Page 25 of Reasons We Break

She’s guiltily glad she has a reason to leave the house today. She steps away from her mother. “I’m going to the university this morning. Jassa and I are cleaning things up at the student society office.”

Kiran whips around to her, earlier frustration gone. “Ooh, ‘Jassa and I’?” Her eyes twinkle. “Aboooy?”

Simran sends her a flat look. This isnotthe time.

“Is he good-looking?” Kiran teases, but her mother cuts her off.

“Kiran, that’s enough. Jassa is a respectable boy. I won’t hear any more of these jokes.” She leans her head back. “Let Simran go with him in peace.”

Kiran raises her eyebrows at Simran, and for a moment, they share mutual surprise. Usually, if Kiran were to make a joke like this, their mom would take the opportunity to remind Simran to avoid romantic entanglements. But not today, apparently. Today it’s Kiran getting berated.

Of course, Kiran’s used to getting berated, and simply mutters, “Whatever,” before grabbing her chah mug. Simran studies her mom curiously. Why is she not giving the usual lecture about boys whose brains are only half developed? Does graduating high school mean her mom is suddenly okay with dating? Or is it because it’s Jassa Singh and her mom adores him?

While she’s musing, Simran’s phone rings. She fishes it from her pocket. “It’s TJ.” Right. She’d forgotten to call back after hanging up last week. “Let me—”

“Don’t tell her,” her mother says. Her eyes are fixed on Simran’s phone. “Don’t tell anyoneanything. But especially not her. I don’t want her mom to know. Accha?”

Her voice is firm. Simran nods hesitantly, but...

“Couldn’t Masi ji be helpful?” TJ’s mom is a doctor—an orthopedic surgeon, but still. And she has connections in the medical community. “Maybe she could get us in faster—”

“No.”

“But why not ask—”

“I saidno.” Her mother glares. “Promise me you won’t breathe a word of this to TJ. I don’t care if you think she can keep a secret.I don’t want her to know.”

Simran sighs. The rift between her mother and masi is out of her hands. “I promise.” She glances at her phone, suddenly unsure she can actcompletelynormal on the call. She needs to mentally prepare.

So, she lets TJ’s name fade from her screen.

During her drive to UBCO, TJ leaves a voicemail, then sends three texts, the last of which isARE YOU EVEN ALIVE. When Simran parks, she puts her phone on silent.

In the student services building, Jassa is already hard at work clearing out filing cabinets. It’s a dull job, but one of those end-of-year tasks that need doing. She’d offered to help at the end of their conversation yesterday, just to skate over what felt like a supremely awkward moment.

They wordlessly sort through files until Jassa says, “How’s your mom doing with her new thing?”

For a moment, Simran panics. “I—What?”

He doesn’t seem to notice. “Last time I saw her at the gurdwara, she said she was learning to play the tabla.”

Simran exhales. Slowly. “She did?” Her mom plays sometimes, but usually it’s her dad who accompanies Simran at home.

“Yeah. She said the way I played made her want to learn.”

He sounds vaguely surprised, but Simran’s not. Jassa’s a tabla expert. Despite herself, Simran enjoys performing at the gurdwara with him. When he first moved to Kelowna for university, Simran deliberately sang shabads in uncommon taals to test his drumming skills. But he never faltered. He’s always matched her flawlessly.

Her mom probably noticed that, too. Simran swallows, suddenly looking at Jassa in a new light. Her mother not evenmentioningthat Simran should stay professional with him suddenly feels like a flashing neon sign screaming at her to pursue him instead.

Jassa doesn’t seem to notice her staring. He pulls something out of the filing cabinet. “Huh. Look where all those ‘missing’ votes for the student fees referendum went.”

Simran glances at them. “Chandani?”

“Yeah. I get the sentiment, but hiding votes is, how do I put this? Oh yeah. Illegal.” He rolls his eyes. “You know she never did send those emails after the meeting? She said she was ‘too busy getting laid.’” He uses air quotes. “Why do some people act like getting drunk and laid is the pinnacle of enjoyment?”

Simran represses a smile at his uncharacteristic grumbling. He’s always so diplomatic in meetings. “Are you going to report her?”

“No. I don’t want to pay higher student fees, do you?” He starts feeding the stolen votes into the shredder. Simran laughs, and he grins, too. And she realizes this is the most at ease they’ve ever been with each other. Sitting on the floor between desks with files scattered around them. No hesitation, no wariness. This is real.