Raj's hand hovered over the light switch, the room dark except for the glow of the canal outside. He didn't flip it. The amber light from the water painted the ceiling in shifting ribbons, and he stood there a moment longer than necessary, watching the reflection ripple.
"You planning on staring at the canal all night or actually coming to bed?" Vikram's voice came from the dark, lazy and amused. Raj turned. Vikram was sprawled on his bed, phone screen lighting up his face, scrolling with one thumb. He didn't look up. "You've been quiet since dinner. Quiet for you, I mean. Which is basically mute."
Raj sat on the edge of his bed. The mattress creaked. He pulled off his shirt, folded it, placed it on the nightstand. "Nothing to say."
"Bullshit." Vikram set his phone down, propping himself on his elbows. "You couldn't take your eyes off her at dinner. And in that store — bro, you looked ready to fight me." He grinned, but it softened. "You know she's married, right?"
The words landed in the dark. Raj didn't move. His thumb found the edge of the bedsheet, rubbed the fabric once, twice. "I know."
"Doesn't sound like you know." Vikram's voice was gentler now, stripped of its usual teasing edge. "Teena's a good person. George is a decent guy, from what I hear. This isn't some movie, Raj."
"I said I know." Raj's jaw tightened. The canal light caught the hard line of his profile. "I'm not going to do anything."
"Yeah." Vikram lay back down, staring at the ceiling. "That's kind of the problem, isn't it?"
The silence stretched. Raj lay back too, hands behind his head, eyes open in the dark. The canal glow moved across the ceiling like slow water. He could still feel her pinky against his. The warmth of it. The way she hadn't pulled away for a full five seconds.
Vikram's phone buzzed. A sharp vibration against the nightstand. Vikram grabbed it, squinted at the screen, and let out a low laugh. "Well. Speak of the devil."
"Who?" Raj asked, though he already knew.
"Uday. Wants to meet for drinks. Just us guys." Vikram's grin widened in the phone's glow. "Says there's a bar downstairs. Wants to 'bond with the team.'" He made air quotes with one hand. "His words."
Raj's stomach turned. "I'm not in the mood."
"Come on. Free drinks. And you can brood in a different location." Vikram was already sitting up, pulling on his shoes. "Plus, if I have to listen to Uday alone, I'm going to need a witness. Or a body to throw in the canal."
Raj didn't move. Vikram paused at the door, looking back. "You coming or not?"
Raj closed his eyes. Saw her face. The way she'd looked at him in the cab. The weight of it. He opened his eyes. "Fine."
The bar smelled of spilled beer and floor wax, the air sticky and warm against bare arms. Dim amber lights caught the slick gloss of the wooden counter, worn smooth by a thousand elbows. Uday was already there, perched on a stool, a half-empty whiskey in front of him. He raised his glass as they approached.
"There they are. The latecomers." His smile was wide, practiced. "I ordered a round. Figured we earned it after that flight."
Vikram slid onto the stool beside him, easy and loose. "Earned it after that prank, you mean. Teena still looked shell-shocked." He laughed, signaling the bartender for another.
Raj took the stool on the other side, placing himself at the edge of the triangle. Uday's eyes flicked to him, assessing, then back to Vikram. "She'll loosen up. Amsterdam does that to people." He said it like he knew something they didn't. Raj's jaw tightened.
Drinks came. The first round went down fast. Uday ordered another. The conversation slid from office gossip to travel stories, Vikram's energy filling the gaps, Uday's slow drawl pulling the thread. Raj nursed his beer, watching the bubbles rise.
"So," Uday said, leaning back, his glass spinning between his fingers, "Teena. She's always so… proper. Doesn't she ever let loose?" His eyes glinted in the amber light. "Back in the office, she's all meetings and spreadsheets. I wonder what she's like when she's not wearing that blazer."
Vikram snorted. "You saw her today. Flustered, sweating, trying to hide her bra through a wet shirt. That's about as loose as she gets." He took a long pull of his drink. "Married women are like that. All locked up."
"Married women," Uday repeated, rolling the words. "They're the ones who need it most, you know. The release." He said it casually, like he was discussing the weather. "All that pressure. A husband who doesn't see her. A life of routine. One night in a city like this —" He gestured vaguely at the bar, the city beyond. "— and she'd probably break in half."
Raj set his glass down. The sound was sharper than he intended. "She's not like that."
Both men looked at him. Vikram raised an eyebrow. Uday's smile didn't waver, but something behind his eyes sharpened. "You'd know, would you?"
The question hung in the sticky air. Raj held his gaze. The bartender wiped a glass behind them, the squeak of cloth against crystal filling the silence.
"I've worked with her for five years," Raj said, his voice flat. "I know."
