Page 108 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

I put a pod in the coffee machine and turned it on. The machine whirred with enthusiasm before dispensing a surprisingly fragrant cup with an exquisite foam top.

“What’s for breakfast?” I asked. “Mihir will be here in a bit. Appa, have you sent the car to get him? And we’ll need a car for the day.”

Appa nodded. “I’ve sent Sanjay to get him. He will drive you today. Take the small car. It’ll be easier to navigate the city streets.”

“How do you know where we are going? I don’t even know.” I narrowed my eyes at him as I sipped the coffee and nodded in approval.

“I’m your father,” Appa said dramatically. “I know everything.”

I scoffed at him and teased, “Don’t let Aai hear you say that.”

We both shared a secret chuckle while Aai called from the kitchen, “I heard that!” We laughed harder.

When the doorbell rang, my heart skipped a beat. Stupid heart.

Lata answered the door, and our neighbor walked in. She was in her mid-eighties but still sharp and sprightly. “Sona, how are you?” she asked in Marathi as she walked toward the dining table.

Appa stood promptly and pulled a chair out for her. “Sit here, Aaji,” he said in Hindi. After making her comfortable, he returned to his newspaper.

“I’m well, Aaji. How are you?”

She was regaling us with stories of her multiple grandchildren when the doorbell rang again. This time, I knew it was Mihir and rushed to the door.

“Hey.” He smiled as he stepped inside and slipped off his shoes. He looked more striking this morning, well-rested and healthy. He had put in more effort in his appearance as well. My heart warmed at the thought until he scrutinized my head and frowned. “Wow, you were not kidding about your frizz.”

Then, I grumbled. “And how is it that your mane is still intact? Doesn’t the humidity affect it at all?” I was tempted to touch his hair and see if it felt as soft as it looked.

“What can I say? Good genes and the right hair products.” He beamed with pride. Then suddenly, the grin vanished, like something had sucked it off of his face.

“Everything alright?”

“Yes. Are you ready to hear what I have?”

“Sure, but I’m still in my PJs, so don’t blame me if I’m grumpy.”

“Huh, I hadn’t noticed.”

I responded with an eye roll and led him inside.

“Good morning, sir,” he said to Appa, who looked up at him with a sunny smile.

“Ah, morning. How is your jetlag?”

“My body was jostled up around three, and I stayed up a while. I should’ve taken your advice about the sleep-aid.”

Aai walked out of the kitchen. “Good morning, beta. Did you have breakfast?”

“Yes, Mrs. Thomas. The hotel had a morning spread.” Then his eyes fell on Aaji, who was gazing at him with extreme curiosity.

“This is our next-door neighbor. Her family is visiting relatives, so Aai invites her over,” I told Mihir. “You can call her Aaji, Marathi for grandmother.”

“Aaji, ha Mihir. Mazha mitra. Amerikehoon aalay.” This is my friend, Mihir. He’s visiting from America, I introduced him in Marathi.

While she sat spellbound at his beauty, Mihir brought his palms together and bowed slightly. “Namaste, Aaji.”

That raised him to the status of a demigod in her eyes—and my mother’s—who stood awestruck.

“Agdi rajkumarasarkha disto ga!” Aaji swooned to Aai.

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