Something woke me and I wasn’t sure what initially, but when I opened my eyes, Ryan was sitting up on the bed, staring down and grinning at me. “You’re awake,” he said.

I sat up and stretched out my arms. “Yeah,” I said, as I could hear the sounds of the streets below filter in. The windows were open, letting in a breeze. It was nice. “How long have you been up.”

“Just a minute,” he said, staring at me. “I hadn’t meant to wake you. I think when I started moving around, it bothered you.”

Probably. I was a light sleeper. I shrugged and said. “I’m fine, and besides we need to get used to local time. I’m terrible with the time difference.”

“Me too.”

I turned to glance at the clock on the night stand. 8:40 am local time. Not bad. I’d set an alarm on my phone for nine. We had to meet Chandran, Pauly’s guy at 9:30. “We should get showered and get out of here,” I told him.

He agreed, and within 20 minutes, we were dressed and on the move. I wore something less flashy today. A long shirt called a kurti, which covered my body loosely. It was beige with a simple pattern of curvy lines on it. Beneath it I wore a pair of light pants. Not too noticeable here. I unbraided my hair, which had made it slightly wavy. I brushed it so it was straight. Not as bone straight as I’d like, but good enough. I didn’t want to stand out here. Indians come in all shades and hues, and being half African-American, I was on the darker side, but not so dark as to be unusual. I’d be seen as a local, as someone who fit right in. Except for the hair. It was long and tended to stay straight with a relaxer, but it could get kind of frizzy in the humidity.

I threw a thin scarf over my hair. Not an uncommon sight here.

As we left the hotel, Ryan wore khakis again and another linen shirt, asked, “Should I get some local clothes? You blend in so well.”

I shook my head “Nah. You're supposed to look touristy. You do.”

He looked around at the heavy crowds on the street and inclined his head towards one of the men. “I think I’d look pretty good in a jacket like that,” he said, indicating a man in a sherwani, a jacket that went to the knees. Men tended to wear it over a pair of loose pants. Ryan was right. He would look good in a sherwani. In fact, his fit, sexy body would look good in anything he wore. He’d look good in nothing at all, too. I shook my head, trying to banish that thought. We couldn’t go there this trip.

“We can go shopping this afternoon,” I told him.  “It’ll be like that montage in Pretty Woman, only with a debonair American trying to look Indian.”

He grinned at me. “Good to know you think I’m debonair.”

I teasingly poked him in the ribs. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

He grabbed hold of my hand, and we walked through the crowded streets a few blocks down to an open-air market where all sorts of things were being sold, from clothes to shoes to street food. About the middle of the market was a seating area. Beautiful tiles paved the outdoor pavilion and benches were strategically placed. It was already crowded, and I didn’t think we’d find a spot to sit, when a woman who had been sitting on a bench near us, stood and left. I tugged Ryan to the seat and we plopped down together. We sat in silence people watching for a bit. I glanced at my watch: 9:38. Chandran was late. I tucked a hair behind my ear and bit my lip.

“Rupee for your thoughts,” Ryan cooed in my ear.

I turned to him, and he smiled. “You remember the local currency. Good.”

“I do try to know what I’m spending,” he said. “But, the offer is genuine. Want to tell me what’s on your mind. I know I have some rupees on me.”

I laughed. “I’m good without the rupees, but I was just wondering where...” and I looked up to see an older, thin gentleman walk past us. His hair was graying, and he was wearing what Ryan wanted: a silvery green sherwani and black pants. He carried a satchel over his shoulder, and stopped a few feet away from us. He looked around and then bent over, putting his hands on his thighs and breathing heavily.

I elbowed Ryan. “Offer him your seat,” I whispered.

He looked at the older gentleman, and then stood up. “Sir,” he said. “Would you like a seat?”

The man lifted his head, and looked appreciative, as Ryan stepped a few paces away. The man walked over and took the now empty seat, pulling the bag’s strap off his shoulder and setting it next to him. He leaned forward, cupping his hands in his face, as if fatigued, and then whispered to me, “Everything you need is in the bag.”

I reached toward him, patting his back. “Sir, are you going to be alright,” I said loud enough for my voice to carry.  He lifted his head and nodded to me.

That’s when I whispered back. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

Chandran sat there a couple of minutes more, pretending to collect himself and then he stood up, smiled and said, “Thank you for your kindness. I just needed to rest.” With that, he walked away.

That was it. I looked up to beckon Ryan back, and noticed he was gone. I looked around the streets, which were filling. I didn’t see him. Just a few more people, and a police officer in uniform. I frowned, tugged the bag over my shoulder, and pulled my phone out of a back pocket. I called him. “Where’d you go?” I asked when he picked up.

“I’m just around the corner,” he said. “Near that bank.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” I told him and hung up. Then I walked over and found him sitting on a bench.

“Why’d you leave?” I asked, trying not to sound as irritated as I felt.

He shrugged. “If you’ve got what you need, let’s go back to the hotel.”

I pursed my lips and stared at him a minute. There was more going on here, but I wasn’t going to find out what in the middle of the street. I nodded, and we walked back to the hotel together.

When we arrived back in our room, I immediately confronted him. “What’s going on? Why did you walk off?”

He looked down at the ground. “I saw a police officer, and I got nervous.”

My eyes widened, and I could feel my temperature rise. “Tell me you’re joking,” I pleaded.

He didn’t say anything of the sort. He blew out. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to put some distance between us. If things went bad, I wanted to be able to help, not be in a cell with you.”

I wanted to slap him. No, I wanted to slap him and then go home. I walked away, back to my room and set the bag on the bed. I was trying to figure out how to even respond to his nonsense when I noticed he’d followed me inside.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left. I realize that now.”

“Oh, do you,” I said, turning to face him. “What made you realize that?”

“Your reaction.”

“And if I’d said, oh that’s just fabulous that you abandoned me because you thought the police might catch an old man giving me a bag, you’d have thought what you did was good?”

He opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and then started again. “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought it was a good idea. I’m sorry,” he said again. “Don’t you see. This is why I am a screw up. This is why my parents don’t trust me. I’m not daring in a way that makes me stick around if I think things are going safe. My daring is all stupid stuff. Frat boy drinking, gambling when I know I shouldn’t. Not this, alright. I panicked. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

I stared at him, incredulous for a moment. I was tired. We’d had a long trip, and I needed to clear my head if this job, this job I wished with every ounce of my body that I hadn’t taken, was going to actually work now. It was too late to back out. But, I so didn’t trust my partner right now.

“I hear what you’re saying, Ryan,” I said to him. “I need some time alone. Can you give me a few minutes?”

He nodded, turned and walked out of the bedroom.