Page 33 of Reasons We Break

That’s the last thing she wants to do. Simran wrenches her arm away. “Then I’ll see you next time at Hillway.”

He catches up to her. “Where did they take you from?”

Her footsteps slow and stop. The street fades away. Suddenly, she’s at UBCO with a gun pressed against her head. Obeying orders to get out of her pickup. Flinching as they yank her phone from her pocket. Being led into the back of a van, wishing that anyone on campus was watching, that someone wouldhelp—

“I’m quitting Hillway,” Rajan says quietly, and she realizes, with a start, that he’s been watching her reaction closely.

She attempts to smooth her expression. “You don’t have to.”

“The hell I don’t. You can’t even tell me what happened to you.” He sounds shaken. “I’m not putting you in more danger.”

For some reason, the thought of him leaving finally makes her feel something—panic. She faces him. “If you leave, it’ll just confirm what Nick thinks about...us.” Their eyes meet. Both look away quickly. “If youreallywant to throw him off, act like this didn’t bother you at all. He’ll realize he made a mistake.”

It’s funny how when her own lies gain steam, she starts believing them herself. And she can tell, from Rajan’s silence, that he’s considering them, too. Good. She marches on.

They don’t speak as they cross into the grocery store parking lot, or when Simran grabs a shopping basket, or when she picks through the scarce amount of okra in the produce section. Rajan wordlessly leans against a display of avocados to watch, and she starts to think maybe they can avoid talking about it altogether.

But when she drops her okra into the basket, he finally speaks. “Do you always go grocery shopping on Saturday nights, or just after near-death experiences?”

His voice carries. An old couple gives him side-eye and a wide berth. He doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes fixated on Simran.

She sets off for the spices aisle. “I needed groceries.”

He falls into step with her. “Let me get this straight. You escape a kidnapping from your perfect little life, and your first reaction is: ‘Well, time to go make bhindi now’?”

She stops in the middle of the spices aisle and spins to look at him. “Rajan. Either leave me alone while I shop, or go home.”

A pause. Then his brown eyes widen. “Holy shit. Are you mad at me right now?”

She shoves her glasses up her nose and scans the shelf for garam masala. “No.”

“You sound kinda mad, dude.” He steps closer. Simran can feel his heat at her back. “What’d I say that got you worked up?”

“Nothing. I’m just trying to be efficient here.” She turns to tell him to back off, but he’s not as close as she thought. He’s taken his cap off, his closely cropped hair making an appearance. It suits him, she finds herself thinking, absurdly; it shows off the sharp contours of his face and throat—

Rajan reaches for her.

Simran’s heart jumps. She flattens against the shelf, spine digging against the price tags, unsure what she’ll do if he touches her, wanting and not wanting to find out—

He reaches behind her head and plucks out a packet of garam masala. “Last one.” He drops it in her basket and braces his hand against the shelf beside her head.Nowhe’s too close. “Are you gonna tell me what I said that pissed you off?”

“You didn’t.” It’s a struggle to think. “I’m fine.”

His eyes bore into her for a moment before he scoffs, pushing back a healthy distance. He puts his cap back on. “Yeah, tell that to someone who’ll believe it.”

Everyone else does. “If you want to help, get me a bag of onions.”

Rajan mock-salutes. “Yes, Simran Auntie.”

“And don’t call me that,” she adds, but he’s gone. To fetch heronions. As if this night could get more surreal.

She heads to the next aisle. They need flour for roti, but the shelves are sparse here, too. She scans the tags for her mom’s regular flour. None left.

She spots a store employee and waves them down. “Do you have any more of these?”

“No, I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re getting restocked tomorrow, though.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”