Aarav
shouldn't have given him the chaas.
That was my first mistake. The second is not kicking him out the moment Aunty brings him in. But she looks so happy introducing him as "my friend" that I can't bring myself to correct her.
Now he's sitting there, sipping the drink I made him, looking far too comfortable in my aunt's restaurant. The same guy who nearly got caught yesterday, the one I—stupidly—decided to help. I should have left him there. Should have let whoever was following him in the park catch up.
"Aarav, the samosas need checking!" Sedu calls from the kitchen.
I tear my eyes away from Atlas and head back to work.
As I flip the samosas, my mind wanders. Who is that man anyway? A stranger? Someone Atlas owes money to? A threat?
"You're burning them," Rudh says, nudging me aside to rescue the samosas.
"I'm not," I snap, but he's right. The edges are darker than they should be.
"Distracted by your friend?" He waggles his eyebrows.
"He's not my friend."
"Really? Because he's still out there, and he keeps looking this way like he's waiting for something. Or someone."
I glance through the kitchen window. Atlas is talking with Aunty, but his eyes keep drifting toward the kitchen. When he catches me looking, that infuriating smirk returns.
"He's trouble," I mutter, turning back to the stove.
"The best kind of friends usually are," Rudh says with a grin.
I ignore him and focus on the next batch of samosas. But my thoughts keep circling back to Atlas's words: "Trying to make you my friend."
The restaurant closes at 8:30 p.m., and we finally sit down for a proper dinner. I can't help but laugh watching Atlas eat—he devours everything like he's never tasted good food before.
When Atlas mentions heading home, Aunty immediately protests. "It's too dangerous to be out alone at this hour. You should stay with Aarav tonight."
My heart skips. "No, it's fine," I say quickly. "He probably has things to do at home."
"He's right," Atlas agrees, surprising me. I'd half-expected him to jump at the chance to stay.
As he's leaving, I notice his ID card on the table. I pick it up, and Aunty spots me. "You can give it to him tomorrow."
The word "tomorrow" makes my stomach turn. There won't be a tomorrow—I'm not seeing him again.
"Aunty," I say, "I can catch him now."
"Yes, if you can," she nods.
Ten minutes after he's left, I'm running through the streets. When I finally spot him, I freeze. There's a man standing in front of him—the same one from the park. I duck behind a tree, watching.
Atlas is crying. My chest tightens at the sight. What's going on? Are they together? Should I step in?
"Tell Mom I'm doing fine," Atlas says, his voice carrying on the night air.
They get into a car and drive away.
I look down at his ID card, still clutched in my hand. Tomorrow, I tell myself. I'll return it tomorrow.
The walk home feels longer than usual.