The curtain swayed. Outside, the voices had dropped to a murmur she couldn't parse. Teena pressed her palm flat against the cool mirror, letting the glass steady her breathing. The blazer came off first — heavy, damp at the collar. She folded it carefully, the fabric of the formal blazer creasing at the elbows. Her fingers found the buttons of her white shirt, hesitated. Through the thin cotton, she could still feel the weight of their eyes.
"What the hell was that?" Raj's voice, low and tight, cutting through the hum of the mall.
Vikram's laugh was easy. "What? I was helping her shop."
"You know what." A pause. The sound of a shoe scuffing tile. "The bralette. The comments. The way you were looking at her."
Teena's fingers stopped mid-button. She held her breath, the shirt hanging open, the cool air hitting her damp skin.
"Looking at her how, Raj?" Vikram's tone had shifted — still light, but with an edge now, curious rather than defensive.
Silence. She could picture Raj's jaw working, the way he'd look away when he didn't want to say something. She'd seen that face a hundred times across conference tables and late-night project meetings.
"Oh." Vikram's voice dropped, theatrical and knowing. "Ohhh. I see now."
"You don't see anything."
"I see everything, my friend. The way you stepped between us at the park. The way you've been watching her all day. The way your jaw went tight the second I picked up that lace." A beat. "You have a crush on Teena."
Teena's hand found her wedding ring. She twisted it, once, the gold warm against her finger. The word hung in the air — crush — so small and so enormous, a word she'd never let herself say out loud, not even in the dark of her own bedroom.
"She's married." Raj's voice was barely a whisper. "She's my friend. That's all."
"Friends don't look at friends like you look at her."
The curtain felt thin. Too thin. She should move. Should make noise. Should stop eavesdropping. But her feet were rooted, her blouse still unbuttoned, her breath shallow.
"I'm not—" Raj stopped. A long exhale. "It doesn't matter what I feel. She's married. She's happy. I respect that."
Vikram was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, the teasing had softened. "Okay. Okay, I hear you. I was being an ass. I'll dial it back."
"Just... don't make her uncomfortable."
"I won't. Promise." A beat. "But for the record? You should tell her."
"No."
"Fine. But you're a fool, Raj Menon. A lovesick fool."
Teena let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Her hands were trembling. She finished unbuttoning her shirt, peeled it off, reached for the camisole. The fabric was soft, new, smelling of factory starch. She pulled it over her head, then the top — a loose cotton thing in pale blue — then the jeans, stiff and unfamiliar. She stood there, transformed, the old clothes a crumpled heap in the hamper.
She pushed the curtain aside.
Both men turned. Vikram's smile was easy, natural. Raj's face was carefully blank, but his eyes — his eyes found hers and held, just a second too long, before he looked away.
"Ready?" Vikram asked, already moving. "I'm starving. There's a KFC two blocks from here."
Teena nodded, clutching the bag with her old clothes. "Ready."
They walked out of the store together, the Amsterdam sun hitting them as they stepped onto the pavement. Raj walked beside her, close enough that she could smell his cologne — sandalwood and something clean. He didn't look at her. She didn't look at him. But the air between them had changed, charged with something that hadn't been there before.
Vikram led the way, already on his phone, narrating the route. "Left here. Past the bike racks. See the sign?"
The KFC was crowded, fluorescent-lit, smelling of fried chicken and grease. They found a booth by the window. Teena slid in first, Raj across from her, Vikram beside Raj. The silence was thick, awkward, the confession still pulsing in the air between them.
Vikram broke it with a grin. "So. Who's getting the family bucket?"
"Let's skip this," Teena said, surprising herself. The words came out before she'd fully formed them. "It's too crowded. And hot." She gestured vaguely at the fluorescent glare, the line of tourists snaking toward the counter. "There's a whole mall out there. Air conditioning."
Vikram raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Fine by me. I've had enough fried chicken for one lifetime anyway." He slid out of the booth, already reaching for his phone. "Let's see what this place has."
Raj didn't move immediately. His eyes met hers across the table, a question in them — *are you okay?* — but he didn't voice it. He just nodded, once, and stood. Teena gathered her bag of old clothes and followed them out into the corridor.
The mall was a labyrinth of glass and chrome, escalators crisscrossing between floors, stores spilling light and music into the walkways. Vikram led the way, narrating everything they passed — a shoe store with neon signs, a bookstore with a window display of Dutch classics, a vape shop with a giant plastic joint out front. He was back to his usual self, the earlier seriousness forgotten, his laughter echoing off the tiles.
Teena walked beside Raj, a step behind Vikram. The silence between them was different now — not awkward, but weighted, full of things that had been said and not said. She could feel his presence beside her, the way he matched her pace, the occasional brush of his elbow against hers when the corridor narrowed. She twisted her wedding ring, the motion automatic, a grounding ritual.
Her phone buzzed. Uday. Again. She silenced it without looking, slipping it back into her pocket. Beside her, Raj did the same, his jaw tight. Neither of them spoke about it.
