“What are you doing?” Sunny asked, suddenly leaning over my shoulder.

“Oh my god!” I yelped. How was he so quiet?

I closed my laptop as Sunny sat beside me, rubbing his eyes. “Not working…” I lied, even though I couldn’t get into the server or lure information from coworkers.

He grabbed my laptop, slipping it behind his back.

“Hey! Rude!” I went for my device, reaching around him as he played keep-away just by twisting his torso. He was all broad shoulders and solid chest.

“No working. Gabrielle will behead you.”

“As if you haven’t checked in, Mr. Workaholic. Always on your phone.”

He pressed his lips together. “I already got blocked from the server.”

“See?”

“Which means I’m not in Hawaii on a beautiful day with my nose buried in work.”

He relented, placing my laptop on the table as I sat back on my haunches. Sunny looked exhausted, but in an adorable sort of way with his hair mussed and a pillowcase crease indented across his cheek. He’d changed into joggers and a T-shirt after his shower, so simple and basic yet unfathomably sexy. They weren’t too snug or too loose, just the right fit to enhance the broadness of his shoulders and chest, lend a little imagery to his abs, and um, lower.

STAHP. I had to stop.

Sunny lay back on the couch so that his head rested on the arm, cushioned by a pillow, his hands folded over his chest, and his body twisted at the hips, bent at the knees so that he wasn’t touching me with his feet. He watched me with hooded, drowsy eyes.

“I check my phone because of my parents, not work,” he clarified.

The same parents who’d called his ex? Why hadn’t they called him? Was he avoiding his parents like I was mine?

I replayed the boat excursion in my head, how Sejal’s video call with his parents seemed as if nothing bad had ever happened between them, like they were still easily a couple and obviously a match that both families preferred. Which was important in our culture. Indian parents typically thrived on being included in their children’s big decisions like colleges, careers, and spouses. It was beneficial to understand the wisdom and tradition of older generations, to view things outside the scope of one’s life experiences by seeing them through their parents’ eyes. Usually, those types of families were close, which meant there would be a lot of future interactions. It was helpful to have good relations.

I turned toward him. “Is everything okay with them?”

He watched me without a reaction, but there was something in his solemnness that said maybe there was something wrong.

After a long minute of silence, as if deliberating on answering, he replied, “I worry about my dad being sick, or rather, getting sicker.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

In my family, we took care of our parents. It wasn’t a strange concept that he wanted to make sure his were healthy.

“They seemed nice. On the video call,” I commented.

“Yeah. They’re excited about the wedding.”

He’d spoken with incredible ease with my parents and didn’t bicker with his own. They’d all been so natural with one another on the video call. It was good to see this side of him. Sunny other than a grump, other than a coworker who spent dauntless hours on projects, Sunny who had a life where he was loved, where he thrived with others. He’d never been one-sided, and it was nice to see those other sides of his world come to life.

“Do your parents call Sejal often?”

“What?” he asked, his voice gravelly, still full of sleep.

“She was so comfortable with your parents.”

“My parents are nice to her, hers to me. They’re not the type to hate us because our relationship didn’t work out. They were friends before us and stayed friends after.”

“That’s good. What happened? With you two?”

He kept that intense, solid gaze fixed on me. Not one of anger or annoyance or amusement. Sunny was so difficult to read sometimes, and I wondered if this signature expression of his was purposeful. A poker face.

I should’ve told him never mind and remember the rules, but he could decide if he wanted to share or not. Maybe it was just me, but it seemed that Sunny and I were finally getting to a place where we could be, dare I say, friends.

Twenty-two Sunny

I sat up and ran a hand down my face. “Let me get some water first. Want some?”

“Yeah.”

I brought over two glasses of ice water.

“Thanks,” Bane said, and took a drink as I guzzled down half my glass.

Instead of looking at her, I stared at the condensation. Words had never failed me when I needed them for anything other than explaining my relationships or emotions. Work, classes, presentations…sure. I could speak eloquently, quick on my feet. Admitting aloud that I’d failed my ex, even having a side to the story, had never left my lips to most people. Even when telling Sam and Aamar why Sejal and I had split had been short, sans details.

My brain knew Bane would get an even shorter version, but those words, once so difficult to bridge between thought and spoken, fell out of me. It was as if Bane weren’t here. Or perhaps Bane had become someone who made talking easy.

I told her everything, from our parents being friends and growing up around each other in the community, being friends with Sejal in high school and college, being pushed into each other by parents and finally dating because we liked each other, to the accusations and fights about me not being romantic enough, not being attentive enough, not being communicative enough, social enough, or enough of anything really in the end.

Bane listened wordlessly, a calming presence, which just encouraged the words to keep flooding out of me. Part of me felt like an idiot, unleashing all of this on her, but there was undeniably a larger part of me that had relaxed. Only because of Bane. Only with Bane. And hell, it was scary. My voice quivered. Why were things so different with her?

“So…” she finally said after I’d finished. I expected her to agree with Sejal. She knew me that well, had called me robotic, even. Instead, Bane said, “Your ex manipulated you into a toxic relationship?”

“What?” I swerved my head toward her.

Bane had a pillow on her lap and leaned toward me, furrowing her brows to understand. “Sejal claimed you don’t communicate enough, and I can see how one might think that, but she in response didn’t communicate on her end and instead used passive aggression, silent treatment, ultimatums, and deflecting tactics to make you feel bad enough to do whatever she wanted, even if she wasn’t willing to understand or work with you?”

“I…no. That’s not it.”

“Did she ever ask why you didn’t want to go to parties, why you worked so much, why you have a hard time expressing emotions?”

“No.”

“Sunny.” She deadpanned, giving me a dose of the many looks I’d given to her over the past year. “She wanted everything from you and wasn’t willing to consider your side. She wanted communication, but she wasn’t hearing you.”

“You make her sound like a villain.”

“You’re defending her for making you feel bad. You tried, and it still wasn’t good enough.”