Tangled Threads

The first time I saw Riteeka look at Harry, I knew exactly what that look meant. I’d seen it before, in a hundred different bars, on a hundred different faces. It was the look of someone who’s already decided to cross a line and is just waiting for the right moment to step over.

We were at The Rusty Nail, a dump of a bar near campus that served cheap beer and had a jukebox that only played songs from before we were born. The place smelled like stale smoke and regret, but it was ours. Smriti was nursing a single coke for the third hour, her eyes darting around the room like a rabbit who’d wandered into a wolf den. Vanya had her arm wrapped around Harry’s neck, laughing too loud at something he’d said, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. And Riteeka sat across from them, her phone face down on the table, her long-distance boyfriend somewhere in another time zone, probably texting her goodnight.

I watched her watch him. The way her eyes tracked his hands when he picked up his glass. The way she leaned in when he told a story, even though she’d heard it before. The way she bit her lip when he laughed.

I knew that look because I’d worn it myself, every time I looked at her.

“Lucky, you’re zoning out again,” Smriti said, her voice barely above a whisper. She always spoke like she was afraid of taking up too much space.

“Just thinking,” I said, and tapped my beer bottle against hers. She blushed. Poor kid. She probably thought I was thinking about her.

“Thinking about what?” Harry asked, and I felt Riteeka’s attention shift to me, briefly, before it slid back to him.

“Whether this jukebox has anything that doesn’t sound like my dad’s funeral,” I said.

Vanya snorted. “Your dad’s not dead.”

“That you know of.”

She threw a napkin at me. Harry laughed, that easy, golden-boy laugh that made girls forget their own names. Riteeka’s smile went crooked. Vanya didn’t notice. She was too busy being in love.

Here’s the thing about being the lucky one in a group. People think it means you get all the breaks. That the universe hands you things on a silver platter and you just have to catch them. But luck isn’t always good. Sometimes it’s just the ability to see a disaster coming before anyone else does, and knowing you can’t stop it.

I saw the disaster coming. It had Riteeka’s dark hair and Harry’s crooked smile, and it was sitting right there in front of me, pretending to be a normal Thursday night.

“Another round?” I asked, already standing.

“I’ll help,” Riteeka said, and she was on her feet before anyone could argue.

We walked to the bar together. The place had filled up since we’d arrived, a mix of students and townies who all had the same hollow look in their eyes. The bartender, a woman named Gloria who’d been working here since before I was born, nodded at me. “Same again?”

“Yeah. And a shot of whiskey for me.”

Riteeka leaned against the bar, close enough that I could smell her perfume. Something floral. Something expensive. It didn’t belong in a place like this, but neither did she.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said.

“I’m always quiet.”

“You’re always talking. There’s a difference.”

I looked at her. She was looking back, her head tilted, her lips slightly parted. She knew exactly what she was doing. The question was whether she knew I knew.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked.

“Tell me something true.”

The whiskey arrived. I picked it up, knocked it back, and let the burn settle in my chest. “I think you’re playing a game you don’t know how to win.”

Her smile flickered. Just for a second. Then it was back, brighter than before. “And what game is that?”

“The one where you pretend you’re not looking at him.”

She went still. The noise of the bar seemed to recede, leaving just the two of us in a bubble of bad lighting and worse decisions. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.”

I grabbed the beers and walked back to the table. She followed, and I could feel her eyes on the back of my neck, hot and unreadable.

The rest of the night passed like it always did. Jokes and stories and the slow creep of intoxication. Vanya got drunk enough to start crying about a test she’d failed. Smriti got quiet enough to disappear into the wallpaper. Harry got loud enough to be insufferable. And Riteeka got careful.

She didn’t look at him again. Not once. But she didn’t have to. The damage was already done.

I saw it in the way Harry’s hand brushed against hers when he reached for the salt. I saw it in the way she didn’t pull away. I saw it in the way he looked at her when Vanya wasn’t watching, a question in his eyes that she answered with a tiny nod.

They thought they were being subtle. They thought no one could see.

But I’m lucky. I see everything.

At closing time, we spilled out onto the street. The air was cold and sharp, and Smriti shivered beside me, her arms wrapped around herself. “I’m going to head back,” she said.

“I’ll walk you,” I said, because that’s what you do when someone looks that fragile.

“No, it’s fine. I’m only two blocks away.”

“Smriti. Let me walk you.”

She looked at her shoes. “Okay.”

Vanya and Harry were already arguing about something, their voices carrying down the empty street. Riteeka stood apart, her phone in her hand, probably texting the boyfriend she was about to betray.

“Goodnight, everyone,” she said, and she looked at me when she said it. A long, steady look that said more than any words could.

Then she turned and walked away.

I watched her go. Smriti watched me watch her.

“You like her,” Smriti said, and her voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.

“Don’t.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not. But it’s okay.”

I looked down at her. She was trying to smile, and failing, and the failure broke something in my chest that I’d been trying to keep intact.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get you home.”

We walked in silence. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the wind carried the smell of rain. When we reached her building, she stopped at the door and turned to face me.

“You should tell her,” she said.

“Tell her what?”

“Whatever it is you’re not saying.”

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to tell her that the thing I wasn’t saying would ruin everything. That it would break Vanya’s heart and Harry’s face and Riteeka’s carefully constructed life. That it would leave me standing in the rubble with nothing but my luck and my guilt.

But I didn’t say any of that. I just nodded and said, “Maybe.”

She went inside. I stood on the sidewalk for a long time, staring at nothing, feeling the cold seep through my jacket.

My phone buzzed. A text from Riteeka.

*Are you awake?*

I stared at the screen. The letters glowed in the dark, a question I didn’t know how to answer.

I typed back: *Yeah.*

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Then nothing.

I walked home with my hands in my pockets, the silver charm in my ear swinging against my cheek. The streets were empty. The world was quiet. And somewhere in the dark, a line was being drawn that none of us would be able to uncross.

I thought about Smriti, who saw too much and said too little. I thought about Vanya, who trusted everyone and would pay for it. I thought about Harry, who had everything and wanted more. I thought about Riteeka, who was about to burn it all down for a feeling she couldn’t name.

And I thought about myself, standing at the edge of it all, holding a match and pretending I didn’t want to strike it.

The luck charm felt heavy against my ear. A promise I’d made to myself a long time ago, that I’d always land on my feet.

I wasn’t so sure anymore.

When I got to my apartment, I sat on the fire escape and lit a cigarette I didn’t really want. The city hummed below me, indifferent and alive. My phone buzzed again.

Riteeka: *Can we talk? Tomorrow?*

I took a long drag. Let the smoke curl out of my mouth.

Me: *Sure.*

She didn’t reply. I stayed on the fire escape until the sky started to lighten, watching the night slip away, knowing that when the sun came up, nothing would be the same.

But that’s the thing about luck. It doesn’t save you. It just gives you a front row seat to the crash.