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cicidarkarts · 5 months ago

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Joonam - Chapter 1: Stock Duty

Chapter List | Chapter 2 >

He had the cleanest hands of all the employees. Mostly because he obsessed over washing them with a gusto that would leave even the most ardent germophobes wincing. Idrees got a reminder of this whenever his boss sent him to restock shelves, where he had at least an hour to stare at his dried skin and gleaming fingernails. He kept them short so he wouldn't have to think about how they looked with dirt and blood caked under them. He refused offers of lotion from some of the women he worked with because, though it would alleviate the dryness, the sliminess of war-tainted mud made his skin crawl.

He lived in a big tourism area in India now. His workplace was just off the beaten path that they mostly saw locals. Sometimes, he saw a couple of the men he knew from his days in the Taliban; he always conveniently had to check the back whenever he noticed them. If the memories weren't enough to scare him off, their scowls toward him and shitty attitudes toward his female coworkers ensured his retreat. At least the back was quiet and the crappy lights were dim. He didn't have to stare at his hands that never seemed clean enough.

Cleaning duty was the easiest for him, because he had to wear threadbare gloves. The peace and quiet of the back shelves allowed the menial chores to take over the noise of his mind. Just wipe down the shelves and move the cans along, then go to the next shelf. Cans clinked together as he moved, sounds that ensured he could stay present, all while focusing fully on the steps of his task.

“Hey, Idrees,” said the shopkeep as she joined him. “Anush,” he greeted. “How are you doing after the rush?” He looked at her, focusing on that deep scar along her cheek, mustering up as much conviction as he could. “Fine.” “If you need to use my office again—” “I’m fine,” he said, a little snippier than he’d intended.

She went quiet. The perpetual scowl on her face hid a look of sympathy in her eyes Idrees had come to know unfortunately well. He gripped his mop handle and wiped the floors.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I wasn’t trying to—” “It’s okay, you’re gonna be mad at me anyway.” He gave her a defeated look, watching as she pushed down her hijab to slick back her hair once again. She said, “‘Cuz I’m about to put you on stock duty.”

A tension inflated in his chest—pushing against his lungs and sitting on his stomach. He released the building sigh.

“Wish I didn’t have to,” she continued. “But the girls have their hands full after that rush. And there’s a pretty big shipment that just came in, so I need someone on stock duty.” “Yes, ma’am,” he capitulated.

Lead-legged and hands firmly by his sides, he trudged to the back and through its refrigerated chill. He needed to keep this job. It was just enough to afford the necessities and he couldn’t lose all of that now. Anush had been accommodating for many years and he owed her some amount of loyalty. She once let him bunker down in her office to sit in front of the fan, during a particularly busy shift no less. All the noise had made him think far too much…

As he ripped off his cleaning gloves, exposing his sweaty hands to frigid air, he thought too much once again; about how only the cool breeze and sounds of Anush’s office fan had stopped the racket from overtaking his mind. He grasped the faucet of the utility sink so hard that the skin beneath his nails changed color. He turned the faucet onto a warm setting and got to work scrubbing his hands.

Lathering up, he kept thinking about Anush’s office. She’d offered it to him several times, after once having witnessed him tear his nails across his palms as he cleansed them. The water had been steaming for so long that a thin layer of sweat had dotted his forehead. His stomach clenched when he remembered the look of horror on her stoic face upon seeing his raw, bleeding hands.

So he kept the sink low today, ensuring that Anush wouldn’t panic even if she saw him now. He didn’t want her wasting her sympathy on him anymore. She’d already done so much. Perhaps, though, that was because she didn't know the full story—just that he was forced to fight in a war. If she knew he'd once been a member of a totalitarian, misogynistic regime, he wondered if she'd treat him with less respect and sympathy.

His hand slammed against the faucet to turn it off; he needed to get it over with in as fast a motion as possible. If he didn’t, he feared he wouldn’t know when to stop. The cheap, rough paper towels felt like pumice on his dry skin.

He continued on to the warm air of the warehouse. The smell of fuel from the truck kept his mind off stock duty. Men called to each other, trying to coordinate stacking the dollies and sorting the boxes. A man in a thick, heavy turban dragged a few supplies in on a creaking three-legged dolly. He greeted Idrees with a smile and a wave.

