Chapter 16
Walking to Uncle Parm’s store the next morning, Manisha’s mind kept drifting back to her conversation with Rohit.
They had been enemies ever since she’d come back to Baskin, clashing at every turn.
Literally. But last night had been a turning point—something had shifted between them.
For the first time in ages, they had dropped their defences, and instead of arguing, they had actually talked and listened to each other.
Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind: “You might have more in common with Rohit than you think.” But Manisha was skeptical—and, frankly, indifferent—to the idea.
Like Deena had said, Rohit was nothing more than a client.
Chai Time was the best spot for dates away from the prying Baskin gossipmongers, and she was still searching for her Prince Charming.
If that meant running into Rohit now and then, she could manage it.
But she knew they were far from friends.
Manisha pulled out her phone to check her mother’s grocery list. Normally, her mother would have tagged along, as she did last time.
But today she was completely absorbed in the season finale of the Indian version of Big Brother, Bigg Boss, which was just fine by Manisha.
The solo outing gave her space, a little bit of peace and quiet.
Her thumb was hovering over the messages app when another email from Sunil came through. She opened it without hesitation.
That’s the million-dollar question, right?
If you’d asked me a year ago, I would have had all the answers.
But the truth is, I was wrong. Now, I’m not so sure.
My friends keep telling me I just have to get back out there, but I have a feeling that in today’s dating world, it isn’t going to be as simple as that.
What about you? Given that you work behind the scenes on a matchmaking website, I bet you’ve seen it all and know exactly what you want.
So, what are you looking for…[insert name here]?
—Sunil
Manisha laughed quietly to herself. Sunil was funny. And there was a steady kindness to his emails. She could already feel herself becoming fast friends with him.
She wanted to tell Sunil her real name, but she didn’t want to blow her matchmaking cover.
Talking to him made her feel so much less alone in the dating game.
Sure, she had Deena—the dating guru who had been on plenty of dates—and Manny, with her tips and tricks—but from the few emails between Sunil and…
Isha.
Manisha smiled at her cleverness. She’d give Sunil the name Isha, her nickname used only within the Patel family.
On the one hand, it felt like a way of reconnecting with the person she used to be, before Curry and Cupid, before her financial predicament, before Oliver.
She was free to be just Isha, the one with the infectious laugh and a knack for making people smile; the one with an incomparable love for homecooked meals.
On the other hand, this would allow her to start fresh. And there was something oddly comforting in knowing that someone else was doing the same.
Manisha had a feeling she was going to need someone to make her laugh. So far, she was zero for two with her dates. For now, Manisha figured Sunil would be her laugh break between all the dating chaos. A little humour never hurt anyone, especially when the alternatives were…well, less than ideal.
Manisha rounded the corner to the plaza where Uncle Parm’s grocery store was located.
The scene of the crime, she thought, surveying the parking lot. She was semi-over it now. Mostly because she had other things to focus on.
Strolling past the neighbouring laundromat and convenience store, Manisha halted in front of Uncle Parm’s and took stock of her surroundings.
Save for a pair of seagulls duelling for a chunk of bread crust, she was alone.
Under the blissfully cool shade of a dutiful palm tree, she pulled out her phone and got to composing her reply to Sunil.
Dear Sunil,
I guess you could say I’m looking for my “ride or die.” The past year has been far from that, but I’m ready to move on. I’m just asking for the occasional Bollywood movie marathoner, a fellow wine enthusiast, and someone who also dreams of having a family. Right away.
Wait—scratch that. Too much.
Right away.
I was lucky to grow up in a home filled with love from my parents and siblings, so it would be great to find someone who cherishes family time, too.
Inserting name below,
Isha
Her fingers flew effortlessly over the phone screen, and with a smile, she hit send.
Tucking her phone back in her purse, she waltzed into the store hoping for relative quiet this early in the day.
Instead, Uncle Parm’s was aggressively busy.
Manisha rushed to grab a red basket and began scouring the aisles for the items on her mother’s list: chaat, two cans of chickpeas, ginger, coriander, masala, and, of course, her mother’s favourite, Parle-G, the delicately sweet Indian tea biscuit that Manisha couldn’t resist whenever it was offered to her.
One by one, she piled the products into her basket, skirting around mountainous product displays and dodging other patrons.
As she made her way to the front of the store, where the Indian sweets were neatly displayed, Manisha felt her mouth begin to water. Rows of decadent barfis, gulab jamuns, and ladoos glistened under the fluorescent lights, practically calling her name.
As a child and even now as an adult, Manisha had a soft spot for sweets—especially the ones that melted in your mouth or were stuffed with rich, spiced fillings.
She picked out a few gulab jamuns, some ladoos, a handful of barfis, a couple of kaju katlis, and, as always, a few jalebis—the perfect mix of sweetness and crunch to keep things interesting.
That would be enough for the week. She lined up at the checkout, the familiar greasy box of sweets heavy in her hands.
She couldn’t resist the temptation of sneaking just one little ladoo while she waited.
“Ready?” Uncle Parm’s wife asked, not taking her eyes off the small television behind the counter. Not that Manisha could blame her; an old Bollywood movie starring Rekha and Anil Kapoor was playing. Their chemistry was off the charts. And how did her hair always look so perfect?
“Chocolate bar?” Auntie asked without looking up. Manisha blinked and looked down to see Auntie had already finished ringing up and bagging her items with impressive speed.
“I think I’m good, Auntie,” Manisha replied, shaking her head.
“Gum?”
“Not today.”
“How about feet?” Auntie blindly pointed to the sour, foot-shaped candy, like Manisha was still in elementary school.
