Chapter 10
Pune, Saturday
Somebody throws a sock in my face. It reeks so bad, I’m yanked through all the stages of sleep and into consciousness in a split second. Hell, the Big Bang took more time.
I gag, sit up, grab the disgusting thing by its hem, and fling it as far away as I humanly can.
I’m going to kill Priti.
“Thank god,” she says, picking up the horrid thing and stuffing it in her backpack.
She’s fully dressed in a pair of sage-green camo pants and a black tee that’s knotted at the front, baring her abs. She’s
wearing a black choker to match and a pair of Phantom of the Opera mask earrings she designed herself. Her hair is blow-dried and adroitly messy, and her eyes are lined with deep-black kajal
and graphic liner, as always.
When did she even get ready?
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yell, punching the blankets. I absolutely detest being woken up early. I got so little sleep last night (yes, it’s my fault, but it’s not like I did something bad enough to
warrant getting socked in the face! Literally!).
“We are leaving in five minutes. So get your ass up and out of bed.”
Again, what is her problem? Why is she so desperate to be on schedule? I’m supposed to be the one eager to get to Goa on time.
“Fuck you! We are not leaving. It’s, what . . .” I grab my phone and glare at the screen. “Ohmygod. You threw a sock in my face at seven thirty a.m.! I’m going to murder—”
I’m interrupted by a sudden snort.
I frown, turning to the side, and am mortified to find Rudra seated on the sofa, his legs propped up on the glass table. He’s wearing a loose half-sleeved maroon T-shirt and a pair of
jeans and has a huge grin on his face. He looks so hot—especially because his hair is in a man bun this time—I forget for
a moment that he’s been there this whole time.
Shit.
He’s been there this whole time.
“What are you doing here?” I squeak at Rudra, blood rushing to my face and filling it with heat.
“Waiting for the two of you,” Rudra says, still grinning.
“Does privacy mean nothing to you? I’m still in bed!”
“Chill, Krishna,” Priti says. “He came in, like, a minute ago.”
“And where’s the trust?” Rudra says, putting his legs down, eyebrows raised. “You literally took a shower in my room last
night.”
I fight the urge to pull the blankets up over my face and cover myself. My cheeks are fever hot.
“Back up,” Priti says, her eyebrows knitting. “You took a shower in Rudra’s washroom? Why?”
“There was no hot water.”
“I just took a shower. It was perfectly warm.”
“It wasn’t last night.”
I can feel Rudra staring at me from the corner of my vision and get the feeling he thinks I lied to him. Great. Priti has
me pinned with a suspicious glare, tinged with possessiveness, and it’s similar to the one yesterday, except this time she’s
not even being subtle about it.
“Whatever,” I say, breaking the silence. I hate this. “I’m going to change.”
“Thank you,” Priti says, throwing her hands up in relief.
Rudra gets to his feet as I swing my legs to the side of the bed, muttering darkly under my breath.
“I’m going to my room,” he says. “Give you your privacy.” The cheeky asshole pauses just outside the door, dropping the final bomb. “Also, you left your clothes in my room last
night, so I brought them back for you.”
I glare at him as he walks out, the truth hitting me much too late.
Oh no.
Oh fuck no.
In my hurry to leave his room last night, I left my dirty clothes, my dirty underwear in his room!
Why does this sort of thing only happen to me?
Priti’s staring at me with her eyes narrowed again, and if I don’t get up now, she’s going to fling another sock at me. The
bed and cozy blankets implore me to stay as I get to my feet, and I’m so sleepy I want to throw a tantrum again. But I remind
myself I can sleep in the car (fuck the rules about all of us staying up, I don’t care) and somehow muster the energy to get
ready.
Because I took a shower last night, I just need to brush my teeth, wash my face, and change. I grab my short, white, sleeveless kurti, a pair of high-waisted shorts, white eyeliner, and silver jhumkas, hoping it’ll all blend into a cute outfit.
But when I go stand in front of the mirror, I’m horrified to find a pimple poking out the side of my face. And it’s one of
those pus-filled monsters that get uglier and bigger as the day moves along. Plus, they hurt like hell.
Could this day get any worse?
It does. It gets worse. And not just your regular mishap. Things go to shit. Smelly, diarrhea-induced shit.
But I’m not surprised. It’s been building up to this.
Rudra’s car doesn’t start.
When we get in, he tries. Presses the ignition button, shifts gears, does some other stuff I don’t really understand but find
hot (wrong time and place, Krishna), and even gets out to open the hood.
He jumps back in shock as white smoke starts curling out of the engine. For a moment, I think the car’s going to blow up and
I’m going to die a virgin, but he walks back to us and speaks through the rolled-down window.
