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“Um, I’m a lawyer,” Dina said, unsure if this would impress this intimidating aunty.

Areej Aunty folded her arms and contemplated Dina with an even more suspicious expression.

“I graduated at the top of my class at the University of Toronto?” Dina said. She didn’t know why she had phrased this as a question, but something she said must have pleased the autocratic Areej, because her face became wreathed in smiles.

“Toron-TO,” she repeated. “Lucky lived there before moving to Chicago. My sister, she lives there too, in Miss-iss-auga,” she pronounced carefully, referring to the sprawling city west of Toronto. “You know Arooj Hussain? Her daughter’s name is Rumaisa.”

Dina shook her head. “I’m sorry, Aunty, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure. It’s a big city.”

The suspicious look had returned to Areej Aunty’s face now. “How you know Lucky?” she demanded.

“We went to law school together,” Dina said, wondering how long Lucky would leave her alone and defenseless. “I like your restaurant. It’s very . . . cozy.”

Areej Aunty wasn’t placated by Dina’s half-hearted attempt at flattery. “Lucky is a special boy,” she said. “Mariam never understood that.”

“Who’s Mariam?” Dina asked.

“His girlfriend,” Areej said, making a dismissive gesture, but the words stopped Dina cold.

Did Lucky have a girlfriend he was seeing, while he was out with her, and also flirting with Aliyah? She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to calm her racing heart. She sure knew how to pick ’em.

“Ex-girlfriend,” Lucky clarified. He wiped his hands on a rag before taking a seat at their table again. “She dumped me for an orthopedic surgeon.” He turned to Areej Aunty. “It was the same problem again. You need to replace the vent, like I’ve been telling you for months. I fixed it, but it won’t stick for long.”

The older woman waved her hand at his words. “Then you will come back and fix again.” She gave Lucky a knowing look. “I like this one better. I will cater the nikah. Don’t take too long to plan. I’m getting old.”

“Dina’s married to someone else,” Lucky said.

Areej Aunty gave Dina a speculative look. “Not for long,” she said before turning on her heel, leaving behind the scent of freshly roasted garam masala spice mix. Dina stared at her, wondering if the older woman was a witch.

“I’m sorry about her,” Lucky said. “She doesn’t hold back her opinions, and she’s been protective ever since my dad died.”

“I can see that,” Dina said. “So, how long were you with Mariam?”

Lucky shook his head. “My question first: Why did you marry Arshad?”

Dina ducked her head. “I need food for this conversation.”

Lucky leaned back in his seat. “There’s no point ordering. Areej Aunty will bring us whatever she feels like anyway.”

“What kind of Indian restaurant is this?” Dina asked.

“The sort run by a middle-aged aunty who doesn’t care about anyone’s opinions because she owns the whole building and half the block,” Lucky said.

Dina whistled just as the server brought a selection of pappadam to start, plus two mango lassis. He motioned for her to start talking, after they each took a long sip of the best lassi Dina had ever tasted in her life.

“You remember how Arshad was,” she started.

“I’ve known the guy since grade nine,” Lucky returned. “There’s nothing he could do that would surprise me at this point.”

Dina played with the laminated place mat before her. “After you left,” she started, then stopped. “He was just . . . there. Everywhere, really. He coached me through interviews, he was available if I had to run an errand. When I complained about my dad, he listened. He read over my job applications and started texting every morning and night. It was . . . nice.”

Thinking back on it now, it was clear Arshad had an agenda all along. He had known exactly what he was doing, and she had fallen for it, though she couldn’t lay the blame entirely on him. She had been lonely and vulnerable, and her parents had started applying pressure on her to settle down and get married. They had even introduced her to a few “eligible, suitable” men, uniformly self-absorbed and dull. She hadn’t been able to stop comparing them to Lucky, who had always been ready with a smile, who could turn everything into a fun adventure, even studying. Except he had moved to Chicago without telling her, and he had left her with Arshad, who wasn’t Lucky, exactly, but the closest thing to it. Plus, Arshad was handsome and charming and popular and always knew the right things to say.

Lucky shook his head. “Did you like him from the very beginning?” he asked. “Was I always the third wheel?”

Before she could tell him the truth—that it was Arshad who had been the third wheel—the server was back with their meal.

“Areej Aunty made you dhal makani, fresh-made chapatis, masala-blackened lamb chops, pulao rice, and shahi paneer,” he said, depositing each dish on the table before them. The black lentil curry glistened under a generous dollop of ghee, the flatbread steamed gently, the lamb chops were perfectly cooked, the rice was fluffy and spiked with bright-green fresh-shelled peas, and the paneer floated in a rich tomato curry. Everything smelled divine, and as her stomach rumbled, Dina realized she was starving. She had barely eaten anything at breakfast. At Lucky’s urging, she filled her plate and dug in. They ate in silence for a few moments, savoring the flavors. Finally, Dina came up for air.