“Anush got you working as stock boy again?” the man teased, scratching at his greyish beard. “Sadly.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead and sat heavily upon a box, which bent and deformed underneath him. “You'll have the back of a seventy year old before you retire.” “So will you.” “Ah, but you're too smart for all of this, eh, Idrees? This was the best I could do.” “That's not true, Nikan. You're not stupid.” “Hey!” called Nikan’s supervisor. “Less talking, more unloading!” “Right,” Nikan said to Idrees. “I'm so smart I'm slacking on the job while Mayur the Dictator is my supervisor.”

Idrees continued about his work as Nikan went to fetch more stock. He strained to transfer the crates onto the stocking cart, then wheeled them out into the store. He could've stayed to chat with Nikan all afternoon if it meant avoiding restock duty. But he did his rounds anyway. It kept him afloat in this city, as far away from his past as he could go.

Though he was content for the most part, he knew it wouldn’t last long. Not with stock duty. It made his mind wander far too much again—about his past and his present. The city offered cars that didn't plume smoke every time they sputtered to life, pristine buildings without graffiti or crumbling foundations, and people living free lives not confined to extremist dogma and laws. It had taken a while getting used to women uncovered, speaking and laughing loudly with their friends, and reading for leisure on dinner dates with themselves. The more he saw their happiness, the more his stomach churned when he remembered the women under Taliban rule.

He never wanted to go back to seeing a woman beaten all because she dared speak in the presence of one of his own. He never wanted to feel like he had to keep his mouth shut or suffer the same fate of the woman being whipped, child in her protective arms, because a Talib caught her in public without a mahram. He never—

His heart was pounding. He focused on a packet of food and read bits of the label. Microwaveable—both in Hindi and bold English letters. “Authentic”. Right. What kind of person who wanted to microwave their dinner cared about authenticity anyway? A tourist, most likely. At least it got him out of his thoughts.

“Excuse me?” someone asked.

He looked over to see a white woman. Not that it was a shock. Her accent gave it away.

“Can you help?” she asked, struggling a bit and overly-enunciating everything. “I speak English,” he said. Her tense posture relaxed instantly. “Oh, thank god. I was seriously gonna make a fool of myself if I kept trying. My Hindi is not up to par.”

Her cheeks turned pink and she readjusted her wire frame glasses. He noticed immediately that the entirety of her being screamed homebody. Tourists that came in often had their hair done and makeup applied (to varying degrees of success), and many had sun-kissed skin. But her unruly hair looked like it only ever saw a brush. Her strawberry blonde roots poked through the black dye, and a blemish here and slightly pocked cheek there showed she didn't spend time primping herself.

“Um, I have a list here.” She lifted up her half-empty hand basket. “Most of the things I’ve found. Could you show me where a few other things are?” “Yes, what do you need?”

She read off the first item on her list which was, funnily enough, the authentic tourist packet in his hand. He gave it to her. She cocked a brow at him until she read the packet. When the realization dawned on her and she giggled, the sound released several days worth of tension from his shoulders. They’d been up against his neck for so long, he’d only just remembered what it felt like to unclench his spine. After she quieted down, his muscles crept back up.

She put the packet in her cart, as well as another style of curry. Her next item was a little more complicated. The spices could be difficult to tell apart without knowing how to read Hindi so he took her to the spice aisle and helped her pick out the proper bottles.

“You trying to make curry?” he asked, putting some turmeric and garam masala in her basket. “Yeah, I am. Figured I'd try something authentic while I'm here.” “And that's why you bought a microwaveable alternative.” “That's for laziness.”

His lips twitched as he picked out a couple of items not on her list but would make her curry better—fenugreek, coriander.

She grinned. “Thank you, I'll give them a try!”

Her brown eyes lit up alongside her smile. She looked and dressed so young it was almost a shock to see her without her mama or baba. He supposed never seeing sunlight could do that to a person.

“Last thing,” she said, reading over her list. “I think I'm just dumb or blind but I can't find your jams.” “They are a bit hidden.”

He took her into the next aisle where an entire floor to top shelf selection of jams awaited her. She fiddled with her glasses, face turning red.

“I thought you said it was hidden,” she said. “This is staring me right in the face. Look, this one is eye level and it says marmalade on it in English.”

She picked up a jar of orange marmalade just to glare at it. His lips twitched again, pulling back into a smile that felt so alien on his face. Another strange feeling crept up on him, too. Like a little bubble in his chest wanting so badly to break through. He cleared his throat and his lungs relaxed, banishing the oncoming laughter.

