I was banned from the cafe.

It was a good thing in its own way. There was no excuse present in the world now that would let me voluntarily walk in there. Seeing Christopher Beckett again wasn't high on my priority list. More like meeting him again wasn't high on my priority list. I still saw him. From across the street, behind the front desk. He visited the cafe from time to time whenever he was in town. I would stare at his distinct red hair as he looked over his shoulder and to his right. He would do that multiple times in the short hour, then his entire body reflected the sigh he'd release before packing up and heading out.

Are you searching for me?

I remembered the first time Arya told me he wanted to see other people. It struck me like a lightning bolt. We were in his bedroom. A sultry Hyderabad evening hung around us, wrapping the entire city in a thick, stuffy, unrequited blanket. I was sprawled on his hefty bean bag, playing with the Switch he had hidden in his room while he fidgeted with himself in the other corner.

He had blurted it out. I think we should see other people. Then he cringed. His entire face twisting as though he had just sucked on the sourest lemon of the bunch.

I shot up from the beanbag. The Switch clattered across the floor. It felt like my heart had gone clattering across the floor. When I'd just gotten my diagnosis, the doctor had asked me, "Didn't you ever suspect something was wrong before today?" I'd said at the time that no, nothing other than slight chest pain from overexertion at times.

Lie.

The first time I knew something was wrong was when Arya said what he did. My heart had twisted in on itself, squeezing so hard, like a noose had been tied around it. In a matter of seconds, it felt like I had just completed five full marathons.

I didn't register when he had me wrapped in his arms. His forehead digging into mine. "Not like that. Jesus fuck, my brain functions with a lag, I swear."

"You want to break up?" I had whispered.

"What? No. Never. You're not getting rid of me that easy." He nuzzled his cheek with mine, and I felt him smile against my skin. "You're in this with me for life. Till we're eighty and wheelchair racing in an old age home for smashed peas."

I laughed and shoved him, my hand subconsciously reaching for my chest. "I won't last till eighty if you keep dropping shit like that."

He dragged me back into him. "We are young, though."

"Really? You keep complaining about your back hurting, so..."

"You don't want to explore?" he asked, and I saw the usual confidence leaving him in waves. He wouldn't meet my eyes. His teeth pierced into his bottom lip. Hard enough for me to see the skin tearing rip by rip.

The thing about Arya was, though he was a six-foot-two, lanky giant, he had an aura about him that made the other person want to protect him. To shield him from all the disasters of the world and give in to his every demand. I hated seeing him in any form other than smiling. Even if most of his smiles were forced, it didn't matter. It meant he was thriving. Beaten and broken, but he was living. It took a lot to bring him down. His parents had found a way. I wouldn't join to help them find more.

So, I glued every crack in my heart and asked him, "Is that what you want?"

Then he smiled. The smile that ate his big owl eyes up and stretched his lips so wide, it wasn't supposed to be possible. "Right now, I want you."

"Not just for now."

"You're it for me, Neil."

"Tell me."

He leaned further down. His lips on my ear. "I love you. Only you. Always only you."

His deep, husky, whiskey-tinged baritone slid down my spine, touching each vertebrae and convincing by body that yes, he did love me.

Then why am I not enough?

"I know you have questions," he whispered next. "Your face is literally shaped like a curve with a dot underneath it."

"Mind enlightening then?"

"We're eighteen. We're each other's firsts. We're each other's everything. Aren't you curious about what's outside? I mean, we're going all over the world now. You don't want to explore. See what it's like? Out there? The real world?"

I wanted to shake him and scream No. My world begins and ends with you and my family. I never wanted to know what was out there. I wanted to protect our little bubble with whatever metal scrap I could find. Arya would make it big. He was destined for greatness. So, for how long could we actually carry on? Arya said we could. He said people were stupid and never really could pick up on the obvious.

You couldn't, either, I wanted to say. If you did, you would never even have thought about proposing this.

Instead, I forced down my tears and brought up a smile. "You want an open relationship?"

He again cringed. "Not quite. I mean, yes? Not like I want to date other people. Just... See what's there. You know?"

No. I don't fucking know. "So, just have sex with other people."

"Something like that."

I nodded. "When do you—"

"Not in India," he said over me. "Too risky. Too close to home. Only outside."

"I have a condition."

"Anything."

"I don't care who you spend your time with." I unwrapped my arms from around his waist and grabbed his crotch. I smirked when I felt him harden under my touch. "At night, there's only one bed you sleep in."

The all-consuming smile returned. "We'll have a thousand nights together. Ten thousand nights. A hundred thousand nights."

"We won't have a hundred thousand nights."

"Who said I'm letting you go in the next life?"

Ever the sweet talker.

We made love that night, and right before I could fall asleep, he reached for me and whispered into the warm darkness, "I have a condition too. Don't fall in love in with anyone else."

Like there ever could be anyone else.

I had all but forgotten about that entire night. Then, one evening in Melbourne, Arya barged into our shared hotel room and demanded I got ready. We were heading out. He didn't say much the entire time, ignoring every question I shot his way.

We reached a club whose name and appearance I had forgotten a long time back. I wished I could forget that entire night altogether. Every cell in my body had told me to turn back and leave. Arya could do whatever he wanted, and he'd meet me in our room later. But I wanted to feel what he was feeling. Why wasn't I enough? Why did he need more from someone else?

A drink or two or three settled inside us and Arya went to scour the dance floor while I stood at the counter with my lowball half full. My heart thundered behind my chest, begging me to leave. I paid no attention to it. So far, the entire time we were there, Arya's focus was on me. Only me. Maybe he realised it was pointless. When he had us, why would he need anything more?

Then, a shoulder brushed against mine. A hard-hitting cologne invigorated my senses. I couldn't recall his face or his hair colour or what he wore. He said his name was Lachlan—because, of course, it was. He was friendly and touchy, his fingers always trying to find a way to land on mine. He bought me a drink, and I didn't mind his hand on my thigh. Or his flirtatious whispers in my ear. Or that he was close enough to share the same breath.

Was Arya watching?

I wanted him to watch.

I should've realised how fruitless it was. Getting Arya jealous was as hard as straightening a dog's tail. He was so used to being put second; he didn't waste his emotions on wondering what it would be like to actually have someone care about him first.

Fingers lightly squeezed my shoulder. Arya was on my other side. He winked at me. I wanted to grab his hand, bid goodbye to Lachlan, and go back to our room. Then I noticed his swollen, red lips. Mussed hair. Unbuttoned shirt.

No.

He paid our tab. And I stared at the twink behind him, desperately wishing I had claws for hands.

I watched when the love of my life took another man's hand and led him out the exit. He at least had the courteousness to spare me a glance before I left. I wanted to see fear, anxiety, and disappointment. Instead, his eyes were dark and salacious.

Bile rose up in my throat, and I ran for the restroom.

I tried.

I tried imitating him. The confidence. The ease. How did he do it?

Every time I was with someone who wasn't him, I wanted to claw out of my skin.

Arya said I had too much love inside of me. I cared too much.

Cole appeared in front of me, forcing me to face the present. He leaned forward, his forearms on the desk. I looked around and confirmed that we were alone. I met his sparkling, deviant eyes and pressed my lips to his in a chaste kiss.

Our impromptu night at his place was meant to be a one-off. But he kept offering and I couldn't refuse. It was better than the routine nights of self-loathing and drowning in either self-pity or cheap vodka, or both.

I waited for Mandy to man the desk again before heading out behind Cole with the pretext of 'getting some air'.

These days, guilt didn't weigh me down. Not anymore.

You were wrong, Arya. It wasn't that I cared too much.

My heart just wasn't broken enough that time.