Malik.

I'm sorry for this method of communication and for the plan that follows.

Truth is I swore I would turn my back on what I have seen on you. I hoped it would leave me alone but here we are. I understand life isn't always about what I want and I guess I'm okay with it. I also understand the world doesn't give anything for free.

So I shouldn't give out things for free either, right?

What I can offer you is the truth, though not in full. Not at once.

I have no idea who you are, or who you might be associated with. Until I do, here are my terms:

I will give you new information once every week.

I will prove, to the best of my abilities, what I can.

In return, I may need your assistance in certain tight situations. I need to know I can trust you.

If you agree to those terms, meet me tomorrow at Windsor Park. I will be there in time for your jog.

Malik mulled over the unsigned letter as he drove to his apartment. It was written in an elegant scrawl, the type Malik had often seen on Christmas greeting cards. Though Jude had left it unsigned, the questions it raised hung in the air. If anything he found the letter equal parts frustrating and intriguing.

John had caught up with him in the one class they had for the day and they decided to go for the basketball tryouts. It was a walk-in tryout early next week. During the weekend they would have to cram their assignments and get ready to nail a spot on the team. The college was big on sports splashing it on its website. For Malik, it was a way to get his blood pumping the easy way. Winters tended to be harsh and he'd have to be a shut-in if he couldn't go to practice on campus.

He unboxed his stuff and rifled through the articles and clippings he had collected about his brother's murder. He had photographs downloaded from Twitter during parties. The tats were snapped in partial. There was still no sign of any student linked to the tattoos. For all Malik knew, they could be running beside him or they could be alumni.

At his usual jogging time, Malik was eager to see if Jude was full of shit or not.

He ambled to where the fancy art statues were lodged. He scanned the benches and for a moment he thought he'd arrived early until he spotted a pair of ratty converse peeking from under the bench they'd sat on yesterday.

Malik was touched to see Jude had snuggled into the sweater he'd given him. Jude's slim frame was curled into a tight ball, his backpack had been used for a makeshift pillow. His pink lips were parted in his sleep-

Jude's eyes flew open and in a blink he was on his feet, hands clenched into fists. He locked eyes on Malik.

Malik raised his hands in surrender.

"Hey," Malik said.

Malik watched the liquid dreamboat eyes widen then focus.

"You came," Jude said.

Malik lowered his hands. "You thought I wouldn't?'

Jude shrugged.

"I gotta tell you," Malik said. "I got nothing outta this letter, man."

Jude opened his mouth to speak, instead, his stomach emitted a loud growl. There was no denying the sound. It rang clear in the vast park. Malik wanted to pretend he didn't hear it but, well, he did. Jude, hugged himself, shoulders stooping, pale cheeks flaming.

Malik grinned. "We gotta chow. Preference?"

Jude picked up his backpack, dusting it off with solid swats.

"Um. I know a place."

"Yeah?" Malik had expected a protest.

"Yes." Jude rolled the sleeves of the sweater with dexterity, he was still blushing.

Malik scratched his brow. "Like with a hat?"

"No. A veil."

An image of stern nuns came to Malik's mind. This was a hell of a weird conversation. Did Jude have some kind of cross-dressing thing going on? Or were the questions more innocent and Malik was the one with a filthy mind?

"I think it's conservative? But whatever." Malik didn't mind experimenting.

Jude nodded still fiddling with a pesky sleeve.

"Good," Jude said.

Malik allowed Jude to lead the way. The silence was companionable when Jude's cheeks were returning to their usual pallor. He reeked a bit of the wet soil he'd lain in and Malik thought of the fairies from bedtime stories. If some of them had been boys, he'd have imagined Jude would be content to be one of them.

"Did you decide?" Jude asked in a quiet voice.

They were at the Park's main gate. Malik passed the sign and followed his companion down the route leading to the café area. There would be plenty of options to choose from.

"Maybe," Malik said. "Your letter was too vague. "

Jude nodded."I have the rest of it here." He patted the sweater above his heart. Malik knew there was an invisible zipper sewn from the inside.

They passed some of the most popular French bakeries and cafes. They passed The Raft, an awesome bistro that had a student discount, and the rest of the café strip without stopping. They entered a narrow street where they were no longer alone, excited chatter from the group of middle-aged men ahead of them collided with the wafting smell of spices.

The narrow street broke into a vast square. There were motorcycles, scooters, and a spanking new Mercedes parked in the nearby parking lot. A building Malik mistook for a mosque, for it shared the Islamic domes, it reminded him more of the architecture he found looming in the background of his sister Sarah's Bollywood posters. People of all ages and ethnicities were arranging themselves in two queues leading up to the temple.

Jude motioned for Malik to stand in line between him and a man in an orange turban.

"A temple?" Malik said.

Jude stifled a yawn behind a clapped hand.

"They operate a breakfast Langar three times a week."

Malik moved in the line a few steps as people passed the Temple's entrance.

Malik turned to look at Jude. "What's a Langar?"

Jude smiled. It was small and shy and made Malik think of unholy things.

"It's more fun if you find out. We can leave if you don't like it though."

Though the lines were long, it didn't take them long to get to its head. The temple, or rather Gurdwara, was structured in white mortar. It resembled a community center and a mosque in a subtle way.

There was a rack for placing their shoes outside as well as a marble pool for washing their feet before crossing the temple's threshold. Jude offered to keep them in his backpack while he left his ratty Converse. Feeling like a wimp, Malik lodged his Nikes next to Jude's shoes.

Malik mourned the loss of his socks too when his bare feet hit the chilly marble. A box full of headscarves and bandanas of various lengths was attracting a crowd. Jude grabbed a bright orange scarf, a shade similar to the Sikh man who had been close to them in line, though the fabric glinted as it moved. With practiced ease, Jude masked his hair and tied the scarf in a firm knot at the nape of his neck. He tilted his head at the box.

