I hurriedly buttoned my blouse and tossed my hair back over my shoulders.

As I gave one last glance at my reflection in the mirror, a smile crept across my face.

White blouse. Black jeans. My hair flowing freely, dancing on my shoulders.

This was just how I liked to dress—simple and comfortable.

A glance at my wristwatch made my heart race; time had flown by much quicker than I had anticipated. It was already a quarter to seven. That meant I had only fifteen minutes left if I wanted to be at Paul's house at seven sharp, as John had asked.

I dashed down the stairs, eager to reach the living room.

As I hurried down, I caught snippets of two voices coming from the living room. One belonged to my father; the other was unmistakably Krishna Kumar Uncle.

Once downstairs, I headed straight for the living room to greet him.

Krishna Kumar Uncle and my father were seated at the dining table, engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion.

A piece of paper lay on the table, positioned before them.

My father pointed to it, capturing Krishna Kumar Uncle's attention.

"So these are the measurements I believe will suit the glasses we'll give to Miss Harvey next week," my father said.

"I noted them all on this technical sketch I drew. Regarding Miss Harvey's prescription, which you and I just reviewed, the size of her frame will be 51-16-135..."

I lingered a few feet away from the table, not wanting to interrupt their conversation, waiting for the right moment to greet Krishna Kumar Uncle—even though it felt odd to have to greet him a second time in less than an hour.

Neither of them seemed to notice me, completely absorbed in their work.

"I see..." Krishna Kumar Uncle said thoughtfully as he picked up the technical drawing, examining it carefully. "This all looks good to me. Nice work, Fernando." He tapped my father on the shoulder and gave him a warm smile.

At that moment, he noticed me standing nearby.

"Hello, Divya!" His face lit up with a broad smile.

"Hello, Uncle," I replied, returning his smile warmly.

I was about to say, "Hello again," but for some reason, I swallowed the words. Maybe Krishna Kumar Uncle would mention our earlier meeting himself.

"Divya?" My father finally turned his gaze toward me.

"Sorry, darling, I didn't even notice you were here."

In silence, I grazed his shoulder with my hand and offered him a soft smile.

"Are you going out, Princess?"

I noticed a slight frown cross my father's face. The way I was dressed clearly indicated I was about to go out again, this time after coming back from Jessie's birthday bash.

"Yes, Appa," I replied, using the Tamil word for "father," as always. My voice came out almost as a whisper.

"It's okay, darling. You don't have to be scared to tell me."

My father's gentle smile surprised me and made my heart skip a beat. He understood me so well.

"I'm sorry, Appa. John asked me to meet him and the boys at Paul's house..."

I stammered, unable to hold my father's gaze.

There was no hint of disapproval in his eyes.

Yet I still felt almost ashamed to admit that I had plans to meet John and the lads so late in the evening, knowing I might not return home for at least two hours—well past midnight.

I was aware that, like my mother, my father didn't approve of me being out so late. And I knew his opinion about John—and Paul, George, and Ringo, for that matter. Though he was somewhat more understanding than my mother regarding my friendship with the boys, I sensed his feelings were similar to hers.

"I'll try to be back as soon as possible," I promised, still unable to meet my father's eyes.

"Look at me, Divya love," he said softly.

I finally summoned the courage to meet his gaze.

"You don't have to feel ashamed to tell me anything. I'm your father, remember? I can handle whatever you want to share. Your mother and I know you better than you can imagine. We trust you, darling."

"Thank you, Appa," I smiled, struggling to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

In just a few minutes, both my parents reassured me of their trust in me and my friendships with John and the boys.

I knew I had no right to disappoint them. Their trust was the greatest gift I could ever receive, and I had no intention of breaking it.

"Is John coming to pick you up?" my father asked, still smiling warmly.

I shook my head. "I'll take my bicycle."

"I can drive you to Paul's house if you'd like."

I felt a surge of gratitude for my father's unexpected offer.

"Thanks, Appa, but I'll be fine with my bicycle."

"Divya! Can you please come to the kitchen for a minute?"

I heard my mother calling from the kitchen.

"Be careful on your way to Paul's house and back, Princess," my father said, offering me a smile filled with the immense love he had for me.

As I turned to head to the kitchen, I caught Krishna Kumar Uncle's gaze. His lips brightened into a smile as soon as I looked his way.

"Just be careful... As a precaution"

John's earlier words flooded my mind unexpectedly.

Was John right?

How long had Krishna Kumar Uncle been watching me? Had his gaze been fixed on me throughout my conversation with my father?

The sudden wave of doubt took me completely by surprise.

There I stood in my living room, facing Krishna Kumar Uncle for the second time that day. I appeared composed on the outside, even offering him a warm smile.

But inside, I was trembling. My confidence was wavering under the weight of uncertainty.

Without another word, I turned and walked toward the kitchen, hoping my face didn't betray my inner turmoil.

"Here you are," my mother said, smiling as I entered.

I nodded silently in response.

She stared at me for a few seconds before asking, "Is everything all right, darling?"

Her questioning look made me uneasy.

"Yes... Why do you ask?"

My question came out more defensively than I intended.

My mother shrugged, returning to her task: shaping the laddoo balls with practiced hands.

"Do you need any help, Amma?" I asked, stepping closer to her.

"No thanks, baby. I'm almost done... Would you like to taste a laddoo?" She turned to me, giving a playful wink. She knew how much I loved her laddoos.

I smiled and took a laddoo from the plate holding the seven she had already made.

As I popped it in my mouth, the Boondi—a sweet, fried chickpea flour—melted, flooding my senses with sweetness.

"It's delicious, Amma! This is why you're the Queen of Laddoos." I shot her a teasing grin.