Uday laughed, a short, dismissive sound. "Five years and you still call her by her first name. Cute." He drained his glass, signaled for another. "Well, I guess we'll see. Amsterdam has a way of showing people who they really are." He looked at Vikram. "You agree, right? Everyone has a breaking point."
Vikram grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Everyone has a dirty side. Some people just hide it better than others." He glanced at Raj, a flicker of something — warning? solidarity? — before looking away. "Present company included."
The new round arrived. Uday raised his glass. "To hidden sides, then. And to Amsterdam."
Raj didn't lift his glass. He watched the amber liquid catch the light, thinking of her hand, her pinky, the way she'd looked at him.
"You know," Uday said, swirling his glass, the ice clinking, "I always wondered how she got that promotion so fast. Five years, analyst to senior. Must have some real... skills." He let the word hang, his eyes on Raj. "Or a very understanding boss."
Raj's thumb pressed into the glass. A hairline crack of tension in his jaw.
"She's good at her job," he said. Flat. Controlled.
"Oh, I'm sure she is." Uday's smile widened. "I remember once, back in the Kochi office, she was leaning over to pick up a file. Her shirt rode up just a little. I tried to get a peek under it — you know, just curiosity — but she had this camisole on. Always a camisole. Like she was afraid someone might see a bra strap." He laughed, a low, dry sound. "Modest to a fault, that one."
Vikram snorted into his drink. "Maybe she's hiding something underneath. You know, fancy laces. Something George bought her." He grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Married women. They wear the practical stuff for the office and the sexy stuff for the bedroom."
Raj set his glass down. The sound cut through the hum of the bar. "Can we talk about something else?"
Uday tilted his head, studying him. "Why? Hit a nerve?" He leaned forward, elbows on the counter. "You've been quiet all night, Raj. Staring at your drink. Thinking about her, aren't you?"
"I'm thinking about finishing this drink and going to bed."
"Bullshit." Uday's voice dropped, conspiratorial. "You have feelings for her. I've seen the way you look at her in meetings. Like she's the only person in the room." He paused, letting the words settle. "But she married George, didn't she? Not you. She used you — five years of friendship, of being her shoulder to cry on — and then she picked the safe option. The Christian boy with the stable job."
Raj's hand curled into a fist on the bar. The knuckles went white.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Uday's smile was a knife. "She's a professional. She knows how to play the game. You were useful — mentor, friend, emotional support. But when it came time to settle down, you weren't even in the running. Because you're Hindu, and she's Christian, and her family would never approve." He shrugged, as if stating a simple fact. "You were a stepping stone, Raj. Nothing more."
Vikram shifted on his stool, the grin gone. "Alright, Uday. That's enough."
"I'm just being honest." Uday raised his hands, mock surrender. "Someone had to say it. He's been pining for her for years, and she's been letting him. That's not love. That's manipulation."
Raj stood up. The stool scraped against the floor. His voice was low, barely audible over the bar noise. "You don't know her. You don't know anything about her."
Uday didn't flinch. "Then enlighten me. What's she like, Raj? When she's not wearing that blazer? When she's not being the perfect employee, the perfect wife?" He leaned back, arms crossed. "You've known her five years. You must have seen something."
The silence stretched. Vikram looked between them, his drink forgotten. The bartender wiped the same glass over and over.
Raj's jaw worked. His eyes were dark, unreadable. "She's kind. She's loyal. She works harder than anyone I know." He paused, his voice cracking at the edges. "And she deserves better than being talked about like this."
Uday laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Loyal. Right. To her husband. Not to you."
Raj turned and walked toward the door. His footsteps were steady, measured, but his hands were shaking.
"Where are you going?" Vikram called after him.
"Back to the room." Raj didn't look back. "I've had enough of this city."
The door swung shut behind him, leaving Vikram and Uday alone in the amber light. Uday picked up his glass, drained it, and signaled for another.
"Sensitive, isn't he?" he said, not to Vikram, but to the empty space Raj had left.
Vikram didn't answer. He stared at the door, his face unreadable, the easy grin gone. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he stood, tossed a few euros on the counter, and followed Raj into the night.
The night air was cool on Vikram's skin as he pushed through the bar door, the sticky warmth of the place clinging to his shirt for a moment before the canal-side breeze cut through it. He saw Raj's lean, tense frame twenty paces ahead, walking with a stiff, furious purpose toward their hotel.
"Raj, man, wait up."
Raj didn't slow. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the city.
Vikram jogged a few steps to fall in beside him. The easy grin was gone from his face, replaced by a sober focus. "Hey. That was heavy back there. Uday's a fucking asshole."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Yeah, I got that." They walked in silence for half a block, the click of their shoes on the cobblestones the only sound between them. "But you're shaking."
