Chapter 37
IT’S STUPID, BUT Rajan’s automatic reflex is to mentally check his appearance.
He knows he’s dirty, wearing a smudged hoodie and jeans fraying at the knees.
His clothes probably smell like smoke and sweat.
He prays she didn’t see him lugging a chain saw out back just now.
His hair—he resists the urge to run his hand through it, although it’s still too short to be sticking up much.
Simran’s mother is wearing a brilliant green suit, clearly having come from a function. Probably Neetu’s. She looks him over. He doesn’t know why he’s holding his breath, but when her lip curls slightly, it hits harder than it ever has with anyone else.
Rajan rallies himself. So Simran’s mom hates him. Was he honestly hoping for any other outcome? “Sat Sri Akaal, Auntie ji. Can I get you something to drink? Chah, pani?”
Her expression doesn’t flicker, not even slightly impressed by the offer made in his most polite Punjabi. Rajan doesn’t blame her. Superficial manners don’t matter when you’ve already insulted someone beyond belief.
“No,” she replies. In English. Goddamn. This is worse than he thought.
His father points at the armchair. “Sit.” There are a thousand threats in that word.
Slowly, Rajan obeys, not looking away from Simran’s mother. Their resemblance is only there if he searches for it. The big eyes. The gentle curve of the nose. Jesus, is Simran okay? Is this what got her crying?
She seems to read his mind. “My daughter doesn’t know I’m here. She wouldn’t listen to me anyway. She’s been going behind my back for so long, I don’t think she can break the habit on her own. But not to worry. We will help her.”
A chill runs down his back. “What are we talking about, Auntie ji?”
His father, standing beside him, smacks the back of his head. “Don’t embarrass me further by lying,” he snaps, and wow, that explains it. His father ratted him out. If Simran’s mom had any suspicions at all, his father would’ve happily told her everything he knew.
Rajan rubs the back of his head slowly. This is still salvageable. His father doesn’t have any real evidence. “Is this about Hillway? I’m just one of the people Simran mentored. She drove me home once, yeah, but that’s it. I have nothing but respect for her.”
“Yet you befriended her,” Simran’s mother replies. “Knowing what that would do to her reputation. What it has done.”
He grits his teeth. “That’s my fault. She always kept a professional boundary. I’m sorry.”
She’s silent for a while. “You speak such pretty, polite words now. But I don’t believe you. I think you have inappropriate feelings toward my daughter. And unfortunately, I have long suspected she returns them.”
His mouth goes dry. “She doesn’t. I don’t.”
“Really?” She pins him with a stare. “Can you honestly tell me that you’ve never touched her?”
Heat rises up his neck. His hesitation is a second too long; her mouth tightens. His father makes a sound of disgust, again cuffing him across the head.
“Tenu sharam ni aundi? What if you got her pregnant?”
That gets him talking. “I didn’t—Auntie, we never—” Rajan starts angrily, but Simran’s mother cuts him off.
“It doesn’t matter. We cannot reverse time, or stop you children from being such hormonal fools.” Her knuckles go white on the armrests. “Whether you have already...ruined her life, will be known eventually.”
Rajan wishes the ground would swallow him up already. “Simran would never—”
“What matters,” Simran’s mother interrupts, “is that you stop seeing her now. No, don’t deny it again. I’m not interested in your lies. You claim to care about my daughter, and not just about bedding her? Then be quiet and listen.”
Rajan sits back sullenly.
“Everyone knows your history,” she says. “Can you honestly say you left that life behind?”
Rajan can’t. She seems to know that.
“Can you honestly say your life hasn’t rubbed off on her?”
He can’t.
“And do you think you are her equal?”
Rajan again can’t speak. It would hurt less if she shot him. Instead, she keeps going with a small nod.
“We both know she deserves someone at her level. Someone with her intelligence, a promising future, not a criminal with no career aspirations and a drug problem. She will bear all the ill will in the community from the shame you bring her. She will bear all the problems you have, and the danger. She will bear it all, and Simran has already borne too much.”
He feels rooted to his armchair. Everything she’s saying, he already knew, but it’s worse when she lays it out like that. She’s relentless. Just like her damn daughter.
“I know what you’re thinking: But I love her. Isn’t that enough? No. It’s not. You children think love will erase all your problems. Love,” she scoffs, “is a dime a dozen. Love is easy. Life is what’s hard. And with you, it would be soul breaking.”
“We’re friends,” he says weakly, but that’s never stopped brown parents from jumping straight to marriage, and she does not even pause.
“She’ll come to resent you for that, you know. She’ll wish she never met you. Don’t think you’re so special—she will find someone better to love. Let her go now, and maybe she will be able to remember you fondly, instead of as the person who ruined her life.”
Without waiting for a response, she rises, tossing her chunni over her shoulder in one dignified motion. She glances at the photo on the wall of Rajan’s mother, and then at his father. “Thank you for the chah. I am very sorry about Arshdeep.”