Chapter 3
The Price of a Kiss These Days Is My Ego, Apparently
Mumbai, Friday
For a whole minute, I just sit there staring at the message, mouth hanging open. I read it once, twice, thrice, barely registering
the contents. The fourth time, it finally hits me.
Still owe you a kiss.
Amrit Acharya, the boy I’ve been obsessing over all summer, just sent me a text saying he owes me a kiss, with a winky emoji. My fingers go slack and my phone drops onto my lap, bouncing off my thigh and landing on the futon with a soft
thud.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I want to scream so loud I’ll probably wake the entire house if I do.
I reach over and shake Srishti, hard. She sits right up, her hair comically sticking out like straws around her head and her
face scrunched in irritation.
“Krishna, I swear to god I’m going to—”
I grab her hand, pull her to her feet, and drag her out of the living room and into the guest room, shutting the door behind us.
Srishti stares at me in bewilderment, and I know she’s seconds from cussing me out.
I’m shaking and jumping on the balls of my feet as I shove my phone in her face. My body just feels so animated.
Srishti is only further aggravated as she takes the phone from me and skims through the contents. The first time, she doesn’t
register any of it, barely out of her sleepy state. But the second time, her brows knit together as she zooms in on the screen
and rereads the last part.
“Krishna. Bro.” She looks up at me, eyes as wide as saucers. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Yes!” I affirm, disbelieving of it myself, if I’m being honest.
My crush just sent me a text saying he wants to kiss me. That has never happened to me. I keep playing our moments together this summer over and over in my head until I can’t take it anymore. The
mere thought of kissing Amrit sends a rush of exhilaration to the pit of my stomach.
“Holy shit,” Srishti says, matching my energy as she joins me in my prancing, and then we’re just two idiots skipping around
together.
“This doesn’t feel real.”
“Well, believe it, Krish, because it’s right here,” she says, waving my phone at me.
I flop onto the bed when I tire of all the jumping. “I wish he’d stayed just one more day.”
Srishti frowns, pausing with one leg in the air. “What do you mean?”
“My flight got canceled. I’m flying out on Wednesday morning. Not tonight.”
“No way! That’s amazing, hello?”
“But you’re leaving. All of you are leaving.
Manas and Varija have school, you have that trip with your friends, Didi and Bhaiya have work, Priti .
. . well, I don’t know.” I absent-mindedly draw circles on the Solapur blanket with my pointer finger.
Every Indian household has one of these—it’s a given.
“What am I even going to do until Wednesday? Hang out with Priti?”
“Oops. I forgot about that.” Srishti clucks her tongue. “Okay, that is a little sad.” She sighs as she flops onto the bed beside me. “If only you could go to Goa and make out with Amrit, like,
right now.”
I snort at her statement, spread-eagling on the bed. The ceiling fan spins lazily above my head, squeaking just slightly.
That’s when a sudden, wild thought pops into my brain.
“Hey, pass me my phone?”
She hands it to me, rolling over onto her side and propping up on one elbow. “What’s up? You have that look on your face.”
“What look?” I open my phone and type how long from Mulund to Calangute into the search bar. I remember Amrit telling me the wedding was happening in the Calangute district in North Goa, at Baga
Beach Resort.
“That look you get when you’re plotting your next winning move.”
“Wait.” The search results pop up: eleven hours and nineteen minutes by car. About half a day. I turn to Srishti, grinning
from ear to ear. “I think I might have the wildest idea. And I think—I think it might just work.”
“Should I be worried?” Srishti narrows her eyes. “What is it?”
“Road trip. To Goa. It’s an eleven-hour journey from here. If I leave today, I’ll be in Goa just in time for the mehndi ceremony.
I could surprise Amrit, stick around for a few hours . . .” Feeling brave, I add, “Hell, maybe I could even stay a couple
nights and get back before Tuesday.”
Srishti stares at me for a whole minute, looking absolutely flabbergasted. I expect her to laugh in my face or just dismiss the idea altogether, but all she says is, “I’m going to regret admitting this, but that might actually work.”
I grab her hands, my body vibrating with the sudden thrum of thrill and anticipation that races through me. “You’re serious?”
“Goa’s right next door, so it’s doable, but only if you’re up for twenty-two hours total of road travel, plus a long, long
flight back to the US.”
“I also have a layover at London Heathrow.”
“And that. Mind you, motion sickness and jet lag won’t be sold separately. They come as a package.”