“Were you looking for a specific flavor?” he asked. “Well, I like grape and cherry the most but I want to go outside my comfort zone. Is there something locals prefer?” “Ah, yes, so you can make authentic toast.” “Exactly!” “Can't go wrong with strawberry or apricot.” “Apricot sounds dope.” He paused and gave her a look. “And that's… good?” “Oh! Um, yeah. Sorry. Your English is really good so I just— am gonna shut up.” She looked away and ran a hand down her hair. “Apricot, please.”

He put an inexpensive but good jar of apricot marmalade in her basket. When their eyes met again, a little tickle of butterflies in his stomach hit him. She was cute, and the fact that she nearly made him break employee character several times was nothing short of a miracle. He wanted to ask her out to dinner, but… He frowned when he thought of how her pretty smile could be marred and dirtied by his filthy, disgusting hands.

“Thank you for the help,” she said. “My pleasure.” “Maybe I'll see you next week!” This made his heavy face lighten. “I hope so.”

They waved their goodbyes and she headed off to one of the cashiers. The cashier, a most annoyingly perceptive woman called Kanta, glanced to Idrees, back to the American, then to him again. She smirked and gave him a wink and a thumbs-up while the American unloaded her basket.

The American noticed Kanta’s gesture and turned back to look at him. Idrees’ face grew hot; hotter as he whipped around the corner and heard the faint sound of them giggling. Was that her flirting? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was a pity giggle.

He tried to continue his restocking duty as normal, which meant more thinking and overthinking. Particularly his interaction with that tourist. Despite her friendly attitude, Idrees knew that she was just being polite. He'd seen his fair share of attempted small talk. The weird part to him was how much he contributed. Typically—he pondered as he unloaded more of his cart—he would find nothing interesting to say back. Holding a conversation with that woman came out effortlessly, like he felt a strong need to keep up with her pace.

“Idrees!” called Anush from across the store. “Yeah?” he called back. “Got some baskets in the parking lot from the rush!” “On it.”

Anush had a way of doing that. She would put him on stock duty, then feel bad about putting him on stock duty and give him a different, menial job. Usually one that involved fresh air. Given the way his palms itched and crept, he welcomed the break.

Idrees headed to the sink and gave his hands another rough washing. His nails dug into his palms to relieve that horrible skittering across his flesh. The harder he pushed, the more he thought about that tourist. She smiled at him, thinking he was a kind and decent man. He couldn't bear the thought of having that smile warp into horror if she ever found out who he really was.

He slammed the faucet off once the steam spread a film of sweat across his upper lip. Then came those damn scratchy towels. Fresh air would indeed do him some good.

Outside in the hot Indian air, Idrees collected several of the store's black handcarts. Where all too many people left their cart out on the asphalt, that American tourist had put hers in the collection bin. He thought about her laugh again. How it made her pretty face light up. He could almost hear her voice.

“No, really, it's just not a good time for me.”

He perked up his position hunched over a discarded basket. Okay, he really did hear her voice.

“Ah, is just one night.” That sounded like a man.

Idrees whirled around to see the tourist at the bus stop near the store. An older man loomed over her, looking at least twice her size. She gave him a grin he recognized instantly. That “I really wish you weren't talking to me but I'm being polite” grin his coworkers had used on many creepy men. The tourist took a step away but the man kept close.

“I really don't think my boyfriend would like that much,” she said. “He doesn't have to know.” Idrees dropped the baskets and speed walked up to them. When he drew close enough, he demanded, “What's going on here?”

The American whipped around so fast it was a miracle she didn't drop her grocery bags. Her pleading eyes met his, twinkling as though she just found her salvation.

“Babe, you made it!” she said, hurrying up to him with an arm outstretched.

She tossed it around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. He took her other bag and returned the one-armed embrace.

“I was so worried you wouldn’t get off work on time,” she said. “Sorry,” he apologized, trying to sound strong and confident. “I had to stay a little late. You know my boss is a hard-ass. Who’s your friend?” She stayed close to him as she faced the older man. “He was just talking with me, I don't really know him.”

The old man looked between her and Idrees. There were a few grey streaks in his beard but he was large and intimidating. Idrees stood his ground, staring him down, familiar muscles tensing and aching from sedentary use. The rush of memories that hit him made his palms creep and he dug his nails into them.

“Well,” said the man, taking a step back, “you guys have a good one.” “You, too,” said Idrees.

The man scurried off. Idrees kept his arm around her shoulders and he leaned closer to speak privately.

