing to get married to spite you. It’s just not in the cards for her. She’s asexual.”

“What does that mean?” She tells him, and he nods slowly. “Why didn’t she say?”

“I think she thought you wouldn’t understand things like...” Simran picks at a loose thread on her shirt, feeling slightly awkward. “Sexuality and stuff.”

“Why wouldn’t I? Kiran is by no means the first.” He strokes his beard. “Not everyone from my village did things the traditional way, you know. My father’s cousin lived with his best friend his whole life. They were like second parents to all the village children. Including me.” Simran must look surprised because he gently adds, “Just because we don’t use the same terminology as you doesn’t mean we’re backward.”

She nods, chastised, but then points out, “You and Mom always acted like me and Kiran were going to marry men, though.”

He sits back. “That is true,” he acknowledges, similarly chastised. “I still have things to learn. About that, and more.” He turns to face her. “I spoke to Kiran after the engagement party. She made me understand some things about you, too. We’ve put too much pressure on you.”

“It’s fine—”