Page 208 of Snap Shot

“Probably too much.” I show them the evidence on my phone, scrolling through the dozens of unanswered calls and unreplied texts. Except for the last one.

Gym Girl:I want to be your friend, but I need time and space.

“Ouch.” Delaney grabs the phone from me and bends one knee up with a wince. “Gimme that. No need to fixate. I'm gonna get us some Moose Tracks ice cream.”

I sniffle and swipe my runny nose. “Any chance it comes with a side of therapy?”

“Sorry, bud. Not this brand.” Her hand musses up my hair as she uses my head to propel to her feet. “But Seth knows a guy.”

Chapter 48: Chasing Joy

Indi

Two months of trauma-release exercises and home-cooked food don't heal me entirely.

Neither does indulging my sisters by joining their daily ridiculous dance choreo to post on TikTok or changing my chocolate bar side-gig from dirty messages to popular Bollywood lines to accommodate Brampton's needs, despite the success of myKuch Kuch Hota Haicollection. “Tu si jaa rahe ho? Tu si naa jao” is especially popular.

The heartache isn't worsening, which is good, but the wound won't close either. Most days I'm chasing joy to replace the high of being with the man of my dreams. I try to find it within myself, but the melancholy chorus of Rahat Fateh Ali Khan'sMain Tenu Samjhawanplays in my head on repeat through daily chores and routines, providing a sad soundtrack to my Landon-less life. The swell and yearning in the Qawwali singer's voice threatens a mental breakdown at any moment, a painful reminder of what I had, and I lost.

I sniff and regain focus as mustard seeds sizzle in hot peanut oil. Mom lids the pan to avoid the spice from jumping out and landing on my arm. Learning to cook is my newest hobby.

“There's two types of rai, big and little. Always buy the little ones,” she explains. “And wait for the popping to slow and stop before adding the jeeru.”

I scoop a tiny spoonful from the masala dubbo to add to the oil.

“Good. See how they dance? That's how you know the oil's hot enough. Add some haldi, too.”

Her instructions are straightforward, except for the proportions—everything is annoyingly approximate—and I'm grateful she and Dad are patient with my slip-ups. As if watching their successful daughter throw her career down the drain wasn't enough, my poor parents ate the oversalted khichdi I made last week wearing a smile, complimenting the flavor. My sisters weren't as gracious.

“Sauté the onions until they're translucent.” Mom motions to the forgotten wooden spoon in my hand. “Then stir in the potatoes and peas.”

“Shocking.” Esha strolls into the kitchen popping gum between her teeth. “No backtalk? No sarcasm? Who are you anymore?”

My eyes glide to her in a glare. Mom loudly shushes the bratty sister behind me. She's not wrong. I have no idea.

While in bed that night, my phone dings with a text. I'm almost glad I didn't change his contact from Gym Guy. It gives a layer of distance between us, less intimate than his name appearing on my screen, which would surely send me spiraling.

The message is a live picture—a screenshot he must've taken while we FaceTimed—of me placing letters on poured chocolate, spelling out the last of the wordsI Miss You. Tears gather as three dots flicker on his side of the message.

Gym Guy:I'm sorry.

I muffle a series of ugly sobs into my pillow, phone dropping to somewhere on the bed. It's not as subtle as I thought because my sisters sneak in and sandwich me in an embrace. When I quiet enough to show his recent messages, I tell them everything beyond what they knew about my once-sneaky link: how wonderful he is and how we fell in love, and how he pulled the rug from under my feet with this marriage hang-up thing. Everything except his name.

“Screw him!” Esha twists her face, yelling through a whisper. “Just wait 'til Karish's wedding. We'll find you someone better.”

“Mom and Dad are already on it,” Anika adds. “I overheard them the other day.”

“Oh,God.” I cover my face with both hands.

“You don't have to say yes to any of them. Date around.”

My face scrunches. “Sounds annoying. And it's not dating.”

“Close enough.” Esha shrugs. “Fancy meals, dessert, coffee, flowers. Sit back and let them try to win you over. They have their work cut out for them, though. My Didi is not easily impressed.”

Anika glances at my phone. “Gym Guy must have been outstanding.”

“Don't remind me.”

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