Between Two Worlds

The door to 214 Ridgeway Lane clicked shut behind her, sealing in the thrum of music, the laughter, the swirl of perfume and hormones and tension. Outside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of lilacs. She pulled her jacket a little tighter and walked to the curb, phone in hand, thumb already hovering over the Uber app.

Joey was still upstairs.

He'd gone up with Juniper, his bitch sister—clearly drunk, maybe even crying—and that beautiful Black woman who looked like she'd stepped off a magazine cover. Serena, someone said her name was. That had been the last time Indira saw him, just a glimpse across the crowded living room. He hadn't looked at her. He hadn't even seen her.

She bit the inside of her cheek as she tapped to confirm the ride.

Her jeans were tight. Her top—scooped low at the front, hugging her curves—felt too small for her body and too big for her courage. She wasn't used to this kind of attention. People had looked at her tonight. Not just looked—noticed. Noticed in a way that made her skin tingle and her pulse quicken.

It was the way people looked at Aynsley and Madison.

She felt like an explorer, discovering a new world, a new way of life. Their world. Their inside jokes, their group chats. Their coordination, like they were building something. Something with Joey at the center of it.

And she was part of that. Right?

"You're not supposed to fight over me," he'd said. "You're all supposed to be on the same side."

At the time, it had felt warm, unifying. Like she'd just been given permission to be part of something special. Not a third wheel. Not the outsider. One of the girls. One of Joey's girls.

But tonight? Tonight she'd been left behind.

A car pulled up, headlights flashing across her face. The Uber. She got in, barely glancing at the driver as she gave a soft "hi" and buckled up.

The silence of the car hit hard after the party's chaos. Indira rested her head against the window and let the hum of tires on pavement fill her ears. Her mind, though, kept spinning.

She had thought tonight might be the night. Not that—not sex. She wasn't ready for that. Not yet. But maybe a moment. A touch. A kiss. Even just a look across the room that said she mattered to him.

Instead, Joey had disappeared upstairs with Madison, Aynsley, and Bianca. That hurt a little. Yes, she had opted to stay downstairs, but he could have pressed her, made if feel like she was wanted. Needed. When he came back down, only to go upstairs again—with Juniper—it hurt a lot more. The way he'd guided her, hand on her back like she was breakable, like she was special.

And Indira had just... watched.

She blinked hard, willing herself not to cry. That wasn't her. Crying over a boy? She didn't do that. She'd never done that. She was strong. She was focused. She was the one her parents had staked their future on.

But you love him.

She didn't say it aloud, but she felt it echo through her ribs. Her fingers curled against her lap. She did love him. Madly. Quietly. Absolutely. It didn't matter if they hadn't kissed. It didn't matter if she hadn't gone upstairs like the others. She knew. Deep down. In her bones.

And the worst part?

She wasn't sure if he loved her back.

She glanced down at her outfit, tugging her jacket a little tighter again. She hadn't gone full Madison tonight. No thigh-highs. No racy underwear. But she'd dipped a toe in. Her jeans were tighter than anything her mother had ever approved of. The top showed off her stomach in a way that she'd never done before. It had taken ten minutes just to pick out the right bra.

And people had looked at her. She couldn't deny it. She'd seen the way guys at the party watched her walk past. She could hear Aynsley's voice in her head: "Own it, babe. You're hot. Stop apologizing for it."

But how would she ever explain this to her parents?

Her mom wanted her to marry a good Indian boy. Her dad had once joked that no man would ever be good enough for her, especially not some "smooth-talking Western kid." They still saw her as their little girl. Modest. Obedient. Head in her textbooks.

Would they even recognize her now?

She shifted in the seat, suddenly self-conscious. Would they hate who she was becoming? Would they blame Joey? Blame themselves?

Or would they see what she saw—someone becoming whole? Someone choosing her life, not just accepting the one that had been built around her.

Maybe that was what tonight was really about.

She wasn't just graduating from high school. She was growing into someone new. Someone who wore tight jeans. Someone who made her own choices. Someone who loved a boy who wasn't Indian, wasn't safe, wasn't easy—and didn't need to be.

The Uber slowed as it reached her apartment complex. The lights were off in the windows. Her brothers were probably asleep. Her parents, too. It was late. Saturday night was almost over.

She didn't move to get out right away.

She just sat there, heart heavy and thoughts loud.

Maybe she should have gone upstairs.

Maybe next time… she would.