Raj didn't look at him. "I'm cold."
"It's eighteen degrees. You're not cold."
The hotel lobby was empty except for a night clerk reading a newspaper. The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Raj stepped in, faced forward, his dark eyes fixed on the numbered panel. Vikram leaned against the mirrored wall, watching him.
The room was dark when they entered. Raj went straight to the window, staring out at the canal below, his back to Vikram. The only light came from the streetlamps, casting long, watery reflections across the ceiling.
Vikram tossed his key card on the dresser. He didn't sprawl on his bed. He sat on the edge of it, elbows on his knees. "You've had, what, three drinks? That's not enough to make you storm out like that. Not you."
"I told you. I'm tired of this city."
"Bullshit. You're tired of hearing him talk about her." Vikram's voice was quiet, stripped of its usual playful edge. "He was trying to get a rise out of you. And it worked."
Raj's silhouette against the window didn't move. "He doesn't know her."
"Maybe not. But you do." Vikram paused. The hum of the mini-fridge filled the silence. "You've known her for five years. You were her mentor. Her friend. And now you can't even look at her without your jaw getting tight."
"I look at her."
"Yeah. Like she's the last train home and you're stuck on the platform." Vikram ran a hand through his messy hair. "Look, I'm not Uday. I'm not trying to be a dick about it. But you've been quiet since we landed. Quieter than usual. And every time she's in the room, you're... somewhere else. In your head. With her."
Raj turned from the window. His face was in shadow, but the streetlight caught the clean line of his jaw, the tension in his neck. "She's married."
"I know she's married. You know she's married. The whole fucking office knows she's married." Vikram stood up, took a step toward him. "That's not what I asked. I asked what you feel."
"It doesn't matter what I feel."
"It matters enough that you just left a bar ready to put your fist through a wall."
Raj's breath left him in a short, sharp exhale. He walked away from the window, past Vikram, and sat heavily on his own bed. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, staring at the floor between his feet. His fingers laced together, knuckles white.
Vikram sat beside him, not touching, leaving a foot of space on the mattress. "You can talk to me, man. I'm not going to judge you. Hell, I've had crushes on married women before. It happens."
"It's not a crush." The words were so low they were almost swallowed by the room.
"Okay." Vikram waited. "What is it?"
Raj was silent for a long time. The water reflections shifted on the ceiling. Somewhere in the building, a pipe groaned. "It's five years," he finally said, his voice rough. "Five years of knowing exactly how she takes her coffee. How she bites her lower lip when she's concentrating. The sound of her laugh. That crack in her voice when she's trying not to cry." He swallowed. "It's knowing she's the best person I've ever met. And knowing I can't have her."
Vikram didn't speak. He just listened, his own usual energy banked down to an unfamiliar stillness.
"Uday was right about one thing," Raj continued, the words coming now like stones dropped into a well. "She chose George. She chose the safe option. The right religion. The good family. And I let her. I stood there and I smiled and I said I was happy for her." He looked at his hands. "I wasn't happy. I was... empty. And I've been empty ever since."
"Did you ever tell her? How you felt?"
Raj shook his head once, a tight, pained movement. "No. What was the point? It would have just made it harder for her. She's loyal. She would have felt guilty. She would have tried to fix it. And I couldn't... I couldn't be her problem to fix."
"So you just carry it around instead."
"Yeah."
Vikram leaned back, bracing his hands on the mattress behind him. "That's fucked up, Raj."
"I know."
"And watching her here, in this city, with us... it's making it worse."
Raj didn't deny it. He just sat there, his wiry frame coiled with a misery so deep it seemed to radiate from his skin.
Vikram studied his profile. "What would you do? If you could? If there were no rules, no marriage, no George."
Raj's throat worked. He closed his eyes. "Don't."
"I'm serious. Tell me."
"I can't."
"You can. It's just a fantasy. It doesn't mean anything." Vikram's voice was gentle, persuasive. "Tell me one thing. One thing you want to do with her that you've never let yourself think about until right now."
The silence stretched. Raj's breathing was shallow. When he spoke, the words were a whisper, torn from somewhere dark and hungry. "I want to take her hair down."
Vikram waited.
"I want to pull that ponytail out," Raj said, his eyes still closed. "I want to see her hair loose. I want to put my hands in it. I want to hold her face and kiss her until she forgets her own name. Until she forgets his." He opened his eyes. They were black in the dim light, full of a raw, unguarded want that made Vikram's breath catch. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Vikram nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's what I wanted to hear."
Raj looked away, the moment of vulnerability snapping shut like a trap. He stood up, walked to the wall beside the door. His hand hovered over the light switch.
The room was dark except for the glow of the canal outside.