“You okay?” “Yeah, thank you. That guy was so persistent, he was freaking me out. I told him I had a boyfriend and he just didn't care. Lucky you came along when you did.” “Need me to stay for a while?” She frowned. “I wouldn't want you to get in trouble at work.” He smiled to ease her sour face. “No, my boss is a very nice woman. She'll understand.”

They sat together on the bench. Idrees kept looking over to ensure the man wouldn’t return.

“So” he said, trying to keep the subject off her encounter, “you're on vacation?” “It's my cousin's wedding. Her fiancée wanted to go back to his home country so I'm here for a few weeks helping to get everything ready. Can't really blame her for wanting to move here. My aunt is a bitch.” “And your boyfriend, is he back home or—?” “Oh, I don't have a boyfriend. I just said that to get that guy off my back. Didn't even work. To be fair, sometimes it doesn't work back home, either.” “Yes, it doesn’t work for my coworkers, either.” “Maybe if these guys tried a different method, women wouldn’t find them as creepy. I mean, that dude wasn’t even worth a date of microwavable curry.”

That finally broke him enough to let out a little chuckle with her. Maybe it was from the odd relief in his muscles, knowing that she didn’t have a boyfriend. Or maybe this liberation came from being out in the open air with no worries of coworkers teasing him. He could almost hear Kanta: “Idrees, I’ve never heard you laugh before!”. His laughter, so foreign in his ears, gave his heart a little jump.

As their mirth faded, she gazed down the street. “And there's my bus. Thanks again for having my back.” “It was no problem.”

He watched her gather her bags. He'd already failed at making a move before. But her earlier embrace still held onto him, warm and relaxing. Seeing her in the bright sun, how it illuminated her face and made her smile glow, loosened up his tongue.

“I'd like to see you again,” he said.

She paused. Her eyes scanned him and he became horribly aware all of his flaws: patchy mustache that he still couldn't grow out, rather long in the face, hair always a messy mop, unibrow that refused to go away even after plucking and shaving, and that chip in his tooth that made him want to hide his smile from her…

He might as well have been naked. He wanted to hide away and put his words back in his mouth. But then she smiled and bit her lip, and all of that withered away under the sun. Her cheeks turned that wonderful, cute shade of pink and she twirled a lock of her hair.

“Do you have a pen?” she asked. He retrieved it from his vest pocket and she tore off a bit of her paper bag. She wrote something down on it then handed it to him.

“Here's the number to my hotel room. You should call me sometime.”

She stood up and hailed the bus. When she turned to grab her bags, he wanted to say goodbye, but realized he didn't know her name.

“I'm Idrees,” he blurted out, feeling kind of stupid after he realized it was on his nametag (then stupider still when he remembered she couldn't read Hindi). “I'm Cece. It was nice meeting you, Idrees.”

She collected her bags and boarded the bus. A few others went in behind, none of them being the old man. She took a window seat near him and waved goodbye, her face bright and smiling, washing away his insecurities and leaving his mind hazy with bliss. He waved back—too stunned to do anything else—and watched as the bus took her away.

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cicidarkarts · 5 months ago

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Joonam - Chapter 2: Noon Chai

< Chapter 1 | Chapter List | Chapter 3 >

He picked up the phone and held the receiver in his slick hand. The dial tone bleated at him. Part of him wanted to take it as a warning, telling him not to call, telling him not to drag her down into his mess. But she'd only be around for a couple of months. Anything that he dragged her into would be left in India after she was gone. At least, he hoped that would be the case as his quivering fingers input her hotel number.

He sat at his dining table, trying to keep his breathing steady as he waited through those shrill rings.

“Hello?”

It was her. His heart felt like it stopped working. His lungs stiffened like they were being crushed. He took a breath and everything worked once more. But now he'd waited too long to answer, hadn't he? His tongue flopped uselessly. He tried to force his words by first clearing his throat.

“Hey,” he said, heart jumping at how high pitched he sounded. So he opened up his throat and lowered his voice until he found his normal cadence. “Hey. It's Idrees.” “Oh, hey! My hero! Finished helping old ladies cross the street and rescuing kittens from trees just in time to check up on me.” He wanted so badly to match her energy, have a conversation light and playful, but his unpracticed voice was weak and made his stomach lurch. “I have a very busy schedule.”

Her responding giggle made his nerves relax yet again. That laugh. He would have to hear it more. It was like getting a relaxing massage, or eating those first few bites of a delicious meal, and the aftermath kept him floaty and light.