“It’s a gasket failure. The engine’s overheating.”
“What does that mean?” I squeak. “Is it going to explode?”
Rudra’s lips twitch. “Um, no, but you both should get out of the car while I figure out what to do.”
It’s the way he says I that gets me, because Priti looks even more blank than I do, and that’s saying something.
We hop out of the car and stand to the side as Rudra looks up the nearest mechanic. As always, a few creeps in the parking
lot stare at us, especially at Priti’s stomach and my legs, and Priti throws them a sharp glare.
“Fucking sons of bitches,” she mutters.
It’s a miracle how no matter where in the world we might be, there’s no shortage of unemployed randos who happen to be up at eight in the morning to ogle us as if they’ve never seen girls before.
Rudra gets on a call, pacing the gravel in front of the car, and I stand there uncomfortably, watching Priti and the men have
a staring contest. Priti looks like she’s about to stomp up to them and give them a piece of her mind, but I prefer not to
engage. Especially not this early in the day.
Rudra gets off the phone. “I called the mechanic. He’s on his way.” He notices the men staring and steps in front of the two
of us protectively, his jaw locking. “Let’s head in and get some breakfast until then.”
“How long will it take him to get here?” Priti asks, arms crossed over her chest.
“Fifteen minutes. I told him the car’s overheated, but we’ll have to wait to find out.”
“Back up. The car will need repairs?”
“It might need repairs. And a gasket failure leading to a coolant leak means it needs to be replaced, usually, so it should take a
day. Less if we tell them it’s urgent.”
“A day?” Priti and I shout at the same time. She looks just as horrified as I feel.
“That is going to put us behind schedule!” she cries.
“We won’t get there on time!” I exclaim.
“Aren’t the shaadi and reception the day after tomorrow?” Rudra says, surprisingly calm. “We’ll be a day late and you’ll miss
some of the shaadi, but you’ll still get to see Amrit.”
That’s true. I bite my bottom lip. “Yeah, but we won’t get back in time for my flight home.”
The thought of having to back out after making it to Pune is stressing me out, but Rudra sounds confident when he says, “We will, don’t worry.” He’s beginning to look antsy. I think the sight of those men leering at us put him off. “Can we head in?”
But Priti’s too agitated to notice. “The shaadi is the day after tomorrow, guys!” she says, looking about ready to throw a
fit. “What if—what if, um . . . Amrit leaves right after the shaadi and doesn’t even attend the reception?”
I raise my brows. “Amrit is going to be there until the reception, Priti. He’s leaving the weekend after.”
“This is bad. This is really bad.”
“Priti,” Rudra says pointedly. “What is actually bothering you?”
“Yeah, I’m supposed to be the one panicking about not making it in time,” I say. It’s so strange Priti’s acting like this, and only
weirder that Rudra has no clue what’s going on either.
“It’s just—” Priti looks flushed, at a loss for words. “I’m sorry if I don’t want this trip to be an absolute waste of my time. I have so much to get done back home and instead I’m here, stranded
with you both.”
“Balls,” Rudra says. “I’ve known you since fifth grade. I know when you’re lying through your teeth.”
“We’re not exactly stranded,” I say. “And I think Rudra and I are great company.”
“Okay, jeez, stop ganging up on me,” Priti says, seeming to quickly realize we’re cornering her to get her to cave. “Let’s
just go inside. Please. I’m hungry.” She huffs and marches toward the restaurant, escaping our questions and leaving Rudra and me exchanging glances.
Again.
“You really don’t know what’s going on with her, do you?” I ask.
“I don’t,” Rudra says, and his eyes are brimming with hurt as they follow Priti, despite how hard he tries to hide it.
He’s down so bad, it makes me feel sorry for him.
I’m indifferent to Priti’s intentions—as long as her desperation gets me to Goa, I couldn’t care less.
But I can see that it’s bothering Rudra.
“I have no clue what’s gotten into her lately. ”
I’m reminded of something similar Srishti said to me during the house party after I told her I’d seen Priti crying: I know she’s always avoided you, but usually she’s at least cordial with the rest of us. I’ve barely spoken a word to her
this time. Who knows what’s going on with her?
“Can I ask you something?” I say, and purse my lips thoughtfully.
“Yeah?” he asks, and turns to find me staring (fuck).
“During the party, Priti was crying when I rushed out onto the balcony to throw up.” Relating the incident to Rudra, despite
him having been a witness, is still embarrassing. “You were comforting her. Did that have something to do with whatever’s
going on with her now?”