“Let’s call your parents and ask,” Sejal said instead, pulling out her phone.

“What the fuck?” I growled, startling her.

“Excuse me?”

I glowered at her. “Excuse you the hell for?” My temper rose. “For making my life miserable?” I’d had about enough. “For calling me out?” The wedding was over, and we’d made it this far without ruining Sam and April’s vibes. Bane was already done, so why the hell not? The truth gushed out of me in searing words.

I took a step toward her and snapped, “You want to know the truth so fucking badly? So it makes you feel better that you’re always right? Fine. Bhanu isn’t my girlfriend. She’s just my coworker.”

Sejal sneered as if she’d won some imperative game.

I didn’t skip a beat, and my next words wiped that snide look off her face. “She happened to be here visiting her sister and was so annoyed by your shit that she blurted out being my girlfriend just to shut you the hell up. All she wanted was quiet, and you came barging in with your demeaning accusations, and unlike you, she’s a good enough person to step in to stop—what she calls—toxicity.”

Sejal’s mouth hung open.

“You got that? She thinks you’re toxic, and I finally see it. All you want to do is tear me down. I’m not even in your life, but you sure as hell keep dragging me back in. All for what? So you can knock me down in front of our friends?” I gestured toward a stunned Aamar and Maya.

“I could’ve pulled you aside and cleared things up, but you’d already opened your mouth and told the entire group. So what was I supposed to do? Tell everyone, when they were so ecstatic at the mere idea of me having a girlfriend, and tarnish this week for Sam and April? All I wanted was to fly under the radar, give them a wedding without the tension of us fighting. Then I just hoped I could give them a wedding without anyone feeling sorry for me. So yes, Sejal. It was all a big lie.”

I held open my arms, glaring at her. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That I do not have a girlfriend. That a woman had to pretend to be one to save me this very awkward moment?”

I looked to a speechless Aamar and Maya, defeated and annoyed and pissed with so many things right now. My voice came out terse when I said, “Sorry I lied. Bhanu is just my coworker, and the entire thing was fake.”

Thirty-five Bhanu

In the bathroom, all I could think about was our new complicated work situation.

On the way to the bar, all I could think about was Sunny saying, “A reality where all this is over.”

It absolutely sounded like a statement. A big, cruel fact.

But what was worse was hearing Sunny say so. I had sidestepped a large, wandering group, who’d forced me behind one of the large pillars wide enough to fit six people across. Turned out, Sunny and his friends were talking loudly right behind it. I caught the last of his words.

Bhanu is just my coworker, and the entire thing was fake.

My legs nearly gave way. I’d started the entire lie. And now he was confessing to his friends to undo it. It was over. No reason to continue the charade. He’d come clean.

Utter stupidity and naivety rained upon me to have thought there was a chance he’d keep the ploy to himself just in case what we had contained an iota of truth.

I just wished he’d waited until he returned home, or at least after I had said my goodbyes.

Mortification had pinned me into place. Anxiety was catapulting me into true panic mode. The kind where combusting chemical reactions grew tentacles to squeeze my brain. As if saying, “Ha! You thought work and being his boss were bad because you believed you had a chance at a real relationship? Sucker!”

My body was both fire and ice, blistering and freezing. Goose bumps tightened my skin, and my breathing turned erratic.

It wasn’t just the mortification. It was the full-faced actuality that these past few days were nothing but a wandering ghost in the timeline of our lives. Surreal and unreal.

Part of me wanted to woman up and take ownership. Part of me wanted to prove to his friends, who’d been nothing but welcoming, that I wasn’t some two-faced liar. To at least apologize. But the growing dread of anxiety had deadened my legs and I wanted to crawl into a corner and never see these people again.

I even made it a few steps before Sam and April appeared and excitedly waved. I really hoped they were waving at their friends around the pillar, but turned out they were also waving at me.

“Bhanu! There you are!” April sang as she hurried over.

And with that, Sunny had backstepped and leaned around the pillar. He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, “Shit, Bane.”

I squeezed my eyes and forced my legs to move forward, to meet the small band of college friends with as much of my self-declared “big UX energy” as I claimed to possess.

My heart was beating out of control with everyone staring at me like I had sprouted horns. The newlyweds had walked into a very awkward mess.

I gave a mediocre wave to pair with my apologetic expression. “Ha. Bane. Get it? Because I’m the bane of his existence. At work. Because we’re coworkers.”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Sunny said.

I shrugged. “We’re adults. You all have been very kind and lovely and I hated that I lied to you.”

“What’s going on?” April asked, perplexed.

I turned to her and said, “I’m not Sunny’s girlfriend. I’m sorry I lied. I was trying to get a certain someone off his back and blurted out that I was. And then went with it because I didn’t want anyone to give him a hard time or feel bad or tense or anything negative during your week. He really meant to give you a stress-free, blissful wedding.”

“Oh. Wait,” April said, knotting her brows as if deciphering an algorithm. “That can’t be. You two are so perfect together.”

Heat crept across my face. I almost told her that we acted so well, but the truth was, I hadn’t been acting for a while.

Sejal scoffed from the corner of my eye. “This is really so sad.”

She was speaking to Sunny, not to me. I was no one to her. Yet the way she continued to berate him snapped my last nerve. Anxiety and mortification be damned.

I turned to her and said, in my most deadpanned, flat tone, “I did it because you were being awfully cruel to a kind and truly genuine man.”

Although I refused to glance at Sunny—I couldn’t bear it—I saw glimpses in my peripheral vision of him watching me.

I went on. “I don’t know if you’re still in love with him or actually this vicious, but you should stop. He doesn’t deserve to be cut down by anyone, especially by you, who, no matter what you think, mean nothing to him.”

Sejal scowled, but I wasn’t done.

“I said the first thing that came out of my mouth because you were scolding him for not having a date. I wanted you to be quiet, instead of ruining my calm because I was sitting there first, and not tear down the best dev on my team who absolutely did not deserve that attack.”

“You don’t know us,” she spat.

Oh, hell. She was lucky I wasn’t Diya, who would’ve started with, “Bitch, I know enough.”

Instead, I replied, “I know that you think you left Sunny because he wasn’t good enough, but the truth is that he couldn’t thrive around your toxic fumes. Deleterious people create detrimental environments. And you leave a trail of rot in your wake.”

“Damn,” someone muttered underneath their breath.

I turned to the others and said, “It was truly lovely meeting you. But I’m going now, because this is really embarrassing.”

I walked away before anyone could say a thing, so quickly that it could be considered sprinting.