“I called because, uh,” he started, hoping and praying that he'd keep up with her. “I actually cleared my, er, good Samaritan schedule and was thinking, um…” The steam was running out and fast. His nerves out lasted his vocal chords and he trailed off. “You wanna go out sometime?” she asked. He shot up straight and bashed his knee into the table. He bit down the pain to avoid it coming through in his voice. “Yes. I'd really like that. Was hoping soon since you won't be here for too long.” “Yeah! Tomorrow?” Somehow, his knee didn't hurt at all. “That would be great. I get off at four. There's this really small tea shop I like to go to called Noon Chai. It's, um, authentic.” “Ooh, now you're talking. I'd love to go, Idrees.”

With the shock of getting her number gone, he took in how she pronounced his name. She didn’t have a roll to her R, the I was much gentler—her pronunciation was clumsy and cute. He wanted to hear it from her lips and accent again and again. And hopefully he would very soon. He gave her the location and they agreed to meet up at 4:30.

“Great,” he said, his nerves betraying him with an anxiety-laden chuckle. “I can't wait.” Oh, he was coming on too strong, wasn't he? “Sounds like fun! I'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Idrees!” That smile in her voice as she said his name had his hands soaked with sweat. He pushed through his constricted throat. “Bye, Cece.”

She hung up and he tossed himself back against his chair. His landline fell to the floor as he gazed at the ceiling in disbelief that their conversation truly happened. Not even that throbbing pain in his knee would bring him down.

Idrees sat outside the tea shop on their crappy patio. Two chairs and what was basically a crate—“Al fresco” some tourist had called it. And when he found out what that meant, one of the employees, his friend Manu found it so hilarious that the nickname stuck.

But his memories and the warm breeze could only keep him occupied for so long. It was already almost 5:00 and they were supposed to meet at 3:30. Why hadn't she shown up yet? Had she forgotten? Even though they'd just spoken about it less than 24 hours ago…

His hands prickled. He couldn't blame her. Not just his unruly hair or unmanageable unibrow—his entire being radiated remnants of his past. He'd come to learn that women could sense that sort of thing. Cece was no different, surely. She felt his sins and decided it was best to never show back up in his life again.

Or worse, she was battered and broken on the ground, somehow, someway. His palms crept and his hands quivered. Some man hurt her; some man saw her—vulnerable and weak—and did horrible things, and he wasn’t there to stop it. He thought back to that creep at the bus stop. If he hadn’t been there—

His hand shot into his pocket and snatched his bottle of sanitizer. His palms tingled like bugs crawled through his flesh. He doused them in the sanitizer and scrubbed, getting all over his dry palms and between the stiff webs of his fingers. The strong odor of alcohol wafted about him, familiar, safe, furthering the ease of his mind. His skin calmed. He glanced through the window to the clock again. 5:00.

Idrees sighed. No, she had to be okay. He'd just set his sights too high, that was all. If he'd just kept his head down and his mouth shut, he wouldn't have had to face her rejection. But he’d forced her hand, and now… He shifted forward in his seat, preparing to stand—

“Idrees!” called Cece.

His gaze shot up. She jogged toward him from the street, waving and smiling. And bouncing. If only time slowed down like on television. Yet he was still able to take in so many of her features in those short moments. Her thick locks flying behind her, her eyes shining bright beyond her glasses, and a poorly fastened shawl that slipped down her shoulder.

“I'm so sorry I'm late!” she said, reaching him and trying to fix her shawl. “The bus broke down and they said they were sending a new one and ten minutes passed and— Anyway, I walked here, so sorry if I look like a mess.” “It's fine. I'm just glad you're okay.”

She beamed and absently readjusted her scarf. Her unruly hair was a bit wild from her run but she fixed it after a couple of passes with her fingers. Thank goodness she hadn't stood him up or—he tried not to even think about it—gotten hurt. The date could've easily been him admiring her here in the street as she giggled and talked and ran her hands through her hair, but he figured that'd be a pretty lame date for her. So he motioned toward the cafe and followed her inside.

The small building wasn't the most remarkable, as the stone floors were a bit dusty and the monotone bronze furniture a little cramped, but it was as local and authentic as she could get. The smile never left her face so he hoped she was enjoying it and not just being nice.

“Hey, Idrees!” The cafe owner, Kalidasa, called to him in Hindi.

