by Sonya Lalli
Most of the time, the shift was subtle, something that happened to women all the time back in the US. An unnecessarily long stare by a passerby, a quick up and down, even an under-the-breath mumble you’re not quite sure was meant for you.
But sometimes, like when I passed through a construction site and crossed paths with four young men beneath a tunnel of scaffolding, it was more obvious. Even frightening.
At first, they tried to talk to me in Hindi and then in English. When I smiled politely and kept going, they turned around and started to follow me. I picked up my speed, my heart racing until I was back out in the sunlight and around other pedestrians, but still, they stayed right on my heels, calling out to me. One even tried to touch me.
I bit my lip hard, spun on my heel, and shouted at them until they left. We were in broad daylight with witnesses everywhere; what would they have done if they’d been protected under the dark of night? If they had found me all alone?
I clearly remembered watching the news that fateful day in 2012 when the whole world learned about the student who was brutally raped and murdered on a New Delhi bus. The incident sparked international outrage and shone a light on the widespread and horrifying sexual violence against women and girls in India, leading to certain legal reforms and more media coverage on other attacks. But from what I understood, not much had really changed. Rape culture and sexual harassment in India may be less taboo to discuss, but the threat of violence still hung precariously above every step and choice a woman made.
I finally arrived at the mall. I felt hot and weak, and I sat down on a free bench to catch my breath. I hated that I was so naive; it hadn’t even occurred to me that I would catch a glimpse of it here in one of Mumbai’s wealthiest neighborhoods. I hated that we women had to make ourselves smaller to stay safe—make detours and compromises never expected of men. I fanned myself, boiling to a rage. And as I glanced around at all the stores, at the glitz and unfairness of it all, the last thing I wanted to do was shop.
I was one of the lucky ones. I’d only been followed, and in broad daylight at that, and I had the privilege and the means to order myself a ride back to the hotel, to pay for accommodation, where I could fall asleep feeling safe.
What about all the women and girls who didn’t have that option? And not just here in India, but even in the US and the rest of this whole damn world? My head spun, thinking about all of them. Wondering if the world would ever fucking change.
* * *
• • •
I wasn’t in the mood to go to a party, but when I got back to my hotel room, I changed into the midnight blue lengha I’d brought for the sangeet and threw on a bit of makeup. The wedding itself would be religious, so tonight’s party would be the equivalent of a reception, and it was the event Diya was most looking forward to. It would be a chance for all of us to drink and celebrate, as well as to enjoy performances by musicians and dance groups.
I felt a bit better after arriving at the seaside venue and finding Pinky, and then later, Diya and Mihir and their families. I didn’t want to monopolize the couple, and so after a few minutes, I wandered aimlessly until I spotted a few of the bridesmaids, groomsmen, and their spouses near the bar. I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid Sam all night, and sure enough, when I got close, I spotted him among the group. Even though Sam was wearing a standard Western suit like most of the other men here, he stood out like a red herring.
At least, he stood out to me.
Our eyes met as I approached, as if I’d called out his name. In a panic, I grabbed a samosa from a passing waiter. It was only after I shoved the whole thing into my mouth that I realized the samosa was extremely hot, in both temperature and spice level.
“Niki!” Sam turned away from the conversation, stepping toward me. “It’s lovely to see you.”
“Hahgh.”
I’d been trying to say hi, but my mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.
“Do you require a napkin?” Sam asked.
I shook my head, aloo crumbling out of the samosa singeing a hole in my mouth. My face red, I pressed my hands over my lips.
“Is that a yes?”
Without waiting for me to respond, Sam disappeared, and a beat later, he was back with a napkin. I whipped around to deal with the situation. After I’d finished chewing and wiped my face clean of debris, I turned back to him.
I smiled sheepishly. “Uh, thanks.”
“Anytime,” he said, clearly trying not to laugh at me. “How is your sari—did I ruin it?”
“No.” I smiled. “Don’t worry. Pinky was able to save it.”
“Good.” Sam hesitated. “Look, I just wanted to say again that I’m so sorry—”
“Stop it,” I interrupted. “It’s not your fault. I was . . .”
What was I doing? I’d been dangling myself precariously over a pool to what, mess with him? Taunt him?
Entice him?
“I was being stupid,” I said finally. “It’s my fault I fell in. And the security guard’s.”
Sam laughed, and it changed his whole face. I’d forgotten how gorgeous it was. Blinding, too, like turning on a lamp in the dead of night.
“I still feel like I owe you a drink.” He cleared his throat. “Or something, at least . . .”
“Isn’t it an open bar tonight?”
“Yes, well. I was thinking about a different night, actually.” Sam leaned in. “How about dinner, once the wedding is over? How long are you in town?”
“Sam,” I said, trying to maintain composure. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“All right. Then how about, I’d like to have dinner with you. I’d really like it, actually.”
