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samira mohan realizes jack abbot loves her because of a spilled cup of tea.
a month and sixteen days into their relationship, there is a big party near lake eerie for samira’s grandfather—her baba’s father. it’s his ninetieth, a celebration that calls for the whole family plus family friends to congregate at her uncle’s house, where she knows all six bedrooms will be occupied by family, and she is relieved it’s only a two hour or so drive from pittsburgh. she doesn’t think the first time jack meets one side of her family should be during an overnight stay of any sort.
he had been nervous, which surprised samira. he had met her mother already, who was also flying in for the party and would meet them there, and that had gone well. samira and amma may not be close, but her mom wants to see her happy, and samira knows one look at her with jack, with the career she has and the relationships she is cultivating, that’s exactly what she is. happy.
she realizes she’s in love because of a spilled cup of tea.
the two of them carry the fatal flaw or love language—depending on who you ask—of being extremely punctual. early, even. so, naturally, they are the first to arrive at samira’s uncle’s house, a gift bag for dada-jaan and two boxes worth of pastries for the party. already, the house is lively with samira’s grandparents, her uncle and aunt, and three cousins—plus two of their spouses and another four kids. there is an excitable golden retriever puppy running around, one recently adopted by her cousin mahi and husband sid for their kids. it’s a beautiful summer day, the large backyard is being set up for the party, and samira and jack make the rounds. she introduces him, they love him, it’s all very expected, very reassuring. her own anxieties flee when she sees him relaxed and well received, files away any escape plans and excuses she was conjuring for her to employ should things get too overwhelming for either of them. she openly admires the crinkles that deepen at the corner of his eyes with every smile, the freckles that have been standing out more during the summer time. so far, so good.
then—tea.
they sit on the couch in the living room as samira’s uncle questions jack on growing up in west virginia. dadi-jaan is divulging the latest gossip from her crocheting group. it is loudly lively, as opposed to the er’s familiar loudly chaos, but samira does not mind. she feels jack’s thigh pressed against hers, the heat of his body seeping into her skin through the two layers of the denim of his jeans and the cotton of her dress. her twenty year old cousin brings out the tray of freshly brewed tea and samira nearly strains her eyes from trying not to roll them when her uncle, expectedly, makes a misogynistic comment about getting aditi ready for becoming a wife.
samira and aditi exchange looks of shared long suffering as samira reaches for the cup, sitting on a saucer, that aditi holds out to her. but then there’s a giggle, a yip, and a seven year old child with a puppy running past aditi, running too close to aditi, and she stumbles with a gasp. the cup of piping hot tea spills and samira’s eyes widen, she swallows a pre-emptive scream as the drink swings over the rim of the cup, bracing herself for the sting of pain that is sure to come. fight or flight fails her, freezing instead, just waiting until—nothing.
there are gasps, curses, but samira’s heart is pounding in her ears because the warmth that covers her hands is not that of the burn of hot tea. rather, it is a familiar warmth, a comforting warmth, a loving warmth of jack’s hands, larger than hers, covering her own. it is the disbelief that floods through her when she realizes that jack, without a second to waste or a thought to spare, covered her hands with both of hers so the hot tea spilled on his skin instead of hers.
at worst, samira only feels a couple of droplets on the back of her hands that may have slipped through the gap, but the majority of the tea covers jack’s hands, spilling down onto the dark carpet below. samira’s heart pounds in her ears as her aunt scrambles to find a rag or paper towels, while aditi apologizes profusely and her dadi-jaan telling them to take jack to run his hands under cool water. samira knows this—knows she should be taking jack to the nearest sink—but she stares at him in disbelief. stares at him as though she has never seen him before in her life.
because he isn’t hissing in pain, isn’t pulling his hands away immediately. through the commotion, through her thundering heart, samira hears jack asking if she’s okay, and in that moment, she feels like she could cry from this discovery of something precious, a dawning of feelings she is sure no one has ever felt before.
he is calling her name, asking if she got burned, but she hears none of it. her own need to make sure he’s okay comes in full swing, pushing aside everything else for later, for when she can stop hearing her heart drumming in her ears. she gets to her feet, knowing he will follow. assures her family she will take care of this, of him, because he is hers to take care of.
“i need to know you’re okay,” jack is saying, his voice echoing against the blue tiles of the bathroom, the door shut behind them as samira runs the water in the sink, making sure it’s not too cold.
her gaze lifts to gape at him. the only part of her that burns is her eyes. “if i’m okay? you just burned yourself for no reason!”
he blinks at her as she takes his wrists. doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make any sort of noise of discomfort as she slowly brings his hands under the running water. she can feel his gaze on her as she bites her lower lip to stop it from quivering, her own eyes on the freckled, reddened skin of the back of his hands. just by looking at it, she knows the burn isn’t too severe, but it has to be painful either way. and he allowed himself to endure it, without a thought, for her.
“it wasn’t for no reason,” he says quietly. still watching her. she twists her lips to the side, the burn traveling to her nose. she will be in trouble when her vision starts to blur. “i’d rather it be me than you.”
her gaze snaps up to meet his. her vision blurs, distorting his achingly handsome face for a second, but when it sharpens, she sees his features soften with understanding, hazel eyes flickering over her slowly crumbling resolve. “you burned yourself for me,” she repeats, tinged with disbelief and awe and the pain that comes with seeing someone you love get hurt.
that’s the crux of it all, isn’t it?
jack ducks his head, eyes on hers in that way that says see me, listen to me, understand me. “i’ve been through worse, baby,” he says lightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up, hinting at a dimple under the stubble. she scoffs into a sniffle, blinking back tears. he notices, because of course he does, and he steps closer to her against the sink. she doesn’t let him move his hands from under the running water, lightly grasping his wrists in both hands, the ridge of his watch under one palm. “hey, it’s okay. i’m alright, yeah?”
samira looks at him. he is fine, she knows. but he took on a hot cup of tea for her. her throat works at the gravity of it. “no one’s ever protected me like that before,” she whispers, the words just for him, hidden under the running faucet. no one’s ever loved me like that before, she hopes he sees in her eyes.
because he is jack abbot, the only one who has ever truly seen her, he understands everything she doesn’t say.
his smile is pure him—charming and boyish with a touch smug and confident. “i’m glad to be the one.”
the one. he is, isn’t he?
samira’s throat works, cheeks warm as she blinks rapidly, dropping her gaze to his hand. the air hitches in her throat, her voice soft and careful as she says, “you need to take this off.” glances up long enough to see his own gaze drop to the black band on his ring finger. “just until we can make sure your hands are fine.”
she lets go of his wrists when she feels him move, watching as he slides off the black band. watches him put it in the pocket of his pants before returning his hands under the running water. he is already looking at her when she looks at him. jack’s gaze is steady, his voice even. “i’d do it again.” it’s a promise. it’s a declaration. samira holds it closely. she does not let it go.
jack never puts that ring back on again.
and years down the line, any time she is asked, when did you know you loved jack?, any time she is asked how did you know you loved jack?
samira’s answer is always the same. “over a cup of spilled tea.”