Idrees greeted him back as he pulled out a chair for Cece to take. He sat across from her. There were menus on the wooden table in a little cubby and he took it out to read the options to her. Just a few minutes later, Manu approached their table.

“Hey, Idrees,” Manu greeted in Hindi. “Getting the usual today?” “Yes, and my friend will be ordering, too.”

He motioned toward Cece. Manu gave him a funny look and glanced over as if this was a joke, only to do a double take when he saw her. He smirked at Idrees, then gave a little bow to Cece.

“Ah, sorry, my English… not very good,” said Manu. “I didn't realize Idrees has… friends.” “Yes, yes,” said Idrees in English, too. “I get it.”

Cece gave Idrees a most sympathetic sort of smile—the same kind of smile he’d gotten far too often at work. He avoided her eye and stuck his nose instead into the menu, despite knowing exactly what he was going to get. When Cece tried to give her order in supremely botched Hindi, Manu struggled to keep it together. Her face was red halfway through.

“I'm sorry,” she said in English. “I'm trying my best, I had to learn Hindi in less than a month.” “No, no,” said Manu. “Is not bad. Better than some tourists. You should hear some of the crazy—”

Kalidasa yelled at Manu to get back to work so Manu ensured their order was right and left to wait on another customer.

“Wow,” said Cece. “They all know you here.” “I come here now and again.” “It's been five years!” Manu called in English. Kalidasa snapped at him again. “Five years, huh?” asked Cece. “The tea here must be delicious.” “Well, when you don't have time to make your own tea, you end up coming to holes-in-the-wall. But I figured it's as authentic as it gets.” “Yeah, this is really cool! Going to a place that you know well is way more interesting than going to some shitty tourist trap.”

Their tea came out first and Manu teased Idrees in Hindi about his “unending smile”. Cece giggled behind her hand. Idrees gave him a dirty look and lightly kicked his shin, wanting to remind Manu that Cece did know some Hindi. But Manu already had an awkward expression and was scratching at his nose. He clearly got the uncomfortable message before heading back out to work. Occasionally

“Not very smiley?” she asked. He stirred a sugar packet into his Assam tea. “What makes you say that?” “Well, your coworker for one. She told me you rarely smile for anyone.” His face grew hot and his heart leapt. “Did she now…” “Oops, did I get her in trouble?”

Though he knew it was a simple joke, there was still a part of his brain that couldn't stand the notion of it. He tried to laugh it off, but he guessed his chuckle sounded forced or uncomfortable given the way her grin fell. They thankfully had no chance to discuss it as Manu returned with their food.

Cece looked too adorable with her overflowing excitement. He hadn't found much joy in the food and tea here lately, but his apathy slowly dissipated in the wake of her enthusiasm. That zest for trying new things would rub off on him, he feared. The way her eyes sparkled as she devoured her raj kachori—a far cry from his classic and rather boring dal chawal—wasn’t helping.

“This is so good!” she gushed, a cheek still stuffed. “So much better than takeout where I’m from. I’m so jealous; India seems way cooler than America.” “I wouldn’t know since I don’t know anything about America.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. He hardly thought warring troops taught him anything substantial about American life. “Do you like living in India?” she asked between crunching bites of food. “Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “It's fine. Peaceful enough where I live. Is it peaceful where you live?” “Oh, it's gorgeous. Forest all around, off the main road, so I'm surrounded by nature. It's the only place I can stand living.”

It was so strange to him seeing someone revel in solitude. He couldn't think of anyone else who would willingly isolate themselves. Whenever he trapped himself alone in his apartment, his mind wandered far too much. Having someone beside him, to distract or even console him, sounded like too much of a blessing to throw away. Though even he had to admit the constant chattering and bike engines humming grated in his ears on some of his worst days.

“Besides,” she continued, “it’s best for me to live alone. No one wants to hear my terrible singing.” “I do!” called Manu as he passed. “Are you any good?” Idrees asked. Because if you're not—” “Hey, woah, woah, I'll have you know that I'm incredible. Here, listen to this, you nonbeliever.”

She proceeded to sing the worst rendition of a kid's song he'd heard, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Luckily, just the first few lines. Even though it sounded terrible and grated in his ears—and a customer that walked in during it walked right back out—and it made Manu slow clap in the silence that followed—there was something endearing about it. Idrees couldn't imagine singing so poorly and off-key on purpose without some mastery over his voice that he didn't possess. Still, he joined in Manu's mocking slow clap.