My gut wrenched. This was the moment I’d been afraid of tonight but also, annoyingly, been longing for. Sam from the Band was asking me out on a date.
“Look, Diya told me you weren’t available.” Sam paused, rubbing his neck. “But I’d kick myself if I didn’t ask anyway. Diwali was . . .”
His gaze tore through me, ripping me to pieces. Saying so much more than his words.
“Not a typical night,” Sam said finally.
“No.” Even though it was hot outside, I was shivering. I rubbed the goose bumps on my forearms. “I suppose it wasn’t.”
“You thought so, too?”
I nodded, stepping closer to him as I bit my bottom lip. “It’s not every night a stranger throws me in a pool.”
CHAPTER 14
His face didn’t crack a smile, like I thought it might, and we stood there staring at each other for what felt like hours.
“You tease me, Niki Randhawa.”
“I’m not a tease,” I said, wondering if Diya had told him my last name or if he’d similarly gone online and looked me up.
“You think I’m a tease, I expect.” Sam looked pained. “From my conversation with Diya the other day, well, I have the feeling you think I wasn’t being genuine.”
“Is that so?”
“She might have used the word ‘player’ . . . ”
I laughed and made a mental note to whack Diya with a pillow at some point in the future. She was a good friend, and I knew she hadn’t meant to sell me out, but she was about as subtle as a rock.
“Is that what you think about me?”
“I don’t know what I think about you, Sam from the Band.” I gave him a look. “Why did you change your name?”
“I didn’t. I abbreviated my name.”
“Sameer is beautiful, though—”
“Sameer doesn’t sound like the bass guitarist of a trendy band you’d pay good money to see live, does it?”
I crossed my arms, wondering where that was coming from.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” said Sam. “The point I was trying to make was . . .”
He squinted at me, and I laughed.
�
��I forgot my point.”
“It must not have been important, then.” I faked a yawn. The kathak dancers finished up their set, and everyone burst into a round of applause.
“We almost met once before, you know,” I heard Sam say after we’d stopped clapping. I turned back to him, hating and loving in equal measure how fiercely he was looking at me.
“Have we?”
“I came up to Seattle for the weekend. Diya invited me to hang out with her ‘crew.’ I imagine you were part of that?”
I smiled, thinking of our tight-knit group of friends from college, Diya being the glue that held everyone together.
“Well, why didn’t I meet you then?” I asked. “Did you stand us up?
“In fact, I did.” Sam blushed, his fair cheeks lighting up like a billboard. “I was with my college girlfriend, and she didn’t really like Diya. I know”—he paused, reading my face—“it’s hard to imagine anyone not loving her instantly. Well, that was the problem. Amanda was jealous of our friendship.”
“You did date for three weeks in the sixth grade,” I said mildly.
Sam scratched his jaw, smiling at me. “Diya told you?”
I nodded.
“What else did she say?”
“You kissed once, with tongue.” I shook my head at him. “You might as well have proposed.”
“I did propose,” Sam said. “I believe our friends married us behind the school. We never did file for divorce, mind you.”
“Well”—I glanced at my watch—“you have about three days to get that sorted out.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noted the kathak dancers leaving the stage and Auntie Jo walking up to the microphone. I tilted my chin for a better view. It looked like she had started speaking, but the crowd was too noisy for me to hear what she was saying.
“Were we supposed to go hiking in Discovery Park?” I asked Sam, a vague memory popping into my head. “During our senior year?”
“I believe so.” He nodded. “You remember?”
“Unfortunately, I do.” I shrugged sheepishly. “You see, I also stood Diya up that day. Whoops.”
“Wow, we’re such amazing friends.”
“I know, right? She was so pissed at you. She’d planned a whole day out because you’d never been to Seattle.” I laughed. “And she was pissed at me because I bailed to . . .”
I trailed off, my face heating up.
“To?” Sam prompted
“To drive my ex-boyfriend somewhere,” I said, rushing my words. “Anyway, if you and I both bailed, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
Just as Sam opened his mouth to speak, Auntie Jo loudly shushed the crowd, chastising everyone for not listening to her speech. I chuckled softly, turning away from Sam, and listened to Auntie Jo as she thanked everyone for coming and then announced the order of the festivities for the rest of the night—dance performances by the bridesmaids, another by a few of Mihir’s sisters and cousins, and then a professional bhangra group as the finale.
As the dancing started, the crowd pressed closer to the stage. I was standing in front of Sam, and even though I couldn’t see him, I was aware of every inch of his body.
“Fancy another drink?” I heard him ask while everyone was applauding the first group of dancers. He’d stepped forward and was standing so close to me we were nearly touching.
“No, thank you.”
He placed his hand on my waist. “Sure?”
“I’m sure,” I whispered.
I looked back toward the stage. The next dance started, and I thought Sam would move his hand away, but he didn’t. He lingered, his fingers light on the waistband of my lengha. My body shivered when his thumb found the slit between the skirt and the top, and he pressed it against my bare skin.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “Where were you driving your ex-boyfriend?”
