06-08-2026, 10:51 PM
Ayesha completed her bedtime routine in a numb haze. It wasn’t until she
laid her head down on her pillow that she started crying.
It was over now. He’d asked her to be good to his family, and she’d made
his mom cry. You couldn’t undo something like that.
Her gut demanded she tell Aditya the truth. Though he wasn’t aware of
the true extent of them, he already knew about her issues: sensitivities to
smell, sound, and touch; her obsession with her work; her need for routine;
and her awkwardness with people. What he didn’t know was there were labels
for that, a diagnosis.
But was pity any better than hatred? Right now, he thought she was
insensitive and rude, but he still viewed her as a regular person who happened
to have some eccentricities. With the labels, he might be more understanding,
but he’d quit viewing her as Ayesha Naz, awkward statistician who loved
his kisses. In his eyes, she’d become the girl with autism. She’d be . . . less.
With other people, she didn’t care what they thought.
With Aditya, she desperately needed to be accepted. She had a disorder,
but it didn’t define her. She was Ayesha. She was a unique person.
There was no way to salvage this situation. No way to keep him.
She still had to apologize to his mom. She’d never made someone cry
before, and it filled her with self-loathing. His mom’s evasiveness made sense
now that she knew about his dad. Ayesha wished she could have understood
earlier, before she hurt the woman and ruined everything, but all she could
control were her future actions, not the past.
As the night dragged on, she constructed and reconstructed her apology,
recited it over and over in her head. When the sun rose, she dragged herself
out of bed and got ready to tackle the day.
She drove to the same strip mall she’d gone to yesterday and parked in
front of CLEANOVO Dry Cleaning and Tailors. As soon as they flipped the sign,
she’d apologize and leave.
A night of sleeplessness had left her head clouded, and her heart ached
from the relentless pressure of her anxiety. Her fingers had been clenched
around the wheel so long the joints were locked. She was drained and wanted
to get this over with so she could go to the office and lose herself in work.
Five minutes before nine, the sign flipped from Closed to Open. Taking a
deep breath, Ayesha picked up a second box of chocolates and a bouquet of
peach roses and exited her car. Inside, Pinky sat behind the front counter.
She lifted her attention from the textbook on her lap and blinked in
surprise at Ayesha. From the tense set of her mouth, it was not a good kind of
surprise. “Hi, Ayesha . . . Aditya doesn’t work on Saturdays.”
“I wasn’t looking for him.” What was the point? They were done. She held
up the roses and chocolates. “I brought these for your mom. Is she here?”
Pinky’s expression softened. “Yeah, she’s here.”
“May I speak to her, please?”
“She’s working in back. I’ll take you there.”
She followed Pinky into the backroom and stopped in front of a green
commercial sewing machine, where Aditya’s mom was busy feeding fabric
beneath the sewing foot with quick efficiency, her glasses perched on the tip
of her nose.
Ayesha’s muscles tensed, and her heart thundered. It was time to do this.
She hoped she didn’t screw it up. She hoped she said the right thing.
Pinky murmured something in Marathi, and Aditya’s mom looked up.
Her gaze jumped from Pinky to Ayesha.
Ayesha swallowed and forged ahead. “I came to apologize for last night. I
know I was rude. I’m not . . . good with people. I wanted to thank you for
inviting me over to your house.” She held out the flowers and chocolates. “I
got these for you. I hope you like chocolate.”
Pinky snatched the truffles before her mother could touch the box. “I do.”
Aditya’s mom accepted the flowers and sighed. “We still have a lot of
food left over from last night. You should try to come again.”
Ayesha looked down at her feet. Aditya would be horrified if he saw her at
his mom’s tonight. “I need to go. I’m truly sorry about last night. Thank you
again.”
She turned around to leave but caught sight of Aditya’s tiny grandma at
the couch. The old woman nodded at her, and Ayesha fumbled on something
that was courteous, half bow before she left.
• • •
Aditya walked into the studio and tossed his duffel bag on the blue
matted floor next to the other two bags.
The fighters in the middle of the room broke apart, took five steps back,
switched their swords to their left hands, and bowed.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” said the fighter on the right. It was Sunny.
