Page 20 of The Promise of a Traitor

“He was touring most of the time we were together,” he said quietly, punching the button for the basement.

The time we were together.

The words seemed to resound in the small space. Aastha stared blindly at the numbers lighting up above the elevator doors, signalling the floors they were passing.

The time we were together.

Past tense. As though it had been a lifetime instead of seven years. As though the girl who had loved him had died somewhere between New York and Mumbai. Which maybe she had, in every way that mattered.

“Adi…”

The elevator doors opened and he strode out, pausing when he saw that she wasn’t immediately following him. Aastha stepped out, letting her questions die unsaid on her lips. For now.

Advik stopped near a black BMW, beeping it open and holding the passenger door open for her. Aastha slid in and buckled her seatbelt while he walked around and got into the driver’s seat.

He turned to her and held his phone out. “Could you input your address in the GPS app?”

Aastha took his phone, her eye snagging on the screensaver. It was a picture of him with his cousins. Mad, chaotic, and fun, the picture almost burst with energy and joy. Advik stood in the second row, one arm around Kimaya. Everyone else was laughing. Kimaya was half falling into someone, another cousin pulling a face for the camera, chaos frozen in a single frame.

He had a thick, bushy beard, and he was wearing a casual t-shirt and jeans. He was the only one not smiling. He looked like he’d forgotten what happiness could feel like. Had she done this to him? Her fingers trembled as she input her details and handed the phone back to him.

They exited the basement parking and merged seamlessly into Mumbai’s nighttime traffic. She glanced out of the window at the brightly lit pavement scenes that played out as they passed. A family walked hand in hand after dinner. A young couple argued at a traffic light, gesturing wildly before the man reached for the woman's hand anyway. A little girl squealed as her father bought her a balloon that bobbed wildly against the night sky.

Ordinary, everyday lives. The sort of life she'd once imagined she’d share with the man sitting beside her. The sort she didn’t think they had in store for them if they went through with this marriage.

They drove in silence, neither one wanting to break the quiet with accusations or explanations or even just a question.

They were almost to her house, when he spoke, his gaze on the lorry ahead of them. “What was that with your mother?”

Aastha exhaled. She should have known this was coming. “My mother is complicated,” she murmured. “She wants me married and soon. And you’re a catch. A big one. She is thrilled with this engagement. She wants this to go through. Desperately. She probably thinks forcing us into closer proximity will seal the deal further.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” She glanced over at him but she couldn’t make out anything from his austere profile.

“Why is she so desperate to have you married off?”

For one fevered moment she wanted to tell him everything. She opened her mouth, the words sitting on the tip of her tongue but then she imagined the look on his face when she confessed. The pity or even worse, the obligation, and she swallowed every word, knowing that it would make no difference. She’d ruined them before and she was ruining them now.

“An adult, single daughter,” she said, forcing some lightness into her voice. “Indian mother problems.”

At that he glanced over at her, his incisive gaze slicing through her deflection, making her worry that he could see the truth.

“Why are you so desperate to marry me?” she asked, holding his gaze.

“I’ve always been desperate for you, Aastha,” he replied, the self-mockery in his voice making her cheeks flush with shame and regret. “Have you forgotten?”

No, she hadn’t forgotten. She remembered everything. The way he'd tucked her freezing hands into the pockets of his hoodie. The way he'd looked at her as though loving her was the easiest thing he'd ever done. The way he'd whispered her name while making love, as though it were something precious. The way he’d held her after, like he was cradling his whole world.

She remembered all of it. Remembering had never been the problem.

“And like always, you’re just as desperate to not be with me.” A hard laugh escaped him.

“That’s not true.”

“No?” he mocked. “You’ve been trying to get me to call this off from the moment I said yes.”

“I’m doing that to protect you,” she protested hotly, not realising the portent of her words until they were out and hanging in the enclosed space, damning her with every word. Panicked horror flooded her as she searched for a way to recall her words.