Chapter 3

Four Months to the Wedding

Sydney, Australia

It was mid-November in Sydney, and the city had settled into its warm season. The sun was rising earlier now, promising more heat to come. The harbor sparkled in a bright blue through the windows of Cooper’s apartment.

And a new rhythm was forming in the apartment.

At 6 AM, Ankit would still be sleeping. Isha, however, had learned to dress in the dark — leggings, a tank-top and a t-shirt over it. Always a t-shirt ... modest.

She’d also stopped straightening her hair for the gym. The first week, she’d felt self-conscious about it. Her mother had always insisted that straightening made her look ‘presentable’ and her natural curls made her look ‘wild’. But she couldn’t imagine reaching for the straightener at five in the morning.

In the first week she used to try and wake Ankit up. She’d shake his shoulder, whisper that she was heading to the gym, ask if he wanted to come. He’d mumble something about sleep. She’d stand there for a moment, waiting for him to change his mind. He never did. By the second week, she stopped asking.

She’d quietly step out of the bedroom to find Cooper in the kitchen. Gym bag next to him, water bottle filled. Waiting, ready to go. She’d greet him with a warm smile, and off they’d go.

The drive to the gym with Cooper became familiar. Cooper’s sports car taking the curves of the coastal road. The water glittering to their left. The windows down. The Australian sun already warm on her arms.

The fitness club always impressed Isha, every time she entered it. The cleanliness, the sleek settings, the absence of crowds. On most days she and Cooper were the only ones on the workout floor. She’d seen Sasha and Tobias a few times, but otherwise it was pretty much her and Cooper, alone.

They’d start with stretching. Then Cooper would guide her through the program he’d created for her ... almost entirely strength training focused, with just enough cardio to warm up and cool down. Isha had been learning and researching on her own too. She’d really gotten into it. YouTube videos on her phone. Articles saved to read later. She’d show Cooper some of movements she’d found, and he’d nod or shake his head, explaining which ones were genuine technique and which were fake news. She started learning how to tell the difference.

“Mind-muscle connection,” he’d say, his hand on her shoulder blade. “Feel it here, not in your lower back.”

She learned the vocabulary. Progressive overload. Hypertrophy. Time under tension. Failure sets. The words started becoming more familiar, became part of her mornings, part of the rhythm.

Cooper was particular about form. His hands would guide her hips during squats, adjust her shoulders during deadlifts, press on her lower back during glute bridges. He’d tell her where to feel the impact, which muscle should burn, which should stay relaxed.

She felt awkward at first, feeling his hands on her body. But within a couple of days, she stopped flinching. He was just teaching her form. It was training.

Just training. It’s necessary.

But then one day, something else happened.

Isha had just finished a set of hip thrusts at a weight she’d never attempted before. The bar felt heavy across her hips, her body was ready to give up. But she pushed through with a loud groan, completed the set, dropped the bar onto the mat with a thud.

She stood up, pleased with herself. Breathless, but feeling strong and proud.

Cooper smiled at her. “Good. That’s phenomenal progress, Isha. Really coming along.”

Isha smiled back. “Thanks Cooper ... I was...”

To her shock, Cooper reached over and smacked her bottom. Once. Firm. Loud.

“On to the next one.” He said, casually, and started walking towards the next station.

Isha froze. She could feel her face go warm.

She could feel the exact spot where his hand made contact with her ass. It was warm and tingly, not exactly painful ... he didn’t hit her hard. But she could feel it ... as if his handprint had been pressed into her skin through her leggings.

She stood there for a few seconds, motionless.

He can’t do that! I should scream at him and tell him never do that again.

But maybe it was just a gym thing. Like athletes do.

She was debating with herself. She looked at Cooper, who was already setting up the rack for the next exercise.

It was just a training thing. It’s encouragement. It’s nothing.

“Coming?” Cooper asked, looking back at her.

“Yes. Be right there.”

By the time Isha and Cooper returned from the gym, Ankit was usually rushing to get to work. He’d grab a coffee, give Isha a quick peck on the cheek, mutter something to Cooper about the weather or the traffic, and disappear through the door.