"You pick," Malik said.

Jude obeyed. He exchanged a few quiet words with an elderly dark-skinned woman. He handed her a long blue scarf with tassels at the end. For Malik, he'd chosen a deep purple one.

They leaned on the side of the wall while Malik fumbled to get his unruly mop of hair under control. Strands continued to spike in defiance.

"May I?" Jude whispered.

Jude tiptoed to reach for the juvenile knot Malik had struggled with, undoing it in a tug. Jude was close for Malik to notice the pointed tips of his ears, the vein pulsing in his neck, and hear the string of muttered words. To his delight,

Newspaper taxis appear on the shore.

Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends.

Jude's voice was out of tune. It ebbed and flowed, rising above, diving below the bits of conversation whooshing from the Langar hall.

Malik would've given anything to hear Jude's mashup for hours. Breakfast be damned. Malik had to remind himself he was on holy grounds and shouldn't cuss.

When the tip of Jude's fingers brushed over Malik's exposed skin, it sent a shiver down his spine.

"Sorry. Frigid hands."

"Thanks," Malik said. God, why was he feeling gawky around him?

The task was unfortunately done and they went to a respectable personal distance. They entered Langar hall which was comprised of white walls, the marble tiles adorned with thin, long, red carpets, parting the floor in even rows where people could sit back to back.

"Do we sit anywhere?" Malik said. The scarf was itching like a mother-

"Mmm," Jude murmured. "We need to get our trays though."

The final queue of the day was leading up to the kitchen. Jude exchanged words with a woman in a and a gold and green Sari. She passed him a divided tray, which he passed to Malik. An identical tray was given to Jude, though he appeared to have a more humble portion. Jude bowed his head at the woman as he turned to find a spot, sitting cross-legged on the expanse of the red carpet.

"Do we wait until people sit?"

Jude shook his head, the hem of his scarf sliding off his shoulder.

Malik took out his phone. He set the camera on record, a sweep of the place, a close up of the servers, and then he could go to the kitchen and interview the staff.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm recording. It would get decent views on Youtube."

Jude gaped at him.

"Is it against the rules?"

Jude shifted on the carpet.

"Not everyone here wants to get their shots taken. And...it's a temple."

Malik lowered his phone. Remembering how Jude had covered his face during the marathon. It was hella weird.

"I'll ask the people here to snap the video." He turned off the camera. "Do we dig in?"

"Make sure you finish your tray," he said. "We can't throw anything away."

"Bel hana," Malik wished him a good appetite, forgetting Jude didn't speak Arabic.

It earned him another of Jude's small smiles.

"Thank you," Jude said and Malik arched an eyebrow.

Malik tore the naan bread and dipped it into the yellow dal. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Jude chew, a satisfied sigh escaped his lips as he swallowed. Malik was getting breakfast and a show.

The hall was brimming with appreciative nods at the men and women who were doing rounds asking if the guests wanted extra bread or water.

"You come here a lot?"

Jude licked his fingers.

"I guess. I like how everyone is welcome here." He mopped the remaining of the curried chickpeas with a piece of bread.

"And free food," Malik said.

Jude gave him a bitter laugh. "Nothing is free. The food here is donation based and everyone volunteers to either cook or help out. It's not expected of the guests though."

"Okay. We can do the dishes?"

Jude's eyes widened. "I-I don't wash dishes. I'll clean after."

Malik chugged water from a plastic cup. "You'll mop but won't do dishes?"

He shrugged.

"Your letter. A question."

"Of course," Jude said.

"How much trouble are you in?"

Jude cocked his head to the side. With his head buried beneath the scarf, he looked younger. Closer to fourteen than...eighteen?

"I don't know. Sometimes I think I'm off the hook. But I don't know. I came to this city because I couldn't live there anymore."

The evasive answers again.

"I'm not trying to be coy," Jude said as if he'd read Malik's mind. "I'd discovered something about myself and I...I couldn't work it out with... him." He took a deep breath and let it out. "I left."

Sometimes he thought he caught Jude looking at him the same way he did. There were also those electrifying blushes. He was even blushing now. Malik's gaydar was tingling. It had rung off the charts the day he'd first spoken to him. His gaydar was normally right.

"You had a fight with your old man?"

Jude reached for Malik's tray.

"Seconds?"

"Nope."

Jude put the trays on top of one another.

"It was more of a quiet disagreement," Jude said.

Jude grimaced as if he'd tasted a foul egg. Then he rubbed his forehead and got up.

"I-" Jude looked around the hall. "I'm going to do the rounds. Refills and stuff. I think I'll help to clear out too so...um...think of whatever you wish to ask?"

It would be the perfect opportunity to see if he could score new content for the channel. Cheap eats, make-up tutorials, and cats were the internet's favorite videos.

Yet if he were to go for it, he'd waste an opportunity to poke and prod his new friend. He had the feeling Jude would be worth the chase. They could have some fun for weeks. No strings attached.

Malik got off the carpet.

"What can we do?" Malik asked.

Jude blinked at him then cleared his throat.

"Collect these," he pointed to near-empty trays at the row before them. "Give them to the ladies in the back? I'll grab a pitcher."

"Rodger that," Malik said.

It was not a smile Malik got but Jude tried to reach out and touch him.

He suddenly heard Rami gushing over the cheerleader he had a crush on. How Malik had teased him about it until Rami had launched a basketball at Malik's thick head.

Guilt ate at Malik. Rami would never have a crush again simply because Malik had failed to protect him.

***********************

Author's note:

Thank you for reading this chapter! If you happen to be Indian & you found something off, please let me know.

For everyone else, as always, your comments & feedback are most appreciated.

Allison.