A helmet obscured his cousin’s face, but Aditya knew it was him by his
voice and the name embroidered in white on his black sparring gear. Also,
Sunny was an inch shorter than his baby brother.
Bunny waved a gloved hand at him and seamlessly switched from sparring
to strike drills using his reflection in the mirror. Ten whip-fast head strikes,
ten wrist strikes, ten rib strikes. Then back to the beginning. Ten more head
strikes . . . When Bunny worked out, he worked out. There wasn’t downtime.
His single-minded focus was impressive. And reminded Aditya of Ayesha. He
released a heavy sigh.
“Don’t usually see you Saturdays. What’s up?” Sunny asked.
“I wanted to get some sparring in,” Aditya said as he scratched an ear. He
usually spent Saturdays running and lifting weights—things he could do alone
since he was tired of people after what he did on Friday nights. Today,
however, he didn’t want to be by himself. He knew he’d just think about
Ayesha the whole time. After deliberating through the night and most of today,
he still didn’t know how to break things off without hurting her. It had to
happen, though. And soon. He should call her after he finished sparring and
arrange a meeting. Face to face was best.
“Suit up, then,” Sunny said. “Class starts in an hour. Teacher took the day
off, so loser leads class—little kids’ class.”
That was the perfect incentive to win. Children brandishing sticks were
horrifying. You’d think smaller kids were less dangerous, but they were
actually the worst. They spun around the studio like tornadoes, hitting beneath
your armor or stabbing you in the balls, all by accident. They didn’t know any
better. Kind of like Ayesha in social situations.
And Bunny.
As Aditya put his gear on, his eyes kept gravitating toward Bunny as he
methodically worked through all his strikes ten at a time. Always the same
number and always the same order. If Ayesha ever took up kendo(fencing), Aditya
could see her doing the exact same thing. After last night, there were a lot
more similarities between her and Bunny than he’d originally thought. Bunny
never noticed when he tripped upon sensitive conversation topics, either. He
was also horribly honest, creative in strange ways, and . . .
His gaze jumped to Sunny as an unexpected suspicion rose. “You asked if I
thought Ayesha was like Bunny.”
Sunny undid the laces behind his head and pulled his helmet off. Dark eyes
regarded him steadily. “Yeah, I did.”
“Did she tell you something I should know?” He remembered that night,
how it had felt like he’d interrupted something when he’d found them outside
the club together.
“After she finished hyperventilating from overstimulation, yeah. She told
me something,” Sunny said.
“She was hyperventilating?” he heard himself ask. His stomach dropped,
and coldness prickled over him. What kind of ass was he that he hadn’t
known and hadn’t been there for her? He should have been the one. Not
Sunny.
“Too many people, Aditya. Too much noise, too many flashing lights.
You shouldn’t have taken her there.”
Everything clicked together then. “She’s autistic.”
“You disappointed?” Sunny asked with a tilt of his head.
“No.” The word came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat before he
continued. “But I wish she’d told me.” Why hadn’t she told him? And why
had she let him pressure her into going to the club? She must have known
what it would do to her.
And last night. Shit, it must have been awful. The TV blasting, the piano,
his sisters shouting, everything new . . .
“She just wants you to like her.”
The words punched Aditya in the stomach. He did like her, and knowing
this didn’t impact that at all. She was still the same person. Except he
understood her better now. At least, on a conscious level, he did.
Subconsciously, he felt like he’d always known. Because he’d grown up
with Bunny, he knew how to interact with her. He didn’t even have to think
about it. That had to be why she could relax with him when she couldn’t with
others . . .
A strange charged sensation buzzed through him, tensing his muscles and
putting his hairs on end. Maybe he didn’t have to end their arrangement.
Maybe accepting her proposal wasn’t taking advantage of her. Because she
was autistic, maybe she really could use a practice relationship before she
entered a real one. Maybe he was the perfect one for her to practice with.
Maybe he could help her for real.
He didn’t have to take the entire two lakhs. Come to think of it, he didn’t
have to take any of it. He had credit cards. He could make up the difference
next month. By helping her without financial motivation, he’d finally prove
he wasn’t his dad.
