# Chapter 5: Something Nice

Sunday was quieter, but only in volume.

She was at home with family all day, so the messages came in bursts between lunch and calls and the odd "brb mummy's asking me something." Short ones, mostly. But she never let a gap pass without leaving a little fire in it.

Sneha: just had lunch. ur not here so im eating properly for once, no one to show off for 😂

Me: I ruin your appetite? Good to know.

Sneha: u ruin my focus. different thing.
Sneha: ok going to nap. dream about me.

Me: Bold of you to assume I'm not already.

Sneha: good boy 😌

That one word again. Good boy. I was starting to suspect she used it on purpose, and I was starting to suspect she was right to.

At night, when the house went quiet, she sent one more.

Sneha: saw my cousin's wedding album today. everyone in sarees.
Sneha: thought of u.

Me: Which part of the album?

Sneha: 😏 good night vickey.

That was Sunday. Twenty messages and one image in my head that kept me up till one — her hair down over one shoulder in that picture she'd sent, the way it caught the light like poured ink, and that smile, the one that never fully showed up in a room but always showed up in her messages. Half-lidded. Slightly crooked at the left corner. The smile of a woman who has already decided what she's going to do to you and is just waiting for the right moment.

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Monday morning, I stood in front of my mirror for a genuinely embarrassing amount of time.

Wear something nice, she'd said. And I'd spent the weekend reading everything she'd given me. Rolled sleeves. Forearms out. A watch. Shoulders. Hands.

So I did the math and built a man.

Navy blue slim-fit trousers. A crisp white shirt, tailored, tucked clean, top button open, no tie — because a tie would've looked like I was trying too hard. Sleeves rolled to just below the elbow, neat, one fold. My steel watch on the left wrist, the one I never wore because it was heavy and I was lazy. Brown leather belt. Clean dark shoes, polished the night before like a schoolboy. Hair washed, dried, pushed back just enough to show my forehead without looking like a banker.

I checked …