Tanya heard the directness she denied herself.
“Yes,” she said. “It could. You deserve to ask them and receive an honest answer.”
The student wiped her face. “What if the answer is bad?”
“Then it was already true before you heard it. Knowing allows you to choose what happens next.”
After the girl left, Tanya sat alone at her desk.
She opened Kabir’s chat and typed: Are you seeing any of my close friends?
The sentence waited on screen.
She deleted it.
At the four-woman dinner, similarities became almost comic enough to break the spell.
Mine works unpredictable hours.
Mine is attentive.
Mine remembers everything.
Mine hates labels.
Mine says labels are for luggage.
Mine orders dessert first.
Mine thinks beginnings are better than endings.
Each description landed with recognition. Each woman privately adjusted her theory to avoid the obvious. Delhi men repeated lines. Goa boys shared habits. Their mystery men might know one another.
“Names,” Rhea demanded.
“You first,” Meher said.
“Initials at least,” Naina proposed.
Tanya said, “K.”
Meher laughed too quickly. “Half the city is K.”
Rhea said, “Mine too.”
Naina looked down.
“Yours?” Tanya asked.
“This game is childish.”
“Which letter?”
“K.”
No one spoke.
Meher lifted her glass. “Kunal, Karan, Kartik, Kabir. Delhi produces in bulk.”
She included Kabir too casually. Tanya noticed, then told herself the name came naturally from Goa.
Sam’s photograph arrived after midnight.
It showed Rhea and Kabir outside the shack on Day Six. Rhea’s hand rested on his chest. His face was turned toward her. The caption named her his favourite lawyer.
Rhea called Sam before he could delete it.
“Why that caption?”
“Because you and Kabir were doing your whole argument-flirting thing.”
“What thing?”
“You know. In Goa. And afterward.”
“How do you know afterward?”
Sam went quiet, a rare and alarming event.
“He mentioned you,” he said.
Rhea ended the call and messaged Kabir.
Coffee. Tomorrow. Not optional.
At the café, Kabir arrived six minutes late and already knew why.
Rhea placed the screenshot between them. Her voice was controlled because anger had moved beyond volume.
“Are you seeing Tanya?”
“Tanya and I are friends.”
“Friends who?”
“That is her information too.”
“Do not use her privacy to protect your answer.”
Kabir looked toward the window. “We have spent time together.”
“Intimately?”
“Rhea.”
“Yes or no.”
“I’m not discussing her private life.”
“You discussed mine with Sam.”
“I said we had met.”
“Are you also seeing Meher?”
His eyes returned to hers.
“Where did that come from?”
“Naina?”
“This is becoming a list of names.”
“Because you are refusing a list of answers.”
Kabir leaned forward. “Let me speak to Tanya. There are details that are not mine alone.”
Rhea hated that the statement contained truth. She agreed to wait one day.
Kabir left the café and called Dev.
“She knows about Tanya,” he said.
“Tell everyone now.”
“I need to speak separately.”
“That is how you created this.”
Kabir ended the call.
He messaged Rhea first: Thinking about your impossible smile. Monday? We can talk properly.
Then he messaged Tanya with the same words and a different day.
At Meher’s apartment that evening, the two phones illuminated beside each other.
Rhea saw both sentences and understood that Kabir had used tenderness as a mail merge.
She photographed the screens.
“What are you doing?” Tanya asked.
Rhea’s face had lost its courtroom confidence.
“Finding context,” she said.