She bowed her head. “Thank you, thank you, you're a wonderful audience.” “You're scarin’ my customer off!” called Kalidasa in Hindi. “Sorry,” she apologized, holding down a giggle with her cheeks turning red.

But the customer peeked his head back in.

“That was… great,” said Idrees. “Thanks! Been honing my skills for a long time.” “What, like five minutes?” She laughed, and it gave his stomach butterflies to be the funny one for a change. “No, try twenty-some years. I've always loved to sing. Bet that made my mom real happy, given she named me Cecelia after the patron saint of music or some shit. Wanted me to sing in our church choir. She's lucky I love a captive audience.”

Maybe it was the way she cussed a lot, or that she was dressed in all-black despite the scorching weather, but Idrees couldn't imagine Cece at a church. The very thought of it made his palms creep and tingle.

“So you're religious?” He must've been on fire today because she laughed again. “No way, and it drives my mom insane. Nah, I've always been ambivalent to that sort of thing. That said, I can sing a mean Noel.” She rolled her eyes and grabbed hold of her straw. “It's a curse.”

There was a lull in the conversation as she drank. He didn't really know what ambivalent meant, but her not being religious sounded about right. She didn't seem the type to care. Weight that had crept up on his chest disappeared then, letting him breathe a bit easier, but that tingling was still there. He tried to will it away, tried to ignore it, but then…

“What about you?” she asked. “Figure we already went there. Are you religious?” “I…” His palms crept and the tingling traveled up his arms. He couldn't ignore it. It would overtake him if he tried. His hand dove into his pocket and he grabbed the hand sanitizer. He squeezed about half a palmful out. “I don't know.”

Her playful face fell to a frown and her eyes wandered as she took another sip off her straw. He couldn't blame her. Who would want to watch his shame? Who would want to observe that his only salvation, the only thing that kept his body and mind calm, was the sanitizer—its fumes, its feeling. But before he had a chance to put it away, Cece came back to him with a gentle smile.

“I completely get it. It's touchy, right? We can talk about something else. Something more interesting, like…” She assumed a cute thinking pose—finger under her chin, eyes gazing toward the ceiling, slightly squinted as though in deep thought. Only to then bust out, “What's your favorite animal?” “Oh. Umm…” Such a simple question caught him off guard. He'd never really thought about it. The longer he hesitated, the more his mind shriveled up, barren of all thoughts except how silly this must've looked. “Dogs, I guess.” “Dogs? Really?” “Hey, what's wrong with dogs?” “Nothing!” she said, giggling. “I love dogs but that's such a basic answer! Cats and dogs; so boring!” He side-eyed her, trying hard not to smile (and probably failing). “Okay, if you're so unique, then what's your favorite animal?” “Oh, that's easy. Hyenas!” “You know what, somehow that makes a lot of sense.” “And what's that supposed to mean?” “Hyenas are weird. You're weird.” He shrugged as though the logic was so obvious. “Of course you'd like them.” She leaned across the table with a playful smirk upon her now even cuter pink lips. “Oh, so you think you know me?” “I think I could make some educated guesses.” “What kind of music do I like?” Fuck, another hard question. “Uhhh… What's that one, where they all sing in those nasally voices…” “Emo!?” “Yes, that!”

She cackled so hard that she briefly was a hyena.

“I can't believe you!” she said, hand over her chest as though highly offended. “First of all, the answer is ‘all of it’, and second of all, I've never been emo in my entire life! Teenage me preferred metal.” “The screamy stuff?” “Yes, the screamy stuff.” “How can you sing to screamy stuff?” “Observe.” She took a deep breath. “No!” He put his hand up to shush her. “I believe you, please don't demonstrate!”

He'd never laughed like this in… Ever! His inexperienced ribs were sore, inexperienced lungs short of breath, and his inexperienced cheeks hurt. He hadn't realized how loud they had gotten until Manu—his brow upturned and his lips pursed into a smirk—cleared his throat at them as he passed. That's when Idrees noticed the two other customers had been looking at them: two lone men he'd seen frequent the shop before. One smiled, amused at least, but the other scowled as he held his book closer to his nose.

Cece and Idrees shushed each other, lowering their jubilance to soft giggles instead. Their conversation continued from there, much less loud but no less enjoyable. Idrees was sure his face would be hurting tomorrow but his entire body felt so light, like he was practically floating off his seat. It wasn't until there was a lull in the conversation and Cece glanced around the room did she suddenly say,

“Shit, what time is it?”

