Chapter 7
The Internet Has Seriously Corrupted Our Generation
Mumbai, Friday
We get on the Mumbai–Pune expressway, and from there it’s a straightforward route to Baner. We plan to stop once at the food
mall that falls on the expressway, about fifty minutes before we hit Lonavala, to grab some coffee and use the toilet.
Since I have some relative privacy in the back seat, I finally text Amrit.
@notkrishnakumar
Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t text before. It’s been a long day.
The three dots and seen just now appear on the footer of the chat so quickly I get whiplash. My heart starts beating really hard behind my rib cage, and Priti shoots me a death glare right at the moment Amrit’s text pops in.
@amrit_ka_achar
No that’s okay! I knew you were traveling today
Oh, right. I’d forgotten he thought I was on my way back and not on my way to him. A nervous “ha ha” squeaks out of me at that, making both Rudra and Priti glance back at me.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
Priti gives me a look that has What the fuck is wrong with you? written all over it, but I ignore her, reading the next few texts Amrit’s sent me.
@amrit_ka_achar
I should’ve thought about that before hitting send on my previous text
I’ve been a nervous wreck the entire day
The entire day? Over silly old me? I nearly squeal as I type out my reply, shaky fingers goofing up a few spellings. But it doesn’t matter, because Amrit Acharya
has been a nervous wreck. For me!
@notkrishnakumar
Don’t be! My phone’s been on flight mde all day. I omly saw the text just now
I wonder if I sound too eager and should be playing more hard to get. It’s what my friends would tell me, but I’m so sick
of doing that. I’ve been tiptoeing around Amrit all summer, dropping hints but never really making it obvious (not that I
was particularly good at any of that). If I hadn’t, if I’d trusted my gut about Amrit’s feelings for me, I probably would’ve
had my tongue in his mouth last night.
Instead, I’m here, still a unicorn and stuck in a car (a very comfortable car, granted) with Priti and Rudra. I need a new
plan of action. I need to be genuine about what I want and not fling this last shred of a chance out the window.
@notkrishnakumar
Look, Amrit. I really wanted to kiss you last night.
This is the first time I’ve ever been this direct with anyone. It feels unreal but freeing. Like I’m finally catching up in a race I’ve been falling behind in for so long.
I set my phone aside, facedown, and open the window, letting the cool night air whoosh into the car. It’s beautiful outside,
with the dark silhouettes of trees and hills against a navy-blue canvas sprinkled with stars. I close my eyes and inhale deeply,
clasping my hands tightly in my lap as my heart turns into a hot-air balloon.
When my heart is the size of my fist again, I pick up my phone and gingerly open the chat.
@amrit_ka_achar
I’m such an idiot.
I should’ve kissed you before I left. I wanted to.
@notkrishnakumar
This doesn’t feel real to me
Like wow . . . you like me back. Kick me.
@amrit_ka_achar
Never. But yeah . . .
I clutch my phone to my chest. The wind pushes my hair onto my face as a car with bright headlights zooms past us. Through
the gaps between my strands, I spot a sign saying Food Mall, and Rudra swerves onto a road that forks off the highway.
We find a free spot in the huge parking lot, and I’m surprised that although it’s just past nine p.m., the mall is brightly
lit up and packed with people.
“We’ll take twenty minutes, max,” Priti says, undoing her seat belt. Rudra and I nod, and the three of us get out of the car.
I practically hop up the small set of steps to the food mall. It’s a rectangular, open plaza of sorts, with a bunch of eateries
crowded along the perimeter and seating arranged at the center. I desperately need a coffee if I have to stay up until we
get to Baner. With milk and sugar, not the tasteless, bitter brew Rudra had earlier.
I pass a street corn thelawala and the heavenly scent of buttered corn peppered with masala wafts to my nose, briefly interrupting
my quest for coffee. Before I know it, I’m asking the vendor for a large serving of masala corn (with extra butter, please)
and digging into it with an ice-cream spoon.
Then I stop by the café, get a mocha, and start walking, checking the place out.
To my utter delight, there’s a book stall on the opposite side of the plaza.
Under a big banner with Sai Book Fair printed along it in bold letters, there are tables piled with paperbacks, and a staircase winds behind them, piled with even more books.
I excitedly rush toward it, coffee cup in one hand and masala corn in the other.
I scan the stacks on the tables first and then shuffle up the stairs, finding the collection slowly becoming better the more
I dig in. It looks like there’s another floor up there, which means more books.
