The Sunday afternoon air was surprisingly mild, a rare, unseasonable gift from a New York winter. Vivek had organized a private outing at a quiet, high-end pier overlooking the Hudson River. For hours, the atmosphere was thick with a strange, sweet tension. To keep their parents happy, Laksh and Arya had settled into an easy, rehearsed comfort, but somewhere between the hot cocoa and the cold breeze, they had forgotten to keep track of the boundary. They forgot if they were still pretending for an audience or if they were finally becoming real.

Arjun was currently in the middle of a high-stakes vintage shooting-gallery game against Vivek, their booming, competitive laughter echoing over the water. A few feet away, Ananya and Nandini sat at a wrought-iron table, sharing a box of cinnamon-dusted churros and watching their children with the sharp, knowing eyes of mothers.