“Tell him, Karan. Tell your son violence is not the way.” Riya’s mother was beside herself.
“It is not the first choice of action.” Their father had turned to Samir. “And I do not advocate hitting. But sometimes it becomes necessary to defend yourself.” He had given Samir a small smile and dismissed him to his room.
Young Riya had knocked on his door, mortified that her gift to him had resulted in this. “Bhaiya,” she started when he opened the door, “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t you. It was him. He’s just...” Samir had looked at her and shaken his head. “Never mind. He deserved it, trust me. And I love my rakhi, okay?”
Riya had nodded, relieved. Samir eyed her. “Do you know how to throw a punch?”
She had shaken her head. Of course not.
“Well, it’s time to learn.” Samir nodded at her. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she replied.
“Make a fist.”
Riya sipped her wine and grinned. Samir hadn’t even really got into trouble beyond being sent to his room. And he had taught her how to throw a proper punch. A skill she used often.
Dhillon narrowed his eyes at her, one eyebrow raised. She shrugged. Let him wonder what the smirk was about.
“How’s your mother?” Riya’s mom was asking Dhillon. “I haven’t seen her in a few days.”
“She’s at work.”
Riya’s mother narrowed her eyes at Dhillon. “And?”
“And nothing, Radha Auntie.”
Her mother stared at him, her lips pursed. “Dhillon, beta. Don’t even try. What are you hiding?”
Riya glanced at her mother. She had lied to her not thirty minutes ago, and her mother suspected nothing. Dhillon made a little face, and she knew he was keeping something from her. Riya’s heart ached a bit that her mother didn’t even know when she was being lied to by her own daughter.
Dhillon sighed and shook his head. “And...she’s on another shaadi.com date.”
“That’s wonderful,” Riya’s mother said and smiled.
“Your mom’s dating?” Riya said at the same time.
Dhillon shrugged at them both, raising his eyebrows in a what-can-I-do? gesture.
Riya’s eyes bugged out. Good for Sarika Auntie.
“Dhillon Vora,” her mom said, “your mother is barely fifty-five years old. She deserves to have a life outside you children.” She turned back to the stove to stir the dhal.
It amused Riya that her mother referred to a thirty-year-old man and his twenty-year-old sister aschildren.
“Of course she does, Auntie. It’s just—”
“Just what?” She pointed her spice-covered spoon at him.
Dhillon eyed the spoon and took a small step back. “She could get hurt.”
Riya’s mom waved the spoon at him and shook her head like Dhillon was five years old. “Of course she could. But she could also find someone who adds to her happiness.”
Dhillon nodded politely, but everyone in the room knew he didn’t believe that for a second. “Also, Hiral Mama sent her an upsetting text about it.”
“Well,” Riya’s father chimed in, “Hiral has always been a bit extra conservative, not to mention he’s always concerned about what everyone at the mandir will say. All the more reason she needs your support.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly at Dhillon to drive his point home.
