The spell was now broken.
I turned my gaze to see who was to blame for it.

I was startled when I recognized Krishna Kumar Uncle.

He was standing just a few centimeters away from the bench where John and I were seated.
As soon as I recognized him, I immediately got up from the bench.

"Hello, Divya," Krishna Kumar Uncle greeted me with a smile before I could utter a word.

I smiled back at him. "Hello, Uncle."

Krishna Kumar Uncle was a fifty-year-old Indian man who worked at the same optical shop as my father—both of them were opticians at the Millican Old Swan Practice on Trescot Road.

More than just work colleagues, my father and Krishna Kumar Uncle shared a friendly relationship.

Just a couple of months earlier, Krishna Kumar Uncle and his family had moved to Quarry Street, which was only a minute's walk from Menlove Avenue.

Taking a few steps toward us, Krishna Kumar Uncle approached John and me.
"How are you, Divya?" he asked, speaking in our common mother tongue, Tamil.

Every time we met, we spoke in Tamil, as Krishna Kumar Uncle hailed from Madras in Tamil Nadu. This made it quite natural for us to converse in our shared language.

"I'm fine, Uncle," I replied, smiling again and responding in Tamil.

Usually, I enjoyed speaking my mother tongue with Krishna Kumar Uncle. It was a habit we both had, whether during his visits to our home or when I dropped by the optical shop in the evenings to see my father. We often spent half an hour together on the bus ride back home.

But today, for the first time since I'd known him, speaking Tamil made me feel uncomfortable.
I knew that John might feel out of place seeing me converse in a language he didn't understand.
This unexpected encounter with Krishna Kumar Uncle slightly annoyed me; he had interrupted the magical moment John and I had been sharing.

But I couldn't let my annoyance show, could I?
I turned my attention to John.

He was staring at me, a blank expression on his face. From the look on his face, I could guess that a hundred cursing words against Krishna Kumar Uncle were currently running through his mind.

"Uncle, let me introduce you to John, my friend," I said, looking back at Krishna Kumar Uncle.

"Oh, hello," Krishna Kumar Uncle replied with a warm smile, finally noticing John's presence.

"'llo, Sir," John said, getting up from the bench—quite reluctantly, I could see—and standing stiffly, not moving a muscle.

"John, this is Krishna Kumar Uncle. He works with Dad and lives just a few miles away from us, on Quarry Road."

I tried my best to put a warm smile on my face. However, instigating this meeting made me uncomfortable. I could sense the cold vibes sparking between both men.

Not even ten minutes had passed since they'd met, and it was already crystal clear that they were not fond of each other.

I knew John was getting tired of accidentally encountering people from my community—first Crowther, and now Krishna Kumar Uncle.

But things had turned out well when he met Crowther; they had managed to bond and share a warm conversation.
This time, with Krishna Kumar Uncle, I knew it would be different.
John didn't say a word, but he still accepted the handshake Krishna Kumar Uncle offered him. Both of them shook hands in silence.

"So, John's your friend, right?" Krishna Kumar Uncle asked, turning his gaze back to me.

Before I could speak, John took the initiative to answer.
"Yes, Lucy and I have been friends since we were college mates."

"Lucy?" Krishna Kumar Uncle seemed confused, which I could understand. He only knew me by my Tamil name.

"Lucinda's my Christian name, Uncle," I explained with a soft smile.

"Her close friends call her Lucy," John smirked at Krishna Kumar Uncle.
I shot John a stern look, hoping it would convey my disapproval of his irreverent behavior towards Krishna Kumar Uncle.

John looked back at me, but I could only see amusement in his eyes.

"Oh, I see," Krishna Kumar Uncle said simply.
He remained silent for a few seconds before speaking again.

"By the way, Divya, can you recall our last conversation? The one we had when we met on the train a few days ago?"

I nodded at Krishna Kumar Uncle, earning a puzzled look from John in passing.
To be closer to his workplace, Krishna Kumar Uncle's older son had recently rented a flat in Manchester. Occasionally, Krishna Kumar Uncle would take the train to visit him.

Since I also worked in Manchester—as an assistant bookkeeper at Deloitte's Manchester office—luck sometimes led me to encounter Krishna Kumar Uncle at Liverpool Station while I was waiting for my train to Manchester.

We would often share train journeys that presented us with numerous opportunities to discuss various topics—from why he had moved his family from Madras to Liverpool to the history of my own family. One day, we talked about the opportunities I was seeking in my job, while the next, we shared opinions about the ongoing American Civil Rights Movement.

Sometimes we discussed recently released Tamil films, while at other times, I listened as he narrated tales from the Ramayana—the sacred Hindu epic poem that tells the story of Lord Rama.
Every conversation with Krishna Kumar Uncle was enjoyable, and I felt privileged to share such engaging discussions with someone as cultured as him.

