Page 34 of Reasons We Break

The employee walks away. Simran stares at the empty shelf, not entirely certain what to do. She squats to make sure there aren’t any bags in the back. But there aren’t; there will be no roti tonight. And her parents don’t like the store-bought ones. Dinner is ruined.

And just like that, Simran iscrying.

Real, hot tears, streaming down her cheeks. A violent shudder rips through her as she sinks to her knees. Full-onsobbing. She tries to wipe the tears away, but each time her eyes fixate on the empty shelf, they surge again, and she can’t seem to control her breathing, can’t claw back the sobs, can’tstop.

“Honey, you all right?” someone says behind her. She nods into her hands, and she hears them walk away.

Get a grip. She drags a breath into her lungs. Someone she knows could be here, and if they see her like this, she’ll have to explain herself. But she wouldn’t know how to. It’s justflour—

A bag of onions hits the ground beside her. And then Rajan’s there, hand on her shoulder. “What happened?”

She shakes her head. Tries to stand up. But as she’s rising, another uncontrolled sob rips through her. He presses down on her shoulders, gently guiding her back to the floor.

“Okay.” His voice is soft at her ear. “Okay. Take a break.”

This time, she doesn’t resist. Her face falls back into her hands, and he kneels with her, rubbing her shoulders, hands big enough to span her shoulder blades. He’s uncharacteristically quiet. She feels like she could cry past closing and he wouldn’t lose patience, wouldn’t leave her, wouldn’t tell her to be strong and hold it together. No; instead it’s like he’s silently saying it’s okay to fall apart.

It’s so soothing she finds herself able to take her first steady breath. She wipes her eyes under her glasses, although she can’t lift her face out of her hands yet. What must he think of her, breaking down in a grocery store? She has to explain.

What comes out of her mouth is: “They’re out of my mom’s favourite atta.”

Rajan takes this in stride. “What about a different brand?”

“My mom doesn’t like the other brands.” She sounds so whiny, she can’t blame him for not responding. But when she lowers her hands, she sees him jerk back slightly in surprise.

She looks down at her fingers. Smudged black and brown with all Kiran’s makeup efforts. “Oh. This.” She laughs absurdly and reaches into her purse for a tissue. Again, she feels the need to explain. It comes out unfiltered: “I was on a date.”

“Thefuck?”

His voice rings loud enough to attract stares from people shopping around them. They drift away quite quickly.

Rajan lowers his voice. “You’re joking. Right?”

Simran finishes wiping her face and puts her glasses back on. Rajan’s staring at her like she grew another head. Why’d she even tell him? They hardly know each other anymore.

“I mean, it wasn’t really a date. We were just meeting up.” Heat blossoms on her cheeks. “He didn’t even show.”

She shuts her mouth. Rajan stares at her another second before accurately summarizing. “Holy shit. You actually want to date this guy.” He rubs his jaw. “I have so many questions I don’t even know where to start.”

“He’s—a friend from school.” Rajan’s staring so dubiously, her self-confidence withers. Is the idea of her dating so ridiculous? Probably. She should count herself lucky he isn’t laughing himself to stitches right now. She gets to her feet. “Never mind.”

He rises, too. “Wait, no, I’m only surprised because—hestood you up. Talk about fumbling the bag. What, you’re too perfect for him?”

“I’m not perfect.” He scoffs, and she says it louder. “I’mnot.”

An understanding gleam enters his eye. “Sothat’swhat I said that pissed you off.”

She bites her lip, furious she gave it away.

But that’s what people think of her.Perfect Simran, so well-mannered and intelligent and disciplined and talented. She didn’t ask for that. She didn’t ask to become the standard for perfection, so high up she can’t even climb down herself.

“I don’t want people to see me that way,” she whispers. “As perfect. I have flaws. And limits.”

He studies her. “I don’treallythink you’re perfect, you know.”

“I know.” And she does. He’s always being sarcastic. Rajan has known, since the day she let him sneak out of the Northridge supply room with a knife, that she is not perfect. But in the wake of everything happening in her life now, this joke is starting to sting.

Rajan nods slowly, and Simran has the feeling she’ll never hear it from him again. “So this guy—”