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“No.”
I don’t want to lie to her, but I also can’t tell her about Huan.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I need this conversation to end.
Wrangling Pollywood Komal to the surface, I soften myself. It takes a monumental effort. Harder than ever before. “Yes. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Uncle. I’m not trying to be difficult, but as you know, this is very new to me.”
“Not a problem.” Mohinder Uncle is comfortable again. I’ve morphed back into the person he wants me to be. “Consider it nothing. Like I’ve said before, all I want is the best for you.”
“I know that.”
We talk for a bit more, returning compliments back and forth, and then the call ends.
Afterwards, I stay in bed, trying to regulate my breathing while seething on the inside and itching. I scratch the backs of my legs until they redden. Then I get up. Donning a dreary black jacket and holding an umbrella, I leave the hostel. Guess even in these circumstances, I’ve got a mind not to get soaked by the misty spittle coming down from above.
As for the destination, there is no plan, but my technique is to follow people too busy to be alarmed by the Punjabi woman withdoureyes behind them.Basically, teenagers in a group. They’re insulated by cockiness and immortality, so I’m not racking up negative karma points by moonlighting as the neighbourhood creep-o.
That being said, I didn’t expect to land on a hill in Greenwich Park, and yet here I am. Unsurprisingly, it’s a popular spot because of the sweeping view of the River Thames and the vast skyscrapers beyond that. From my vantage point, people down below look like multicoloured gum blobs on grass. A few of them are brave enough to picnic, but most huddle under umbrellas or walk their pets.
It’s romantic, sublimely green, and dreamy in a drizzly way.
And immediately I feel such guilt.
Bringing out my phone, I see Huan has called and messaged.
Tell me you are safe.
I send him my location, along with anI’m safemessage.
Time moves illogically and at some point, I look up and see Huan. He has no rain gear and is breathing hard. While he scansme up and down, I go over and tug on his arm until he’s under my umbrella.
My shoulders slump. “Sorry.”
Despite the panic I must have put him through, he nods. That’s when I remember he got the talk from Mohinder Uncle, too. We’re both chastised, although his reprimand must have been cold and professional, while mine was under the guise of earnest helpfulness.
Unsure of what to do, I awkwardly motion forward. We’re walking through the park now, making our way down the path. Nothing is said.
We’re not holding hands.
Maybe we won't ever again in public.
There have been many disappointments in my life, largely due to being assigned an itinerary of parties and social callings I have to attend, but I've never had a disappointment spear me like this. There are despair-painted edges waiting to sink into me. I've got a feeling that if I let them, I might do something very dramatic like cry.
To distract myself, I look around.
There are joggers, parents with strollers, children and the elderly all around us. Most of them are in their own world, but a few glance over as you pass by them. Is there any signs of recognition? We’ve already had our photo taken without noticing. It can happen everywhere. Nothing stays private. Huan and I have to deal with it. Well, actually?—
He is quitting after this assignment.
“Hey,” says a young woman in purple, stepping in front of us.
I glance down and notice her phone is out.
The next sequence of events feels like it happens in slow-motion, but I know it doesn’t. My hands go up and I jump away from Huan. My face puts on a plastic smile.