"Last time we met, you mentioned you would love to read Devdas, do you remember?"
Oblivious to my momentary distraction, Krishna Kumar Uncle continued. This time, his words came in his distinctive English, slightly tinted with an Indian accent, snapping me back to reality.

I nodded. "I remember, Uncle."
I recalled that our last conversation had indeed centered around the timeless Indian classical novel Devdas.

It all started when I randomly asked Krishna Kumar Uncle why unfortunate lovers in India and Ceylon were often named Devdas.
He explained that Devdas was the protagonist of a Bengali romance story written in 1917.

He told me about Devdas, a young man from a wealthy family unable to marry his love, Parvathi, who came from a middle-class background due to societal barriers. After Parvathi was forced into marriage with a rich widower, Devdas drowned his heartache in alcohol until his ultimate demise.

Krishna Kumar Uncle smiled broadly. "Well, I found the book while roaming around a local bookshop a couple of days ago."

"Really?" My face brightened with excitement.
Krishna Kumar Uncle nodded, his smile widening.

"I can lend it to you if you want."
"I'd love to, Uncle. If you don't mind, of course," I replied, smiling back at him.

"Of course not, Divya. It's my pleasure."

As he stepped closer, Krishna Kumar Uncle gently grazed my shoulder. His gesture surprised me, but I didn't mind; it felt like a simple sign of affection, much like a father might pat his daughter's shoulder.

"This is the first time I'm seeing you in a saree, right?" Krishna Kumar Uncle suddenly asked. "You're beautiful, young lady." He gave me one of his genuine, bright smiles.

Again, his words caught me off guard, bringing a blush to my cheeks.
I remained silent, unable to find the right words to thank him. All I could do was offer him a grateful smile.

"Well, Sir, you're right. Lucy's beautiful. And her saree has nothing to do with that fact. Thanks for the compliment, anyway."

I shivered at John's words. He had been silent until now, almost making me forget he was there.

I glanced at him, frowning in surprise.
He had scooted even closer to me, our bodies almost touching. When I felt his arm protectively wrap around my shoulder, shivers spread through every part of my body.

"It's getting late, Lucy. Your parents are waiting for you, remember?" John's chocolate eyes looked straight into mine.
His closeness made my heart race, and I struggled to find the words to answer him. Finally, I just nodded in silence.
He was right; we had to go.

"Sorry, Uncle... My parents are waiting for me. I need to go."
I offered Krishna Kumar Uncle an apologetic smile. Words caught in my throat, making me stutter like a child.

"No problem, love," Krishna Kumar Uncle replied with a smile. "It was nice to meet you... and it was a pleasure meeting you, John."
He extended his hand for John to shake.

The handshake John offered lasted only a split second. He didn't even smile at Krishna Kumar Uncle, despite the brief words he shared as he held the older man's hand:
"Same here, Sir."

"Shall we go now?" John asked, but he didn't give me a chance to answer.

I gave Krishna Kumar Uncle one last smile before letting myself be pulled away by John.

★★★★  

Slow down, John. I can't take this anymore."

I pushed his hand off my shoulder and stopped in my tracks. He had been walking so quickly that I struggled to keep up. John turned to me, a frown creasing his brow.

"What's gotten into you, Lucy? We're almost at Crowther's house. Come on..."

"I should be asking you that! What's gotten into you? Why on earth were you so rude to Krishna Kumar Uncle?"
It was finally time to confront him about his strange behavior. I couldn't hold my frustration in any longer.

"Oh, that... I just don't like that K.K. guy," he shrugged dismissively.

"K.K. guy?" I was taken aback by his words. I had always admired John's irreverence, believing it to be justified. But today, for the first time, it felt offensive.

"K.K. stands for Krishna Kumar," he explained with a grin.

"Regardless, he's a fifty-year-old man. You should have shown him some respect, John."
My irritation was bubbling to the surface now. I struggled to keep my voice steady.

"For God's sake, Lucy! Can't you see? How can you be so naive?"
John took a step closer, and we were suddenly face to face. His sudden outburst startled me; he had never shouted at me before.

"See what?" I replied, my voice dropping to a whisper.
He fell silent, his gaze intense, as if searching for the right words.

"Tell me, John! What am I supposed to see?"
"When he looked at you, Lucy... it wasn't like a fifty-year-old man looking at someone who could be his daughter."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Damn it, Lucy! Are you really expecting me to spell it out for you?"
His anger seemed to escalate, swirling around us like a storm.

"Please do," I whispered.

Those words escaped me unbidden. I felt completely unmoored, unable to control either my words or my emotions. A whirlwind of fear, anger, disappointment, and sadness churned within me.

"You probably won't believe me, but I hate saying this... believe me," he continued, his voice softer now.

I waited, my heart racing, for him to finish.

"The whole time he was looking at you, his eyes kept drifting to the parts of your body that your saree didn't cover. He was staring at you with lust in his eyes, Lucy.