He yanked his gear off and tossed it on the floor in a careless heap. “Put
that away for me, will you? I have to go.”
laid her head down on her pillow that she started crying.
It was over now. He’d asked her to be good to his family, and she’d made
his mom cry. You couldn’t undo something like that.
Her gut demanded she tell Aditya the truth. Though he wasn’t aware of
the true extent of them, he already knew about her issues: sensitivities to
smell, sound, and touch; her obsession with her work; her need for routine;
and her awkwardness with people. What he didn’t know was there were labels
for that, a diagnosis.
But was pity any better than hatred? Right now, he thought she was
insensitive and rude, but he still viewed her as a regular person who happened
to have some eccentricities. With the labels, he might be more understanding,
but he’d quit viewing her as Ayesha Naz, awkward statistician who loved
his kisses. In his eyes, she’d become the girl with autism. She’d be . . . less.
With other people, she didn’t care what they thought.
With Aditya, she desperately needed to be accepted. She had a disorder,
but it didn’t define her. She was Ayesha. She was a unique person.
There was no way to salvage this situation. No way to keep him.
She still had to apologize to his mom. She’d never made someone cry
before, and it filled her with self-loathing. His mom’s evasiveness made sense
now that she knew about his dad. Ayesha wished she could have understood
earlier, before she hurt the woman and ruined everything, but all she could
control were her future actions, not the past.
As the night dragged on, she constructed and reconstructed her apology,
recited it over and over in her head. When the sun rose, she dragged herself
out of bed and got ready to tackle the day.
She drove to the same strip mall she’d gone to yesterday and parked in
front of CLEANOVO Dry Cleaning and Tailors. As soon as they flipped the sign,
she’d apologize and leave.
A night of sleeplessness had left her head clouded, and her heart ached
from the relentless pressure of her anxiety. Her fingers had been clenched
around the wheel so long the joints were locked. She was drained and wanted
to get this over with so she could go to the office and lose herself in work.
Five minutes before nine, the sign flipped from Closed to Open. Taking a
deep breath, Ayesha picked up a second box of chocolates and a bouquet of
peach roses and exited her car. Inside, Pinky sat behind the front counter.
She lifted her attention from the textbook on her lap and blinked in
surprise at Ayesha. From the tense set of her mouth, it was not a good kind of
surprise. “Hi, Ayesha . . . Aditya doesn’t work on Saturdays.”
“I wasn’t looking for him.” What was the point? They were done. She held
up the roses and chocolates. “I brought these for your mom. Is she here?”
Pinky’s expression softened. “Yeah, she’s here.”
“May I speak to her, please?”
“She’s working in back. I’ll take you there.”
She followed Pinky into the backroom and stopped in front of a green
commercial sewing machine, where Aditya’s mom was busy feeding fabric
beneath the sewing foot with quick efficiency, her glasses perched on the tip
of her nose.
Ayesha’s muscles tensed, and her heart thundered. It was time to do this.
She hoped she didn’t screw it up. She hoped she said the right thing.
Pinky murmured something in Marathi, and Aditya’s mom looked up.
Her gaze jumped from Pinky to Ayesha.
Ayesha swallowed and forged ahead. “I came to apologize for last night. I
know I was rude. I’m not . . . good with people. I wanted to thank you for
inviting me over to your house.” She held out the flowers and chocolates. “I
got these for you. I hope you like chocolate.”
Pinky snatched the truffles before her mother could touch the box. “I do.”
Aditya’s mom accepted the flowers and sighed. “We still have a lot of
food left over from last night. You should try to come again.”
Ayesha looked down at her feet. Aditya would be horrified if he saw her at
his mom’s tonight. “I need to go. I’m truly sorry about last night. Thank you
again.”
She turned around to leave but caught sight of Aditya’s tiny grandma at
the couch. The old woman nodded at her, and Ayesha fumbled on something
that was courteous, half bow before she left.
• • •
Aditya walked into the studio and tossed his duffel bag on the blue
matted floor next to the other two bags.
The fighters in the middle of the room broke apart, took five steps back,
switched their swords to their left hands, and bowed.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” said the fighter on the right. It was Sunny.