“Where are you going?”
I turn to find Rudra standing at the foot of the stairs, a CocoCart cup in his hand.
“Upstairs,” I say, frowning. It’s not like our twenty minutes are up—I have fifteen to spare. “To check out the books.”
“It doesn’t look safe,” Rudra says. “There’s barely any light up there.”
“It’s just books.” I turn back to the towers of books. “I’ll be fine. I have my phone.”
I resume walking up the stairs, eyes widening as I spot the collection on the floor above. Gosh, how many books are up here?
That’s when I hear a scuffle, and when I look back, Rudra’s standing right behind me.
I nearly jump out of my skin. My foot catches on one of the book piles, and I trip, barely avoiding falling flat on my face.
But Rudra grabs my arm just in time, very Ishqbaaaz style (don’t judge me, I watched the show only because of my mom) and pulls me up.
Fortunately, I manage to save the books from being splashed by my coffee. Unfortunately, I drop my cup of masala corn in the
process. I watch in horror as the corn spills all over the stairs, rivulets of red-stained, masala-filled juice running toward
the stacks.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I gasp, setting my coffee on the ground, pulling the packet of wet wipes out of my pocket.
Rudra crouches down and helps me out. Luckily, we get the staircase clean and the corn picked up before the shopkeeper catches us.
“You startled me,” I say, looking down at my cup of corn forlornly.
“I’m sorry,” Rudra says, and he genuinely sounds apologetic as he rubs the back of his neck. “I thought it’d be better if
I just went with you.”
“Why aren’t you with Priti?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Rudra narrows his gaze. “We’re not attached at the hip.”
“No, I mean, is she okay on her own?”
“She’s in a brightly lit food court with dozens of other people loitering about.”
I choose to not say anything to that; instead, I pick up my coffee cup and climb the last few stairs. Rudra follows me closely,
and I quickly forget my disappointment from having dropped my corn when I reach the second floor.
“Holy shit.”
My jaw is practically sweeping the ground. Rudra’s hands fall out of his pockets as we step into what looks like the biggest
book warehouse I’ve ever seen, piled with thousands of paperbacks and hardbacks. Flickering white lights hum above us, filling
the silence of the space. It’s like a thrift bookstore, but ten times the scale. I rush to the first table and grab a title
I recognize, bringing it to my nose and sniffing deeply.
I love it. It’s so musty and new yet old at the same time.
I never imagined this being up here. It’s like a whole other world. A book dimension with its portal at the base of the staircase.
That I have only ten minutes left, probably less, is a crime!
I zigzag between the tables, running my fingers along covers and embossing. My fingertips are collecting dust, but I don’t care. I glance behind me once to find Rudra walking at a much slower pace, stroking the spines with such tenderness it’s as if he’s afraid they’ll crumble underneath his touch.
The lights at the far end of the warehouse are turned off, so it gets darker as we move, and I find myself being grateful
he came along, because I do feel safer. I turn on my phone’s flashlight and dodge through the tables to the walls lined with
bookshelves.
“I hope the bookstores in Baltimore are this big,” I say as Rudra comes up to stand next to me. I tend to ramble about books
without caring who I’m rambling to, but it’s his fault he followed me up here. He walked right into it. “I didn’t get to see
much of the city when I was visiting the college campus.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Rudra says, plucking a volume off the shelves and combing through it. “Though I’m sure becoming
a doctor is going to keep you more than a little busy.”
“How do you know that?” My eyes widen in surprise. “The doctor thing, I mean.”
“You’ve mentioned wanting to be on the premed track before.” Rudra says, ducking his head back down to the book. He follows
the words with his fingers as he reads them—one of my friends who’s dyslexic does the same thing. They say it makes it easier
for them to focus on the letters on the page.
He flips a page before turning the book over to read the back. He’s not that tall, I notice now that he’s standing right next
to me. I’m about five foot three, and he looks like he could be five foot seven or five foot eight, max. Priti’s probably
just an inch or so shorter than him.
As I watch him, my mind goes back to what he said.
I can’t remember having mentioned my plans to him, so I’m assuming he overheard me speaking to my cousins.
Not, like, eavesdropping, but during a group hangout, like the house party last night, when everyone was together.
Was it something I said during one of those conversations—not knowing he was listening—that had given him such a poor impression of me?
“So I have a question,” I say, sipping on my coffee, “about what you said earlier. It’s kind of been nagging at me.”