Her beautiful face lit up with a warm smile.

"May I take a couple of these laddoos for the boys?" I asked, unsure how she would respond. "They'll love them, Amma," I added quickly.

"Of course, darling."

To my surprise, my mother agreed without hesitation. The smile on her lips showed she was genuinely happy to share her laddoos.

"I know your friend Gregory will enjoy these. Didn't you tell me he was a food lover?"

"Gregory?" I frowned in confusion; I had no idea who she was talking about.

But then it clicked, and I burst out laughing when I finally realized who she meant.

"What? Did I say something wrong?"

My mother frowned, puzzled by my sudden outburst.

"George! His name is George, Amma," I managed to say between giggles.

"Oh... Yes, I meant George."

My mother chuckled. "He does love sweets, doesn't he?"

"Yes... Not just sweets. He's a food lover in general," I replied, smiling.

"I'm sure he'll devour all your laddoos in no time."

"Good..." My mother smiled gently at me.

"Love, could you please take these cups of tea to Krishna Kumar Uncle and your father?"

She gestured to the tray beside the plate of laddoos.

★★★★  

I handed the tray to Krishna Kumar Uncle so he could take his cup of tea.

"Thank you, Divya," he smiled as he accepted the cup.

"Did you make this tea?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Amma made it, Uncle." I returned his smile gently.

"I see... But you know how to make tea, don't you?" he pressed.

The silliness of his question caught me off guard. Before I could respond, my father chimed in, "Of course she does! Divya makes the best tea I've ever had. She even beats her mother at it!"

"Oh?" Krishna Kumar Uncle turned his attention to my father.

"Really," my father replied simply, and I could tell he was sincere.

"Well, in that case... you'll have to make some tea for me next time I visit," Krishna Kumar said, his smile widening.

His grin reached his eyes, sparkling with a mischievous glint I hadn't seen before.

"All right, Uncle," I managed to reply, though something about his words made me uneasy. I couldn't quite pinpoint why they stirred such discomfort within me.

"Oh, by the way... just a moment..." Krishna Kumar Uncle reached into the leather bag he had set at his feet. He pulled out a book and handed it to me.

"I think you'll enjoy this," he said with a warm smile.

On the cover, the name Devdas was printed in large, red letters. The faces of Dilip Kumar, Suchitra Sen, and Vyjayanthimala, who starred as Devdas, Parvati, and Chandramukhi—the courtesan who loves the heartbroken Devdas—in the 1955 Hindi film adaptation, adorned the cover.

A shy smile spread across my lips.

"Thank you, Uncle... It's very kind of you to lend me your book. I'll return it as soon as possible."

Thrilled to hold this piece of Indian literature, I eagerly anticipated diving into the story.

"Thank you," I repeated, my smile brightening.

"You're most welcome. And take your time reading it; there's no rush," he replied.

I nodded and smiled again at Krishna Kumar Uncle before walking closer to my father. I handed him his cup of tea.

"Thank you, Princess," he said, taking the cup from the tray. Just as I prepared to leave the living room, my father called out to me again.

"Divya... I forgot to give you something."

"Yes, Appa?" I turned to face him.

He reached for a small deep blue glasses box that was sitting on the table beside him. "This is for you... or rather for your friend John," he said, handing me the box.

"Open it," he encouraged, noticing the surprise on my face.

I did as he said. Inside the box lay a pair of sunglasses. I carefully lifted them out and examined them for a moment. The frame was round and made of golden metal. I gasped as I spotted the brand discreetly yet stylishly printed on the upper corner of the right lens. This brand was founded in the late 1930s for use by US Air Force pilots. Today, it's associated with some of the finest sunglasses made in the USA and worldwide.

"Appa..." I looked up at my father, still in disbelief.

"Give these glasses to John, darling. They're tailored to his lens power. I hope he'll like them."

"How... how do you know about his lens power?" I managed to ask.

"Oh, I picked up that information in a conversation we had long ago. It was brief, but I think that boy is interested in me."

I nodded. "He is, Appa."

My father studied me in silence for a few moments before continuing, "Anyway... these glasses are for him."

"But what about the money? He won't be able to pay you back," I protested, the practical side of the gift dawning on me. It was funny how my mind worked sometimes.

"It doesn't matter. This is my gift to him because he's a nice boy. Above all, he's a good friend to you."

"Appa... thank you so much. He'll love it!" I couldn't contain my happiness as I threw myself into my father's arms.

My father hugged me tightly. "No need to thank me, love," he laughed.

But then, a thought crossed my mind: John would likely refuse the sunglasses, no matter how much he would want them.

I pulled away from the hug and looked at my father. "Appa... John won't take these glasses," I said softly. "He'll be too proud to accept such a gift, even though I know he'll love them."

"I know, love," my father said with a smile. "That's a quality I appreciate about your friend—his commitment to doing what's right. But you'll find a way to convince him, right?"

My father winked at me, and his mischievous smile broadened.

"I'll try, Appa," I said, returning his smile. "But there's one condition I'd like you to agree on."

"What is it, love?" My father frowned in surprise.

"Let me pay you back for these sunglasses."

"No, no, no. I told you I wanted to gift these glasses to John. There's no need for either you or him to pay me back."

"But you don't have to give these sunglasses to him, Appa," I argued. "He's my friend, but to you, he's..."

"He's my daughter's best friend," my father gently interrupted.

"Even if I don't show it, I like this boy. I see how much he cares for you, darling. I know he's a great friend to you."

"Oh, Appa... thank you so much!" I wrapped myself in his arms once more, relishing the warmth of the embrace, which lingered longer this time.

"You're most welcome, love. Now go... your friends are waiting for you."