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He gestured at his embroidered shalwar. “I heard this was the place to model my new wardrobe.” Nothing, not even a smile from Dina. “I’m Samir’s best man. I thought you would have known that, since he’s marrying your sister,” he said. He couldn’t resist adding, “Or are you here to audition for the role of orange Creamsicle for a commercial they’re shooting at Pearson airport?”

Dina glared at him before stomping outside, pushing the exit doors with more force than necessary. Lucky followed, compelled despite himself. He was enjoying this conversation more than he expected; it was far more entertaining than showcasing his limited bhangra moves. He could hear the music still, but it was fainter now, as if they were winding down. He hurried after Dina. They didn’t have much time before the rest of the wedding party joined them, interrupting—what? What, exactly, did he want to talk to Dina about?

Outside, the sun was still high in the sky, and the heat felt oppressive; he forgot how warm it could be in Toronto during the summer months. Cars idled on the curb, the smell of exhaust only adding to the heat, and airport security patrolled, waving drivers on if they had been waiting for too long. The private facilities merged with the public here, and he spotted families walking toward the multistory parking garage pushing suitcases and strollers, newly reunited couples walking hand in hand toward their Uber drivers, and business travelers striding toward the taxi stand with carry-ons.

Dina was ignoring him now, hands on hips, glaring at the traffic in front of her, and something in his chest loosened. The worst had happened. He had met Dina again, and the world continued to spin. If he was being honest, everything felt a bit more bright and alive with her around.

“It’s good to see you again, Dina,” he said.

She picked up on his conciliatory tone and nodded tersely, an unreadable expression on her face. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. I was just . . . surprised to see you,” she admitted. “Hania hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with the wedding details. Maybe you can let me know if Samir has any pranks planned for the bridal party.”

“No way. I’m strictly Team Samir,” he said.

“I knew you first. Did law school mean nothing to you?” she said, smiling slightly.

“Considering I never even sat the bar, not really,” he returned.

Her smile dimmed, and she looked troubled. Lucky felt the urge to soothe her. “If it makes you feel any better, I doubt Hania knew I’d be here. I’m Samir’s guest. We’re good friends,” he explained.

“You’re friends with everyone. I bet you get invited to weddings every week,” she said. “You and your . . . wife?” This last was phrased as a question, and Lucky’s heart rate suddenly picked up at her words. It didn’t mean anything. She was merely curious, as anyone would be after such a long time.

“No wife, no girlfriend,” he confirmed. “And not that many wedding invites. Only about twenty-five or so per week,” he said. Her lips quirked, and he had to look away; he had just remembered that his favorite feature was actually Dina’s lips.

“Well, you did move to Browntown, America,” she said. “Doesn’t Chicago have more South Asians per capita than any other city?”

“That would be New York, but we’ve launched a recruitment campaign,” he said. “Last year we decided to make pins and start a club, but the uncles kept trying to stage a coup, so we had to disband.”

She shook her head and looked away, giving Lucky more time to study her. Her hijab matched her outfit, but the blinding orange didn’t diminish her beauty, contrary to his earlier teasing. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, and he could see that her skin was still creamy and luminous, cheekbones more pronounced than before, but she seemed tired.

Dina appeared to be studying him in turn, because she said abruptly, “I like your hair long,” before shutting her mouth just as abruptly and then flushing.

“My mom hates it. Your outfit is, um—” He gestured at her outfit, at a loss for words.

“You’re right, it does make me look like an orange Popsicle. Hania’s choice. Her sponsors got to pick the outfits. I think there was a competition online,” Dina said.

“I voted for the neon-green sari,” Lucky said.

This time her smile was warm. Again, they studied each other, and Dina opened her mouth to say something, when someone shouted her name. Lucky looked toward the door and was disappointed to spot his family and Samir, walking beside Hania, their parents following. The impromptu dance party was over.

Lucky and Dina exchanged an amused glance as the procession stopped traffic; even the harried-looking security guards stopped shooing drivers to gape at the dhol drummers in their colorful costumes, the future bride and groom and entourage of guests making their way toward the parking garage.

Bringing up the rear was Arshad. Lucky’s hand clenched as he spotted his former friend. Had his face always been so very punchable? Impossible to say.

Arshad spotted them and waved. Lucky turned away abruptly and noticed Dina’s wince, as if she had just smelled something unpleasant.

“Lucky! What a wonderful surprise,” Arshad said, joining them while the rest of the wedding party proceeded to the parking garage. He casually slung an arm around Dina’s shoulders, but she quickly reached down to readjust her shoe; when she stood back up, Lucky noticed she had stepped away from her husband. Interesting. Trouble in paradise? Perhaps they were in a fight. He focused on his ex-friend.

“Arshad,” Lucky said evenly. “I was just leaving.” He made to walk away, when Arshad stopped him by opening his damn mouth.

“Buddy, it’s been too long. Hasn’t it been forever, Dina? I truly can’t remember the last time the three of us were in the same room together.”

Lucky turned to stare at Arshad. “It was six years ago. The night before third-year finals. I remember our last conversation perfectly. Do you?” he asked.

Arshad’s smile faltered. “I guess my memory isn’t as good as yours, Lucky.” There was a trace of . . . something, under his words. “What a small world. How do you know Samir?”

“I had an opening in the ‘trustworthy friend’ department,” Lucky said. “The previous candidate turned out to be a disappointing dick.”

Dina blinked at this, looking from her husband to Lucky. “What do you mean—” she started, but Arshad smoothly interrupted her.