Idrees noticed then, too, that the sun no longer streamed through the windows. He checked the clock above the kitchen.

“It's after eight already,” he said. “I'm sorry, Cece, I didn't mean to keep you out so late.” “It's no big deal, just that I have to get up at the ass crack of dawn to go to a wedding rehearsal. So I need to get to sleep soon or I'm going to be cranky.” “Not a morning person?” he asked, motioning for Manu to come over with the check. “Not a people person, really.” “You've been nice to me, what are you saying? Am I not people?” She smiled. “You're one of the only tolerable people I've met.”

Manu set the check down and Idrees really didn't want to see the numbers. They hadn't ordered much but still, his budget wasn't very big, she’d ordered something a bit more expensive, and double the usual bill made his bank account ache.

Cece pulled out her wallet. “I’ll pay for my half.” “No, I was the one to ask you out, so…” “I can pay for my own portion, Idrees, really. I was planning on it anyway.” “I would rather pay.” She eyed him up, face soured. “Are you sure?” “I’m very sure.” “Okay… I really don't mind splitting the bill, though.”

He could've let her help. He should've let her help (especially given that incredible eye roll she gave him). But the man always paid for dates. The man always provided. So, without looking too closely at the bill, Idrees let Manu swipe his card. He was going to be sorry later when he saw the dwindling numbers of his savings.

As they exited the restaurant, Idrees noticed how dark the sky had become. Knowing Cece was going to be alone on the bus, alone walking back to her hotel, made his stomach uneasy with acid.

“You want me to drive you?” he asked. “No, I'm going to take the bus.

The bus? His hand went in his pocket. Did he give off a weird feeling? He grasped his hand sanitizer. No, maybe she was just cautious… He squirted out a palmful of it, the bottle nearly empty from today. Maybe she thought he was a creep or something. He rubbed the sanitizer in and focused on the scent and the way it burned his dry skin.

“I don't mean to be pushy,” he said as the bus stop came into view. “Not at all,” she said. “It was generous of you to offer. Maybe next time I'll take it.”

His stomach fluttered. He'd never heard words as reassuring as “next time”.

“Want me to stay with you until the bus comes?” he asked when they reached the stop. “That would be great, actually. It's pretty dark out.”

There weren't others around, and businesses along the road had their lights on, but he didn't want to risk it. Even if nothing happened, his unrelenting thoughts would consume him. He didn't want their date to be over anyway. If she could spend several more hours talking to him, he would let her.

“You seem like you've got good friends,” she said. “Manu, Kanta. Even your boss, you said she was nice.” “Oh. I guess I do. I never really thought about it. I've only spent time with Manu. We go to the Temple together sometimes.” Her eyes lit up like he said something incredible. “That sounds so cool. I've never been inside a Temple before.” His invitation slipped out before he could hold it back. “Maybe that could be one of our dates, then.”

Once he said it, he got a jolt of embarrassment that made his heart jump. Presuming they would have not only one more next time, but multiple next times, had him looking ahead to avoid her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe it could! I was thinking I really wanted to go to the popular bazaar first, though. That one in the middle of the city.”

He tried to suppress his grin so he didn't look like an absolute simpleton. She already had plans for another date. His voice was completely gone. Luckily, he wasn't made to talk again as the headlights of the bus came up the road. Cece hailed it before turning to him.

“Thanks for such a great night. I had a lot of fun.” “Me, too. I don't want to overstep, but could you call me when you get back? I want to make sure you're okay.” “Yeah, I still have your number from last night. I'll give you a call.”

She opened her arms up and stepped a bit closer. He swallowed the lump that formed at the back of his throat. She just wanted a hug. Right? She didn’t want him to do anything more. Even though a desire to kiss her invitingly moonlit lips burned hot in his core…

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she leaned against him. He embraced her soft body. Time stood still in that moment. The bus never drew closer, the moon never moved from its position high above them; all that he noticed was her rhythmic breathing and the gentle smell of her hair up close. He wanted to hold onto her warmth for the rest of the night. That tingling on his palms had gone, banished by her presence and the promise they would see one another again.

It was this reassurance that allowed him to release her. They said their goodbyes as she boarded the bus. He watched it drive down the road, taking all the light away with it. It felt like the darkness crept around him like little paranoid tendrils that whispered in his ear. How he didn’t deserve someone to care for him. How he was going to be all alone. How, one day, his shitty life would tear Cece down.

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