‘Mate, don’t listen to them. They don’t know what they’re chatting about,’ Raju says to Amit. ‘They’re just jealous of your drip.’
‘You wish!’ Shirin shouts back.
While they go back and forth, arguing over who has the better style, Salman comes to a halt beside me. ‘I didn’t think you’d cave so soon. You really don’t have trust in your sauce, do you?’ Salman whispers in my ear, and the hairs on my arms immediately stand up.
‘As if. I’ve got this in the bag.’
‘Is that so?’ He raises his brow, the challenge clear.
‘Yeah. You should be scared.’
He shrugs easily. ‘I’ll take my chances.’
His response catches me off-guard. How can he be so blasé about potentially having to quit his job?
‘We could have caught a rideshare together, you know. Saved us both a few pounds. Sadia pays well but not that well.’
‘Pass. I’d rather bite my own hand off.’
‘Come on, you two,’ Shirin yells from across the court. ‘Amit needs to get his ass whooped before his bedtime in an hour!’
Amit lets out a loud groan. ‘You’re going down, Shirin!’
It all feels so normal. The six of us back together again, just like it used to be. But seeing Salman with my friends doesn’t make me happy. It just reminds me he’s the reason we don’t hang out like this any more. And it makes me want to wipe that smile off his face.
So, I do something I didn’t think would be possible.
I stay.
11
Since there’s six of us, we decide to play tournament style, in singles. Even though I don’t fully understand how the game works, I still manage to make my way into the final round.
Unfortunately, so does Salman.
‘Looks like we’ll be having couples therapy on court one with Romeo and Juliet!’ Amit yells from outside the court. He’s sitting at a nearby table, the umbrella open above him to shield him from the sun, with a bowl of chips.
‘We’re on court three, you idiot,’ Shirin bites back before nabbing one of his chips. Beside her, Lipi shoots me a sympathetic look while Raju, who is on the other side of the fence, has his phone pointed at the court like he’s a sports broadcaster.
‘What are you doing?’ I shout.
‘Filming, obviously. I’m sure we’ll get some class scenes of you both looking foolish.’
I roll my eyes. If there’s one thing I’m not going to be doing, it’s looking foolish in front of Salman. He’s already made me look like a clown once; I won’t have it happen again.
‘Ready to play?’ I ask Salman as I twirl the racquet in my hand, trying my hardest not to break my glare. ‘I’d like to get this win over and done with.’
He smirks, which rubs me the wrong way. Can he tell that I actually have no confidence whatsoever about beating him? Even though I’m in the final, it was thanks to pure luck – Amitand Lipi were my opponents, and they played so much worse than I did.
But Salman? He’s actually played tennis before. He used to take lessons when he was younger. Sure, it wasn’t for that long, only a couple of months, but it’s more than I’ve ever taken. Even though the court is smaller than a tennis court and the ball ricochets off the ground seemingly randomly and without reason, at least he’s played a similar sport.
‘Ready?’ Salman asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.
I nod. All I can do is hope that I’m still on a lucky streak and actually beat him.
Salman grabs the plastic ball from his pocket and lets it bounce once before he swings his racquet at it .?.?.
.?.?. and misses entirely.