They wandered for an hour, drifting through stores without buying anything, letting Vikram's chatter fill the space. Teena found herself relaxing, the tension in her shoulders easing. The camisole was soft against her skin, the pale blue top light and cool. She caught her reflection in a store window — a stranger in casual clothes, her ponytail slightly askew, her cheeks flushed. She looked younger. Freer.
"Let's hit the park," Vikram said, checking his phone. "Sun's going down in an hour. Best time for photos."
They walked back through the mall, past the KFC they'd abandoned, past the lingerie store where everything had shifted. The afternoon light had softened, the shadows longer, the air cooler. Vondelpark spread out before them, green and sprawling, couples on blankets, kids chasing pigeons, the distant sound of a busker playing something slow on a guitar.
They found a bench near a pond. Vikram immediately started taking pictures — of the swans, of the skyline, of a dog chasing its tail. Teena sat down, the wood warm through her jeans. Raj sat beside her, leaving a handspan of space between them.
"He's not going to stop calling," Raj said quietly, his eyes on the water.
Teena followed his gaze. "Let him call."
Raj's phone buzzed again. He pulled it out, looked at the screen, and put it face-down on the bench. "He can wait."
The silence that followed was comfortable, the kind they'd had a hundred times before, back when they'd stayed late at the office, sharing chai and project files. She remembered those nights — the way he'd lean over her shoulder to point at something on her screen, the smell of his cologne, the way her heart would race and she'd tell herself it was just the caffeine. She twisted her ring again.
"We should head to the hotel," Vikram said, appearing beside them, his phone already showing a map. "I booked a cab. Should be here in ten."
The cab arrived, a white sedan with a Dutch driver who nodded at them without speaking. Vikram took the front passenger seat. Teena slid into the back, and Raj followed, settling beside her. The door closed, and the world outside shrank to the hum of the engine and the soft glow of the dashboard lights.
The space between them was narrower now. His thigh pressed against hers with every turn, a warm, solid presence. She could smell his cologne again — sandalwood and something clean, something that made her want to lean closer. She didn't. She stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, her reflection ghostly in the glass.
Raj's hand rested on the seat between them, palm down, fingers relaxed. She could reach out and touch it. One inch. Two. The thought sent a thrill through her, electric and forbidden. She pressed her palm flat against her own thigh, feeling the denim, grounding herself.
The cab turned a corner, and his hand shifted, his pinky brushing against hers. A whisper of contact. She felt it everywhere — in her chest, her stomach, the space between her legs. She didn't pull away. Neither did he.
The moment stretched, infinite and fragile. His pinky stayed where it was, resting against hers, a secret shared in the dark. She didn't look at him. She didn't dare. But she didn't move her hand either.
The cab pulled up to the hotel, a modern building with a glass facade and warm light spilling from the lobby. Vikram was already out, grabbing his bag from the trunk. Teena pulled her hand away, the loss of contact sharp and sudden. She stepped out into the cool evening air, her heart pounding, her skin still tingling where his had been.
The hotel lobby was all polished marble and cool air, a sharp contrast to the evening heat still clinging to her skin. Teena followed Vikram toward the front desk, her bag of old clothes clutched against her chest like a shield. Raj walked beside her, his presence a steady warmth at her elbow.
The receptionist, a young woman with a neat blonde bun and a professional smile, typed something into her terminal. Her brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm not finding a reservation under Sundaram. Or Menon. Or George."
Vikram's easy grin faltered. "What? I booked it this morning. Confirmation number—" He pulled out his phone, scrolling. "Here. See?" He turned the screen toward her.
The receptionist studied it, then shook her head. "The system isn't showing it. I apologize. It may take an hour to resolve. We have a few rooms being cleaned, but I can't check you in yet."
Vikram ran a hand through his messy hair, a rare flicker of frustration crossing his face. "An hour? We've been traveling all day."
Teena shifted her weight, the marble floor cold through her sneakers. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Uday again. She silenced it without looking.
"We could leave our bags somewhere," Vikram said slowly, his eyes scanning the lobby. He looked at Teena, then Raj, a thought forming. "Uday's room. He checked in hours ago. He's got a key. We could drop our stuff there, grab a drink, come back."
Teena's stomach tightened. Uday. The last person she wanted to see. She glanced at Raj, whose jaw had gone rigid, his eyes fixed on Vikram.
"Call him," Vikram said, already pulling out his phone. "He'll say yes. He's our team lead, right? It's just an hour."
Raj didn't move. His hand hung at his side, fingers curled into a loose fist. "You call him."
Vikram shrugged, already dialing. He put the phone to his ear, the line ringing, his face turning toward the glass doors that opened onto the street.
Teena watched him, her heart beating faster. The air in the lobby felt too still, too bright. She twisted her wedding ring, the metal warm against her skin.
Vikram's eyes flickered. "Hello? Uday? Yeah, we're at the hotel. Listen—" He paused, listening. "No, we're fine. There's a system issue with our reservation. Can we drop our bags in your room for an hour? Yeah. Thanks. We're in the lobby."
He hung up, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "He's coming down."