A helmet obscured his cousin’s face, but Aditya knew it was him by his
voice and the name embroidered in white on his black sparring gear. Also,
Sunny was an inch shorter than his baby brother.
Bunny waved a gloved hand at him and seamlessly switched from sparring
to strike drills using his reflection in the mirror. Ten whip-fast head strikes,
ten wrist strikes, ten rib strikes. Then back to the beginning. Ten more head
strikes . . . When Bunny worked out, he worked out. There wasn’t downtime.
His single-minded focus was impressive. And reminded Aditya of Ayesha. He
released a heavy sigh.
“Don’t usually see you Saturdays. What’s up?” Sunny asked.
“I wanted to get some sparring in,” Aditya said as he scratched an ear. He
usually spent Saturdays running and lifting weights—things he could do alone
since he was tired of people after what he did on Friday nights. Today,
however, he didn’t want to be by himself. He knew he’d just think about
Ayesha the whole time. After deliberating through the night and most of today,
he still didn’t know how to break things off without hurting her. It had to
happen, though. And soon. He should call her after he finished sparring and
arrange a meeting. Face to face was best.
“Suit up, then,” Sunny said. “Class starts in an hour. Teacher took the day
off, so loser leads class—little kids’ class.”
That was the perfect incentive to win. Children brandishing sticks were
horrifying. You’d think smaller kids were less dangerous, but they were
actually the worst. They spun around the studio like tornadoes, hitting beneath
your armor or stabbing you in the balls, all by accident. They didn’t know any
better. Kind of like Ayesha in social situations.
And Bunny.
As Aditya put his gear on, his eyes kept gravitating toward Bunny as he
methodically worked through all his strikes ten at a time. Always the same
number and always the same order. If Ayesha ever took up kendo(fencing), Aditya
could see her doing the exact same thing. After last night, there were a lot
more similarities between her and Bunny than he’d originally thought. Bunny
never noticed when he tripped upon sensitive conversation topics, either. He
was also horribly honest, creative in strange ways, and . . .
His gaze jumped to Sunny as an unexpected suspicion rose. “You asked if I
thought Ayesha was like Bunny.”
Sunny undid the laces behind his head and pulled his helmet off. Dark eyes
regarded him steadily. “Yeah, I did.”
“Did she tell you something I should know?” He remembered that night,
how it had felt like he’d interrupted something when he’d found them outside
the club together.
“After she finished hyperventilating from overstimulation, yeah. She told
me something,” Sunny said.
“She was hyperventilating?” he heard himself ask. His stomach dropped,
and coldness prickled over him. What kind of ass was he that he hadn’t
known and hadn’t been there for her? He should have been the one. Not
Sunny.
“Too many people, Aditya. Too much noise, too many flashing lights.
You shouldn’t have taken her there.”
Everything clicked together then. “She’s autistic.”
“You disappointed?” Sunny asked with a tilt of his head.
“No.” The word came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat before he
continued. “But I wish she’d told me.” Why hadn’t she told him? And why
had she let him pressure her into going to the club? She must have known
what it would do to her.
And last night. Shit, it must have been awful. The TV blasting, the piano,
his sisters shouting, everything new . . .
“She just wants you to like her.”
The words punched Aditya in the stomach. He did like her, and knowing
this didn’t impact that at all. She was still the same person. Except he
understood her better now. At least, on a conscious level, he did.
Subconsciously, he felt like he’d always known. Because he’d grown up
with Bunny, he knew how to interact with her. He didn’t even have to think
about it. That had to be why she could relax with him when she couldn’t with
others . . .
A strange charged sensation buzzed through him, tensing his muscles and
putting his hairs on end. Maybe he didn’t have to end their arrangement.
Maybe accepting her proposal wasn’t taking advantage of her. Because she
was autistic, maybe she really could use a practice relationship before she
entered a real one. Maybe he was the perfect one for her to practice with.
Maybe he could help her for real.
He didn’t have to take the entire two lakhs. Come to think of it, he didn’t
have to take any of it. He had credit cards. He could make up the difference
next month. By helping her without financial motivation, he’d finally prove
he wasn’t his dad.
He yanked his gear off and tossed it on the floor in a careless heap. “Put
that away for me, will you? I have to go.”
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