“I’ll manage. At minimum, I’ll have all of Tuesday to recuperate.” I grip my phone tightly in my hand. “I’m just . . . so
sick of holding back all the time, you know? Like, for once, I just want to do something unhinged.” And if it all goes to
crap, that’s okay, because I’ll at least not regret never having tried.
“It’s going to be epic!” Srishti says proudly.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve brushed off my desires to be stupid and fun because I felt this need to prove to myself that
I can be more. But now that I’ve been accepted to my dream college, I know I’ll have the rest of my life to innovate and heal and change
the world and be Dr. Krishna Kumar.
And only one summer to be the eighteen-year-old main character of a cheesy rom-com.
The next couple of hours, before Srishti has to leave for Kandivali, we occupy the guest room, curled up on the bed, laptop
propped open on my knees. We dissect potential travel and stay options thoroughly, because a badly planned road trip is just
a disaster in the making.
If we’re being honest, it might not even end up being a road trip, because my permit doesn’t let me drive in India, much less rent cars. Regardless, I wouldn’t feel comfortable driving on the left side of the road.
But none of the alternate travel options seem viable either. Although the cabs would pick me up and drop me off where needed,
they’re way too expensive, and traveling alone with a driver for eleven hours just feels severely unsafe. Buses are cheap,
but I’d have to figure out the pickup and drop-off points, and the duration is much longer—I don’t exactly have all the time
in the world. And while taking a train would be a fantastic option, there’s nothing available until later in the night, and
again, I wouldn’t feel great about taking one alone.
The more we look into it, the more doubtful I get, the initial enthusiasm wearing off. But I can’t bow out now, because there
is always something that could go wrong. I’ve backed out of too many things in the past because of that bothersome seed of doubt that
plants itself in my mind at the mention of anything remotely fun.
Like the time I didn’t go to a house party sophomore year because one of my friends mentioned there would be alcohol. I told
myself I didn’t need to get caught with a Solo cup in my hand and be arrested for underaged drinking. While the party did
get busted, no one actually got in trouble, and I ended up spending the night scrolling through my friends’ stories, assuring myself I’d done the right thing but still feeling
like shit about it.
I can’t allow myself to do that this time. Not again.
“You know . . .” Srishti says uncertainly once we’ve narrowed my issue down to two linked pitfalls—traveling unchaperoned
and the fact that we aren’t even sure Nani will let me go on my own to begin with—“I’d suggest something, but I know you’d
rather eat sand than do it, so I’m going to set it aside.”
“Seriously? You can’t just say that and leave me hanging.” I poke her shoulder repeatedly in the way I know bugs her and will get her to speak up. “Tell me, tell me, tell—”
“Okay, okay.” Srishti swats my finger away. “You could . . . ask Priti for help.”
I stare at Srishti. “You can’t be serious.”
“Priti’s been living with Nani for two years now. She’s your age, and she’s stayed out all night lots of times because she
has a ready excuse—college fests. I’m, like, a hundred percent sure she doesn’t go to college fests every time, but Nani wouldn’t
know, right?”
“Are you saying I should ask her to cover for me with Nani because she’s done it before?”
“No, I’m saying you should ask her to come along with you. That way you’ll be safe and she’ll know how to get Nani’s permission.”
I stand, needing to get the jittery itch off my body. “I can’t take Priti with me. I don’t want to be cooped up in a vehicle
with her for so long. Forget that—there’s no way she’s going to agree to it. She hates me. And if anything, she’ll rat me
out to Nani, who will tell Mummy and Papa. I’ll be screwed.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Srishti says, whistling through her teeth. “Forget I suggested it. Also, I should really take a bath
right now. I have to leave in a bit.”
While Srishti heads to the bathroom, I go over my notes again until I’m sick of looking at them.
A couple of hours later, my cousins slowly start leaving, and when it’s Srishti’s and Manas’s turn to go, I pull Srishti into
a tight hug.
She hugs me back with equal ferocity, pecks my cheek, and says, “I’ll miss you so much.”
“I’ll miss you too. Please start applying to US universities soon so you can come be with me!”
“Hundred and one percent.” Srishti lowers her voice, whispering in my ear, “Keep me updated on your plans.”
“I will.”
Afterward, the house is suddenly quiet. It’s just Nani, Priti, and me.
Nani gives me a kiss on my forehead and heads to her bedroom for her afternoon nap—which I know is just Nani code for bingeing
episodes of Mahabharat. I sigh, standing alone in the middle of the living room, which, just a few hours ago, was packed with people.