Chapter 10 #2
Rudra shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” He doesn’t let on to anything more than that, but I can’t make out if he’s telling
the truth or simply avoiding the question. It’s not like he would be willing to reveal Priti’s secrets. “We should head in,”
he adds, although he does look thoughtful, brows knitted, as if what I said connected two invisible wires in his brain.
I nod quickly. So quickly I almost crimp my neck in the process.
“And seriously, don’t worry about making it back on time,” he says as we hurry away from the men in the parking lot. “If we
are late and the repairs take time, I’ll drive us back without stopping.”
I’m grateful for his reassurance, because with Priti and I both distraught, we need at least one person to be optimistic. And he’s the only one who’s not here for his own selfish reasons. He’s here for his best friend—and
her clown of a cousin. It’s rare to find people like that nowadays, who take time out of their own schedules to do things
for others.
“Thank you for doing this, Rudra,” I say, voicing my thoughts. “This whole trip.”
Rudra fidgets with his hands, resembling a human version of the two-shy-fingers-pointing-at-each-other emoji. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
We join Priti, who’s already seated at a table in the corner, and scan the menu. The variety is fantastic. And so much of
it sounds mouth-wateringly good. I’m famished.
Priti gets a paper masala dosa and filter coffee (she’s obsessed with South Indian food), while Rudra makes a comment about
how he wishes this wasn’t a pure veg restaurant and reluctantly asks for a plate of aloo paratha and achaar. I get some rajma
chawal. The service is swift, so I offer to wait at the counter while Priti and Rudra find a table, and carefully walk back
with the trays of food.
“Tell me vegetarian food lacks variety again and I will cut you open,” Priti is saying.
“You literally eat eggs,” Rudra says. He thanks me as I set down the trays.
“It doesn’t matter. My argument is about you nonvegetarians constantly reducing vegetarian food to paneer and aloo. Would
you have this variety in a nonveg restaurant?”
“Yes,” Rudra says, scooping up the aam achaar with a morsel of his paratha and popping it into his mouth. “Thrice as much.”
“Even when the curries and accompaniments are all vegetarian?” I say. It’s rare for me to find myself agreeing with Priti,
but I’m on her team here.
“But the taste. That comes from good meat.”
I roll my eyes. “Sorry, I stand firmly with Priti on this one. The argument is about vegetarian food apparently lacking variety,
which it doesn’t. Also, you’re Jain.” I recall Priti mentioning it once. “Aren’t Jains strict vegetarians?”
“Oh yes,” Priti says, brandishing her sambhar spoon at him. “He’s been lying to his parents for years now.”
I tut. “Not exactly a model son, then.” I spoon rajma chawal into my mouth. It’s steaming hot, spicy, and delicious. “You’ll
just eat anything that walks, swims, or crawls, won’t you?”
“Yes,” Rudra says, looking directly at me. “And I’m damn good at it too.”
My mouth goes dry. The rajma chawal gets stuck in my throat, and I have to swallow thickly to get it to go down.
Did Rudra Desai just make a specifically bisexual dirty joke and look directly at me while saying it?
Priti grimaces, flinging a bit of dosa at him, “Ugh, shut up, you dirty bastard!”
Okay, I guess I’m not making things up. Rudra did make a dirty joke. While looking at me.
That is the single hottest thing anyone has ever done in my presence.
I cough as the rajma chawal finally goes down, beating my chest with my fist and gulping down some water, anything to look
away from him.
Luckily, his phone rings, and he picks it up, raising a finger to excuse himself. As he walks away, Priti pins her stare on
me. “Are you blushing?”
“What?”
“Your face is blotchy.”
“No it’s not.” I bring my hands up and rub at my face, suddenly self-conscious. I didn’t think I could visibly blush, given
my brown skin tone. I’m not sure I like it.
“Wait a second.” Priti bangs her fist on the table. “You like Rudra.”
I’m at a complete loss for words. “What are you . . . I’m not . . . I don’t like Rudra.” I think I’m mildly freaking out. There’s no way Priti’s caught on to it already!
“You totally do!” Priti doesn’t look too chuffed about the fact. “I’ve never seen anyone look redder than you do right now.”
“That’s such bullshit, Priti! In case you forgot, I am on my way to kiss Amrit. Amrit, whom I spent my whole summer pining after, remember?”
“Puh-lease, it’s not like you guys were a thing anyway.”
“That doesn’t—” I huff. “You’re being ridiculous. It’s literally Rudra. I barely know him.”
“Look, I don’t care if you like Rudra or not,” she says, brandishing her spoon at me threateningly. “You’re not allowed to
date him.”
“I don’t even want to date him. I like Amrit!”
“Whatever. I’m not going to stand for my best friend dating you.” That last word is laced with so much possessiveness I feel like I’ve been barked at by a guard dog.
Before I can retort, Rudra walks back, running a hand through his hair. “They’re here. I’m heading out.”
Rudra leaves the restaurant, and I pointedly make sure not to look in his direction, instead staidly stare at my food, downing
mouthfuls. Priti starts using her phone, ignoring me.
I’m furious with her. And not because she thinks I like Rudra, but because of the way she said I’m not going to stand for my best friend dating you, as if that were the worst possibility ever.
