The terminal’s dry, recycled air smelled of coffee and disinfectant. Harsh fluorescent light gleamed on the polished floor, reflecting the murmur of tired voices and rolling suitcase wheels. Teena stood a little apart from the gate, her charcoal blazer buttoned, the starched collar of her white shirt pressing against her throat. She clutched her carry-on with both hands, her knuckles pale.
Vikram leaned against a pillar, his lanky frame draped in a faded band t-shirt and jeans. He watched her, a grin playing on his lips. “Nervous, Teena?”
“A little,” she said, her voice soft. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “It’s my first international training. I want to make a good impression.”
“Relax. The Dutch are chill. And the welcome dinner is just a formality.”
Raj stood beside Vikram, hands in the pockets of his dark chinos. He wore a simple grey polo, his black hair neatly combed. His dark eyes were fixed on Teena, tracking the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her blazer. He said nothing.
The flight announcement crackled overhead. As they shuffled into the boarding line, Vikram fell into step beside Teena. “Seriously, you look great. Very… corporate ambassador.”
A faint pink touched her fair cheeks. “Thank you, Vikram.”
On the plane, Teena was seated between them. Raj took the window, Vikram the aisle. Once airborne, Vikram produced a deck of cards. “To pass the time.”
Teena’s laughter, when Vikram pulled a ridiculous bluff, had that endearing crack in it. Raj watched her from the corner of his eye, the way her whole face lit up, the way she leaned toward Vikram’s animated storytelling. Raj stared out at the endless blue, rubbing his thumb over his fingertips.
When they landed at Schiphol, the air was different. Cooler, carrying the scent of rain on concrete. They moved through passport control, Teena smoothing her blazer, her ponytail swinging.
In the arrivals hall, Vikram stretched his arms wide. “Freedom!” He turned to Teena, his expression shifting to mock-serious. “Okay, team huddle. The car to the hotel will take us straight to the venue. It’s a bit of a drive. Everyone ready?”
Teena nodded, her expression earnest. “Of course.”
Raj watched Vikram’s face. He saw the glint. He opened his mouth, a warning forming, but Vikram caught his eye and gave a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head. The words died in Raj’s throat.
They waited by the curb. No car arrived. Teena checked her phone, then the printed itinerary. “It says the driver should be here.”
Vikram sighed, a performance of disappointment. “These local contractors. Unreliable.” He pulled out his own phone. “Let me call.” He walked a few steps away, speaking rapid, fake Hindi into the dead line.
He came back, shaking his head. “Cancelled. Last minute. The dinner’s off.”
Teena’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”
Then Vikram’s composure broke. A snort escaped him. Then a full, loud laugh. He doubled over, pointing at her blazer. “Your face! Oh, God, Teena, you actually believed me!”
The sound of his laughter hit her first. Then the meaning. Her dark brown eyes went wide. She looked down at her formal pants, her polished flats. She looked at Vikram in his t-shirt, at Raj in his polo. The flush that had been a faint pink deepened, spreading down her neck. “There’s… there’s no dinner?”
“No dinner!” Vikram wheezed, wiping a tear. “It’s a free evening! We land, we check in, we party!”
Her mouth opened, then closed. She unbuttoned her blazer with stiff fingers. The air felt suddenly heavy on her white shirt. Raj took a step toward her. “Teena—”
Her phone buzzed. She looked at the screen. “It’s Uday.” Her voice was small. She answered. “Hello?”
They could hear the tinny, authoritative voice through the receiver. “Teena. My flight is delayed. You will wait at the airport for me. We will proceed to the hotel together.”
She held the phone away from her ear, looking at Vikram, then at Raj. A silent question.
Vikram mouthed the word ‘no’ exaggeratedly, slicing a hand across his throat.
Raj looked at Teena’s face, at the humiliation still hot in her eyes, at the way she was shrinking inside her professional armor. He thought of Uday’s cold, assessing gaze. He gave a single, sharp shake of his head.
Teena took a breath. She brought the phone back. “Uday, the connection is bad. I can’t hear you. We’ll… we’ll see you at the hotel.” She ended the call. She held the phone in her hand, staring at it as if it might bite her.
Vikram whooped. He slung an arm around her shoulders. She stiffened for a second, then relaxed into the casual contact. “That’s my girl! Revenge for the prank! Now, let’s ditch this airport. Amsterdam is waiting.”
He kept his arm around her as he hailed a taxi. Raj followed, his own hands buried deep in his pockets again, watching Vikram’s hand on the wool of her blazer, watching Teena’s tentative smile return as Vikram described the first bar they would hit. The taxi arrived. Vikram held the door open for her with a flourish.
“After you, Ms. Ambassador.”
She laughed, that cracked, sweet sound, and slid in. Vikram followed, leaving Raj to take the front seat.
