Page 33 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

“I’ll drop you off at home.” Not can, will.

“Thank you, but I’ll be alright.”

Just then, a few other guests walked out, and he smacked me with a stern reproach in Hindi. “Zid mat karo.”

I glared at him. He glowered back and placed a call on his phone. “Aarti, I’m going to drop Tara,” he said, and started walking toward the parked cars. “She lives five minutes from mine. You head over. I’ll see you there.”

Bile rose in my throat. Furious that I followed him like an obedient pet.

“I wasn’t being stubborn. I’m furious,” I finally responded to his reprimand, as he held the car door open for me.

“Yeah? So am I,” he said and slammed the door in my face.

The car glided out of the gates. “I’d thank you for the ride, but I didn’t need it.” I was prepared for the quick glare he tossed in my direction. “Why did Aarti not drive back with you?” I asked, and he frowned hard.

“She came directly from hers.”

“But she’s going back to yours?” When that fetched me an incensed look too, I quickly added, “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

“Yes, it’s none of your business, and yes, she’s spending the rest of the weekend with me, which she does whenever she can.”

Those words were carefully chosen to inflict pain, and they did, but I pushed back the humiliation.

“She’s gorgeous. You both look good together.”

“She’s not you,” he said with his eyes on the road and an angry frown between them.

“No,” I said with a sigh. “She isn’t. She’s perfect, and she’s with you.”

“You can stop it, Tara. You’ve already hurt me enough. You don’t need to take it any further. You have no right to judge me when you know nothing about my life.”

My heart wrenched. I had never intended to hurt him, but I had, twice. I looked out the window as we zipped along the empty roads. Sona said I had a choice to make. I could apologize or let it fester into an irreconcilable affair. But by the time we arrived at my apartment, I still hadn’t decided what I wanted.

“I’m texting you my number,” he said as his dexterous thumbs glided over the screen. We stood by his car underneath my building. “I’ll wait here until you’re in.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m a grown woman. I know how to be careful.”

“Give me your apartment number,” he added as if I had silently acquiesced to his first demand.

I unleashed a resigned sigh. “1707.”

We stood in silence with the sound of an occasional car driving past in the cool night.

“Good night, Tara.” Another command.

I heard the distance in his voice. “You have every right to be angry, Sameer. But for what it’s worth, I didn’t mean those things. I’ve been holding on to a lot, and I guess I snapped. But that’s not how I really feel about you. I want you to know that.” I started walking away, then turned. “But if you’d trusted me with your past, we wouldn’t be here.”

“You didn’t give me a chance,” I heard him say, but I kept walking.

Riding up an elevator as empty as I felt inside, I entered my apartment and texted him, In. Thank you. Then, I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the couch in tears. It felt like my heart had burst open again. How could this happen to me twice? Weren’t there rules for heartbreaks? How was it fair that I had to live through this pain again? I couldn’t decide if I was hurting more from having wounded Sameer or from the visions of him spending the weekend with his glamorous girlfriend, tumbling around in bed having sweet sex. A fresh stream of tears erupted at the thought.

My cell phone vibrated on the coffee table. I blinked away the tears and saw Sameer’s number flashing on the screen. I didn’t answer. The last thing I wanted was to make him a witness to my breakdown, a defeat of my wits against his perfect life with his perfect girlfriend. He called again. I let it go to voicemail. And again.

When the phone buzzed for the fourth time, it was a text, Open the door. I rushed to the door and peeked through the peephole to see him standing outside. I wiped my eyes and reluctantly pulled the door open.

He entered and closed it behind him.

“I knew you’d be crying,” he said, holding my arm. “I’m angry, Tara, but I can’t be the reason for your tears. Never again.” He threw his arms around me and drew me into his chest.

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