Not that I’m desperate to date Rudra—I barely know him and I’ve already decided against encouraging my silly crush—but he likes Priti. And given the way Priti just reacted to the idea
of me liking him, I’m convinced she likes him too. We’ve all always suspected it.
A hot wave of irritation and anger surges inside me. It suddenly hits me that perhaps the reason why Rudra flirted with me in front of Priti was because he was trying to make Priti jealous. He knew whatever the fuck that comment was would rub her the wrong way.
Maybe this is all just his plan. Maybe I’m part of it. And maybe this is an elaborate game to elicit a reaction from Priti.
He seems like a nice enough guy, but I don’t know him well. Not the way Priti does. I’m just a ???? ??? ?????.*
That shouldn’t bother me, though, right?
I swallow my anger, realizing it’s pointless, and finish my food. By the time we’re done, Rudra’s back. I finally look behind
me, scanning the parking lot for the car.
It’s not there. It’s gone.
“I was right—the gasket needs replacing,” Rudra says, sighing as he sits back down. “They towed the car to their shop.”
“What the hell?” Priti exclaims. “How long is it going to take?”
“I don’t know. They said the repair itself should take six hours once they have the part, but they need to place an order
for a gasket suited to this particular model. I paid them extra, though, so they guaranteed they’d have it by tomorrow afternoon
at the latest.”
I groan. “That’s more than a day’s delay.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely apologetic, and the cute furrow of his brow gets me. Ugh, why is he so nice? “It’s
the best I could do.”
I’m shocked by how quickly my anger from moments before fizzles out. “It’s not your fault your car decided to malfunction.”
“We’ll have to drive until midnight tomorrow to make it to Goa in time,” Priti says. “You and I can alternate, Ruds.”
“No thanks, I can stay up,” Rudra says, finishing the last of his food.
Priti rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’ll call the owners of the place I booked in Goa and defer the stay.”
“What are we going to do for the rest of the day, though?” I say. “We’ve already checked out of our rooms.”
“We could rebook the place,” Rudra suggests.
“No,” Priti says. “We’re not spending two rooms’ worth of money right now. The repairs are going to be expensive, and we can’t
overspend.”
“It’s my car, and I’m not letting you guys pay. It was overdue for a repair anyway.”
“Thanks, but no thanks, Ambani.”
“You’re making this trip because of us, and we’re splitting all expenses,” I say. “How much does it cost?”
“Seven thousand rupees,” Rudra says.
Okay, that’s a lot. My parents have never denied me pocket money to spend on myself, but I don’t think I want to spend seven thousand rupees
on a gasket. I don’t even know what that is!
Rudra sighs, clearly noting the horror on my face. “It’s fine, honestly.”
“So the OYO’s off,” Priti says, grabbing her phone from the table. “Let me look up alternate options of stay.”
“In the meantime, we could do some street shopping at FC Road,” I suggest. “Unless that’s not something you’re into.” I direct
this at Rudra because I know Priti’s always down for clothes shopping. He just doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who
would roam around in the heat of the afternoon sun to look at cheap clothes. Have you seen the stuff he wears?
“Why would you think that?” Rudra asks, frowning. He doesn’t exactly sound hurt by what I said, but there’s a slight fall
in volume to his voice.
“I don’t know,” I say, hesitating, then remember that he’s always honest about his opinions of me. “You wear branded, expensive stuff. Stuff that’s bought in three-floored luxury stores in air-conditioned malls. Not in roadside shops.”
Rudra watches me for a moment before shrugging. “Sure, I wouldn’t buy any of that stuff, but I don’t mind going with you both. I’ve been to Linking Road with Priti.”
I’m bemused by his honesty, but what surprises me is how not vain he manages to sound. “Like, once?” I tease.
A smile tugs at Rudra’s lips (his very pink lips, I notice). “Twice.”
“How very noble of you to have graced Linking Road with your presence.”
“Oh well, it wasn’t too much of a burden to bear,” Rudra says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You never know if you’ll
find something worth keeping there. Like these jhumkas you like to wear.” He reaches out and pokes my jhumka to emphasize
his point, and it swings against my jaw, metal tinkling. I turn red, ducking my head.
My stomach is fluttering so hard I can’t help but squirm in my seat. But before I can string together a clever enough response,
Priti slaps the table. Rudra and I nearly jump.
“Wait!” Priti says excitedly. “How could I have forgotten? I have relatives here! From my dad’s side. The Sinhas. We could
go to their place.”
“Where do they live?” I ask, not sure if I want to hang out with my cousin’s cousins, much less stay over at their place.
I’ve met them once before, at a shaadi, but I don’t remember much; I was quite young.
“Hinjewadi. It’s super close to here.” Priti beams, looking between the two of us. The sight is unnerving. “What say?”
“I guess—” Rudra starts, and that’s all the encouragement Priti needs.
“Perfect, I’ll call them right now,” she says, hurrying out of her seat so fast her chair nearly crashes to the floor. She moves to the side to make a phone call to her relatives. And I suppose that’s the end of discussion.
Because once Priti is dead set on something, there’s no stopping her.