The taxi pulled away from the curb, and Vikram immediately leaned toward the window, pointing. "Look, Teena, the canals already. See the bikes? Everyone bikes here."
Teena pressed her face to the glass, her breath fogging it slightly. "So many of them. And the buildings, they're all so tall and narrow."
"Like very skinny, very rich uncles standing in a row," Vikram said, and she laughed, that sweet, cracked sound filling the back seat.
Raj watched the driver, a silent Dutch man in a blue cap. He cleared his throat. "The hotel is in the museum district, right?"
"Yeah, but we're not going straight there," Vikram said, not turning from the window. "We're hitting Vondelpark first. It's like the lungs of the city. You'll love it, Teena. Grass, ponds, people-watching."
"Is it far?" she asked, her voice carrying a genuine curiosity that made Raj's chest tighten.
"Ten minutes. Driver, Vondelpark, please." Vikram settled back, his arm stretching along the seat behind Teena's shoulders. "So, tell me. First impression of Amsterdam. Go."
She thought for a second, her dark eyes scanning the passing bridges. "It's… open. The sky feels bigger. And everyone looks so calm. Not like Mumbai at all."
"Exactly. No one's judging you for wearing a blazer to a park." Vikram grinned, elbowing her gently.
She swatted his arm, a real smile on her face. "Don't start. This is your fault."
Raj interjected, aiming for casual. "We could still go to the hotel first. Drop the bags."
"And waste daylight? No way," Vikram declared. "We'll find a locker at the park entrance. Live a little, Menon."
The taxi stopped at a grand entrance flanked by old stone gates. Vikram paid, shouldered his bag, and led them to a row of coin-operated lockers. They stowed their luggage, Teena carefully folding her blazer over her arm before shutting the metal door.
Inside the park, the world softened. Wide paths wound under massive trees, sunlight dappling through the leaves. Cyclists whirred past, and the air smelled of wet earth and cut grass.
"See? Worth it," Vikram said, walking backward in front of them, his arms wide.
It was warm. Unseasonably warm, the sun beating down without the humid thickness of Kerala, but with a relentless, dry intensity. After ten minutes of walking, a faint sheen appeared on Teena's forehead.
After twenty, tiny damp curls had escaped her ponytail, clinging to her fair neck. She fanned herself with her hand. "It's really hot."
"European heatwave," Vikram said cheerfully. "Nothing like our desert back home."
"You said it would be cool. You said 'pack a sweater,'" Teena accused, though her tone was playful. She shoved his shoulder. "This is also your fault."
He laughed, catching her wrist for a second before letting go. "I'm a prankster, not a meteorologist!"
Raj walked beside her, silent. He watched a bead of sweat trace a path from her temple down the line of her jaw. He saw the way the starched white cotton of her shirt was beginning to darken in patches—between her shoulder blades, at the small of her back.
"Here," Teena finally said, stopping near a bench. Her breathing was slightly shallow. "I can't." With stiff, frustrated fingers, she unbuttoned the sleeves of her shirt, rolling them up to her elbows. Then she shrugged the charcoal blazer off her shoulders.
The relief was immediate. A soft breeze touched her, and she closed her eyes for a second. She folded the blazer neatly over the back of the bench.
In the direct sunlight, the thin white shirt became a map of her discomfort. The fabric, damp with perspiration, clung to the lines of her torso. It stuck to the gentle curve of her stomach, the dip of her spine. And across her chest, it grew translucent, outlining the practical, lace-edged cups of her bra, the darker circles at their centers clearly visible through the wet cotton.
Vikram's chatter slowed. His gaze, previously scanning the park, landed on her and stuck. He didn't leer; it was more a moment of arrested attention, his mouth slightly open mid-sentence.
Raj saw it happen. He saw the exact moment Vikram noticed. A cold, sharp feeling cut through the warmth in his own gut. He stepped forward, placing himself slightly between Vikram and Teena, his voice low and urgent. "Teena."
She opened her eyes, blinking up at him. "Hmm?"
"You're…" He struggled, his words jammed. He gestured vaguely at her shirt. "You're soaked. You'll catch a chill."
She looked down, plucking the damp fabric away from her skin. A faint, new flush—different from the heat-flush—crept up her neck as she realized. She crossed her arms over her chest quickly.
"There's a shopping street nearby," Raj said, his tone shifting into practical, problem-solving gear. "The Overtoom. We can get you a dress. Or a t-shirt. Something… dry."
Vikram snapped out of his stare, the easy grin returning. "Yeah, good call. A souvenir! My treat, for the prank and the heatwave."
Teena hesitated, her arms still tightly folded. She looked from Raj's concerned, tense face to Vikram's open, offering one. The embarrassment in her dark brown eyes warred with practicality. "I… I don't want to be a bother."
"You're not a bother," Raj said, the sentence coming out harder than he intended.