After Ankit would leave, Cooper and Isha would get into the sauna.

Her initial hesitations about getting into the sauna with Cooper had melted away. She figured it’s an important part of recovery. Why deny herself of that?

The three towels she’d worn that first time were now down to one. Isha felt ridiculous about it afterwards ... three towels, as if she was afraid of Cooper seeing her skin. Now she wrapped a single towel around her body and sat across from him like it was nothing. Because it was nothing.

It’s just bodies. Cooper had said.

Cooper did the same. Sometimes he didn’t even wrap the towel around him, just laid it across his lap.

Sometimes her eyes drifted. She’d catch herself looking at his chest, his abs, his arms. Definitely his arms. Even if Cooper noticed, he didn’t say anything, and she didn’t say anything, and it became less awkward with time.

Isha caught him looking at her too. The parts of her that were exposed ... her shoulders, the collarbones, upper chest, her thighs and legs. She told herself it must be training related.

I’m just looking at him because his muscle definition is impressive ... and inspiring. And he’s just looking at me to check my progress.

These excuses didn’t seem like excuses to Isha anymore.

After the sauna, Isha would head back to her room, shower and put something casual on, like a T-shirt and shorts. She’d walk into the kitchen to find Cooper making protein shakes. He’d pour two glasses without asking. It had become routine. And she’d start breakfast while he cleaned up.

They’d eat at the kitchen island together. Eggs, avocado and veggies. Fresh fruit. Coffee. Talking while enjoying the view of the harbor through the window or the balcony.

And Cooper was always shirtless in the mornings, like it was the most natural thing in the world. In the beginning, Isha had felt it was a bit strange, him and his muscles and his chest, just being all out there. She thought about asking him to put something on, but she didn’t. And now, especially after spending all that time in the sauna together, it seemed silly to even ask. It had become normal ... he was just Cooper. Shirtless was just how he was.

He’d tell her about growing up in the outback. The isolation, the heat, the land stretching flat and endless. She’d learned that he was the second of four brothers, all of them loud, competitive, always wrestling for space and attention. He told her about the crazy trouble he and his brothers got themselves into and made Isha laugh.

One day, she just directly asked him, “So, how come you don’t have a girlfriend, Cooper?”

He laughed. “I’ve had a few over the years. One was quite serious, until she wanted to be more than just my girlfriend.”

“Oh, so you have commitment issues, huh?” she asked, expecting him to defend himself.

“I don’t believe in marriage,” he said, surprising her. “No offense to you and Ankit, of course.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you believe in marriage?”

Cooper then told her about his father, an accountant, a quiet man, gentle. He’d sit on the porch watching the sunset while his mother counted the minutes until she could leave — her marriage, her family and her life. She’d left when Cooper and his brothers were still in their early teens. Left her husband for another man, her lover. His dad never really recovered from that.

“Dad was a good man,” he continued. “Did everything right. Provided for the family. Never raised his voice. Never asked for anything for himself.” He looked at her. “And she left him anyway.”

Isha was quiet. She didn’t know what to say.

Cooper’s expression wasn’t bitter. He looked like he’d made peace with it a long time ago.

“After that, I stopped believing in marriage,” he said. “Not because I don’t think love is real. I’m sure it is. But because marriage turns love into a contract. And contracts are for things you don’t trust to last on their own.”

Isha was quiet.

He paused, his fork resting on the plate. “I think people should be free to be with who they want,” Cooper said. “No contracts. No obligations. You stay because you want to stay. And if someone moves on, they move on. No heartbreak. No betrayal. Just two people who wanted each other for as long as they did, and then didn’t.”

“Anyway,” he picked up his fork again, the moment passing. “That’s the Hayes family tragedy. Not exactly unique.” He pointed his fork at her. “Your turn. What’s the Bhatia family drama?”

Isha told him about Delhi and her life growing up. The colors, the noise, the sprawling extended family and the pressure of being the middle daughter. Her older sister had been the rebel first ... headstrong and stubborn. She’d married someone her parents didn’t approve of — a different religion and a different language. And she lived in Mumbai now, with two kids and a life that rarely intersected with theirs.