Manisha couldn’t suppress a laugh. “This is all, Auntie. Thank you.”
Auntie sighed dramatically, still staring at the screen. “Okay. Twenty dollars even.”
As Manisha rummaged through her purse, a sinking realization hit her like a ton of bricks—she’d forgotten her wallet.
Uncle Parm’s wife finally made eye contact. “No money, honey?” she said, her voice light but with that unmistakable you-did-this-to-yourself tone.
Manisha sighed, sheepishly pulling her hand from the depths of her purse. “I forgot my wallet, Auntie,” she admitted. “Is Uncle around? I was just here the other day with my mom. He’ll remember me—lucky lemons, lucky Manisha?”
She tried to lighten the mood, flashing a smile as if it would magically fix the awkwardness.
If only she could jump through the TV screen and join Rekha and Anil in some grand Bollywood number about forgetting her wallet, she thought.
Bollywood movies always seemed to break out in perfectly timed songs that solved every problem with a catchy tune and a dramatic dance move.
But reality had no chorus or sparkles. And right now, Manisha had no money.
Uncle Parm’s wife raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her gaze now back on the screen, completely unimpressed. Manisha could practically hear her mother’s disapproving voice in her head. “How could you forget your wallet, besharam?”
“Here, let me take care of it for you,” came a voice from behind.
Manisha spun around, almost knocking over a jar of Indian pickles in the process. “Rohit?”
“Don’t worry, I got this,” he said, pulling out his wallet like it was no big deal.
“No, no!” Manisha waved her hands in protest, flustered. “I can come back later. You really don’t have to pay for me.”
“You’ve already eaten,” Auntie pointed out, glancing at Manisha’s sticky fingers, which were still suspiciously covered in ladoo remnants.
“I doubt Auntie’s starting a tab for you,” Rohit said with a knowing smirk.
Uncle Parm’s wife, who had absolutely no time for this drama, rang up the items Rohit had added and extended her hand expectantly. Palm up.
“This doesn’t usually happen to me,” Manisha blurted, trying to explain the whole mess, but her words were tangled. “My mom borrowed my purse last night—”
Before she could finish, Rohit handed Auntie the cash without a second thought.
“Okay, done. Next!” Auntie called to the next customer, already turning back to the TV. Rohit swept up their groceries and gently nudged her toward the exit.
“I’ll make sure to Venmo you the money as soon as I get home. I haven’t had a chance to add my credit cards to my phone yet,” she added, trying to sound casual. “It’s a whole process, transferring banking info from the UK to here.”
Manisha was only half telling the truth, of course. Even if her cards were on her phone, there was only enough money left for a few essentials: cheap wine and ladoos.
“Consider it a thank-you for helping me with the paperwork for the café,” Rohit said, his tone so casual it made paying for her sweets sound like a perfectly normal gesture. “Where are you parked?” His eyes scanned the parking lot.
Manisha blinked. “Oh, uh, don’t worry about it—I walked. But thanks,” she said, taking her groceries off his hands with a polite smile. “So, I guess I’ll see you tonight, then?”
“Actually,” Rohit said, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to massage the awkwardness out of the moment, “something’s come up. Can we push it to tomorrow afternoon?”
Manisha’s smile faltered just a bit. “I suppose…”
Before she could say anything else, a voice called out from a sleek, shiny Volvo parked nearby.
“Hey, Manisha!”
Manisha turned, forcing a smile despite the sudden twist in her stomach. “Hi, Suzy!” she said, her voice a little too bright.
Suzy waved enthusiastically from the passenger seat, her bright eyes practically sparkling with mischief. “Ro promised me a home-cooked Indian meal while I’m in town—he’s making that amazing chana masala, you know?”
So that’s what came up.
Manisha raised an eyebrow. “What happened to the Lambo?”
He shrugged casually. “It wasn’t mine. This is my car,” he said, gesturing to the Volvo with a nonchalant wave.
Manisha stared at the car for a moment, squinting like she was trying to make sense of it. “You drive a Volvo?” she asked, genuinely incredulous.
“Yup,” he replied, shrugging again. “Is your Gucci bag disappointed?” He eyed her purse with a teasing smirk.
Manisha shot him a pointed look. “I just thought that, you know, you were driving your own car that day.”
Rohit climbed into the driver’s seat, clearly trying to play it cool as he shifted uncomfortably. “I was just returning Lucky’s Lambo.”
“Wait—Lucky’s Lambo?” Manisha’s eyebrow shot up in surprise.
He glanced at her, starting the engine. “Can we give you a ride anywhere?”
“Oh, God, no,” she said, panic creeping into her voice as she took a step back from the car. “I mean, three’s a crowd, right? Thanks for the, uh, money. I’ll pay you back, I promise!”
Suzy leaned over with wide, encouraging eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”
Manisha’s smile was tight but polite. “Nope!” she said a little too forcefully. She softened her tone. “I mean, maybe another time.”
“Okay. Nice to see you again! Don’t be a stranger!” Suzy called out cheerfully as they began to pull away, waving at Manisha like they were old friends.
Manisha stood there for a moment, watching them drive off, a curdling feeling in her stomach. It’s hard to be a stranger when we keep bumping into each other, she thought bitterly.
The Volvo disappeared around the corner, leaving Manisha to sulk in her lonely bitterness.
There Rohit and Suzy were—carefree, happy, and apparently enjoying the kind of chana masala that made everything seem a little brighter—while she was left standing in the parking lot, trying to scrape gooey ladoos off her fingers.
A sigh escaped her lips, her heart feeling just a little emptier than before.
It was time to kick Curry and Cupid into high gear. She wasn’t going to just sit on the sidelines any longer.