"It's no bother," Vikram echoed, softer. "Come on. Let's get you something you can actually breathe in." He reached for her blazer from the bench, holding it out like a shield. "You can put this back on for the walk. Just till we get there."
She took it, her fingers brushing his. She didn't put it on, just held it in front of her like a curtain. She nodded, a small, grateful dip of her chin. "Okay."
Raj turned and started walking toward the park exit, not checking to see if they followed. His jaw was set. The image was burned into the back of his eyes: the wet cotton, the outlined lace, the way Vikram had looked. The sound of their footsteps on the path behind him felt like a countdown.
The Overtoom shopping street hit them with a blast of refrigerated air and the sterile scent of fast fashion. Vikram pointed to a sprawling, multi-level store with mannequins in bright colors. "There. One-stop shop."
Inside, the music was a pulsing electronic beat. Racks of clothes stretched in neon-lit rows. Teena, still holding her blazer like a shield, looked immediately overwhelmed.
"Okay, mission parameters," Vikram announced, rubbing his hands together. He plucked a sleeveless red bodycon dress from a rack. "This. This says 'I am not a corporate drone, I am a goddess of Amsterdam nightlife.'"
Teena's nose wrinkled. "It says 'I will catch pneumonia.' And it's shorter than my handkerchief."
"That's the point!" Vikram laughed, holding it against his own skinny frame. "Look at this cut! You have the legs for it, I've seen you in office trousers."
Raj stood a few feet away, his hands in his pockets. "She needs something dry. Not a costume."
Vikram ignored him, already flipping through another rack. "Fine, fine. Conservative committee member. How about this?" He produced a flowing floral maxi dress.
"Too… much," Teena said, her voice soft but firm. She moved past him, her damp flats squeaking on the polished floor. Her eyes scanned, landed on a rack of simple, long linen tops in neutral colors. She touched a beige one. "This is nice." She found a pair of straight-leg jeans in a dark wash. "And these."
"Bor-ing," Vikram sang, but he was smiling. "You're in Europe! Live a little!"
"I am living. I'm buying clothes that won't make me stare at my own feet all day." She gathered the items, holding them against her chest. "I just need a… a camisole. For underneath. The underwear section is over there. I'll just go quickly."
She took a step toward the corner of the store marked with delicate script.
"Whoa, whoa." Vikram fell into step beside her. "You're not going alone. We'll lose you."
"It's bras and slips, Vikram. I think I can manage."
"Exactly! It's a labyrinth of lace. You'll vanish, and we'll have to send a search party. 'Missing: one modest analyst, last seen in the vicinity of padded cups.'" He grinned at his own joke. "No, we stick together. Safety in numbers."
Raj moved closer, his voice low. "She said she wants to go alone."
Vikram finally looked at him, his expression one of genuine, cheerful bafflement. "So? She also wanted to wait for Uday at the airport. We're saving her from herself, Menon. It's what friends do." He slung an arm around Teena's shoulders, avoiding the damp parts. "Come on. Point me toward the sensible cotton section. I'm an expert."
Teena's neck flushed again. She looked at Raj, a silent plea in her dark eyes, but he just shook his head, a tight, minute motion. Defeated, she let out a small sigh that cracked at the end. "Fine. But no comments."
The underwear section was a pastel universe of lace and silk. Teena moved with swift, efficient embarrassment, snatching a simple white camisole from a table of basics. She didn't look at the racks of bras, didn't glance at the mannequins wearing intricate, sheer things.
Vikram, however, did. He whistled low, picking up a black lace bralette. "Now this is engineering. Look at this stitching."
"Put that down," Teena hissed, swatting at his hand.
"What? It's art! Your husband would appreciate the craftmanship, I'm sure." His tone was light, teasing, but the words hung in the cool air.
Raj turned his back to them, studying a display of socks with a ferocious concentration. The muscles along his jawline stood out.
"We're done," Teena said, her voice firmer now. She clutched the camisole, the top, and the jeans to her chest, the blazer now draped over her forearm. "Dressing room."
She didn't wait for agreement, walking briskly toward the curtained alcoves at the back of the store. The sound of her footsteps was swallowed by the music. Vikram shrugged, still smiling, and followed. Raj brought up the rear, his silence a solid, heavy thing trailing behind them.
The attendant handed Teena a plastic number tag and pointed to an open cubicle. Teena slipped inside the narrow space and let the thick grey curtain fall shut behind her with a decisive rustle.
For a moment, there was only the muffled beat of the store music and the shallow sound of her own breathing. The cubicle was barely wider than her shoulders. A full-length mirror reflected her back—her damp, translucent shirt, the stark outline of her bra, her flushed face.
She leaned her forehead against the cool mirror. The glass fogged slightly from her breath. Outside, she could hear Vikram's voice, a low murmur, and then Raj's, a single sharp syllable in reply.