“I can’t remember—”
“Yes, you can. Tell me, Niki.”
Sam’s voice was soft, yet urgent. I vaguely wondered if he was jealous, but that would be crazy, and so I dismissed the thought immediately.
“Niki . . .” Sam goaded. “Come on.”
I sighed. I knew Sam wouldn’t let up until I told him, so I did.
“A StarCraft tournament,” I said finally, dicing up my syllables.
“You’re joking.”
I didn’t respond, my mouth twitching at the memory of my ex. Of myself, when we were together.
“You’re not joking.” Sam laughed when I shook my head stiffly. “Wow. I suddenly have a very clear mental picture of your ex.”
“Yeah, yeah . . .” I muttered.
“Are all your exes so debonair?”
“There’s only been the one,” I said. “Let me guess. Amanda was . . . lucky ex-girlfriend number thirteen?” I noted the tenor of jealousy in my own voice and cleared my throat. “Well, maybe twelve,” I said blandly. “Excluding Diya.”
“Excluding Diya,” Sam said, “I’ve only had the one.”
I tilted my head, and Sam’s profile came into view. My pulse quickened as he looked over and caught my gaze.
“Really?” I asked, unsure why I was pressing the subject. “One girlfriend? You?”
“Just Amanda,” he said. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Is it hard to believe that Sam from the Band doesn’t have girls throwing themselves at him in jolly old London?” I asked, imitating his Britishisms.
“Now why would they do that, I wonder?”
“I have no idea.”
Sam cracked a smile, his fingers tickling my waist slightly as he moved. I shivered. I hoped to god he didn’t notice.
“So why, then?” I asked again. I was strangely curious, desperately so, and couldn’t stop myself from asking. “Why only Amanda?”
“It wasn’t intentional, but we were together five years, nearly.” He nodded, his eyes somewhere else. “It knocked the wind right out of me. And after something like that, I suppose, it takes a very long time to catch your breath.”
Sam turned to me, our eyes locking together. My heart was racing so fast it felt like I was about to spin out of control.
“Do you know what I mean?”
I nodded, slowly. I knew exactly what he meant.
Sam’s face was close to mine. Too close. There were people everywhere, and if anyone was paying attention, they would have been able to see the way we were looking at each other. His hand still on my waist. The way he tightened his grip and tugged me gently into him.
“You’re playing with fire again,” I said softly. My heart was pounding louder than the music.
“Do you want me to stop?”
No.
“Yes,” I said instead, and he immediately withdrew his hand.
My waist felt cold without his touch, his heat, and I was almost thankful as more guests joined the crowd, forcing us closer and closer together. My back was flat against him, and I didn’t know who I watched dance and to which song, or how much time even passed as we stood there, as our hands found each other and refused to let go.
“This isn’t going to happen,” I whispered.
“If you say so.”
His thumb was like a beating heart on my palm, tapping out the rhythm of the music.
“One dinner.”
I shook my head.
“Give me one good reason—”
“I don’t do flings, Sam.”
“Neither do I.” He paused. “If you don’t believe me, believe Diya. I’m not some play—”
“Our zip codes, then,” I interrupted, scrambling for an answer. “That’s a good reason.”
“Is it?”
I felt his breath hot on my neck. My body was roaring. I was not myself. I was not Niki the good Indian girl who obeyed her parents, whose life revolved around her
career, who never let herself get carried away. I didn’t know where the hell she’d gone, but without her, I felt lost and free in equal measure.
The dance ended, and my pulse dropped to a normal rate as our bodies were forced apart in the crowd. The bridesmaids returned from the stage, and in a panic, I left Sam’s side to go congratulate them on their performance.
* * *
• • •
My phone buzzed later that evening, when I was halfway through dinner, wedged between Masooma and one of the other bridesmaids.
Dinner? Please?
The text was sent by a +44 number, and I’d watched enough British television to know that was the UK country code.
How did you get my phone number?
I spotted Sam down the table just in time to see him glance down at his phone screen. The edges of his lips curled upward.
Diya tasked me with guarding her purse this evening. She’s had the same passcode since high school.
I laughed, covering my face with my hand. Masooma and the others sitting in my vicinity were discussing their upcoming trip to Goa. I angled my chair away from them, texting Sam back.
Thief . . .
I was thinking about what to say next when Sam texted again.
You’ll LMK about dinner, right? Think about it.
A beat later, he texted again.
Diya mentioned you liked acronyms.
I grinned despite myself.
“LOL.” I guess that’s true . . .
I looked up to find Sam staring at me again, his eyes boring into me like a rocket. The music was loud, and the party was noisy, but in that moment, it was if the whole room fell silent. My senses overloaded as my lips parted, and I imagined what it would be like to kiss him.
