Chapter 13
Not Arguing with a Boy Who Has Dark-Brown Eyes and Long Lashes—Whatever You Say, Baby Girl
Pune, Saturday
For the trek, I borrow a pair of loose nylon shorts and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt from Digha. Jalaj said we’d get food and water
at the trek site, so I leave the rest of my belongings behind and carry just my fanny pack with a few essentials.
While we’re waiting for the minibus Jalaj’s club booked for the group, I twist my hair into a knot and secure it with a butterfly
clip. Frankly, I’m exhausted, but the excitement at the prospect of seeing fireflies and camping out tonight overshadows that.
We’re all sitting in the boys’ bedroom, soft songs playing through Jalaj’s portable Bluetooth speaker in the background. They’ve
turned on the cerulean fairy lights strung along the walls of the room.
Priti, Charu, Digha, and I are on the lower bunk; Varun is perched on the beanbag, Jalaj on the desk chair by the study table, and Rudra on the floor on the opposite side of the room, back resting against the wall, right under a gaming poster.
He looks better since he threw up outside the paratha place, having claimed repeatedly afterward that it was worth it because
we won.
The boys are all on their phones, Charu’s head is bent over her Kindle, and Priti and Digha are whispering furiously to one
another. Again. It’s not that I’m curious or anything, and at first, I try my level best to focus on my audiobook. But they’re literally
sitting right next to me, and I can’t help but overhear what they’re saying. At some point, I press pause, but I keep my AirPods
in so I don’t look suspicious, eyes trained on my phone screen.
“You have to know what you’re doing is really brave,” Digha is saying, her voice soft.
“Brave?” Priti says, and I’m shocked to hear the vulnerability and . . . fear in her voice. It’s so unlike her to let her
guard down like that. “I feel like I’m about to shit my pants.”
“What are you so afraid of? Rejection?” Digha shakes her head. “You’re still following each other, and it wasn’t even you
who sent the re-follow request.”
“I know, but a re-follow request doesn’t prove someone’s still in love, right? You do that when you’ve already moved on.”
Oh my fucking god.
Priti had a breakup. And recently, by the sound of it.
It sort of explains why she’s been so detached and bitter this entire vacation. This has to be why she was crying on the balcony
during the house party.
I can’t help but feel sorry for her when I’m reminded of the way she attempted to conceal her tears that day, even though
it was so visible. I can’t forgive her for everything she’s said and done either, but if I had a breakup, I would take forever
to recover from it. Or maybe it’s just me who’s made that way—I tend to get attached too easily.
Then again, despite how prickly she is, Priti would—literally—kill you if you hurt someone she loved.
She’s fiercely protective and feels everything on a magnified level.
I know, because I have experienced firsthand what it’s like to be hated by her.
And people who can hate someone like that .
. . can also love someone with an equal level of ferocity and measure.
“What about the likes on your posts, then?” Digha is saying, and my attention drifts back to their conversation.
“Likes are inconsequential.”
“DMs?”
“I haven’t gotten any. I told you that.” Priti shoots a glance in my direction. “I think we’re being too loud.”
Oh shit, I’ve been looking.
I duck my head back down to my phone and pretend to scroll through something, being the opposite of subtle. I don’t want Priti
to think I’m eavesdropping, or that I care about what she shares with Digha. Because I don’t.
But the bits and pieces of their conversation I overheard replay in my head, and wheels start turning, slowly at first, then
faster. Puzzle pieces fall into place quicker than I anticipate.
When Priti excuses herself and goes to the bathroom to take a dump (damn, she really did need to shit her pants earlier),
Digha joins Varun on the beanbag, lightly threading her fingers through his short, mossy hair. And in that moment, I wonder
what it is about Digha that makes Priti connect to her in a way that she can’t connect to me. It’s not like they live in the same city. From what I’ve gathered, they rarely meet.
Yet Priti has managed to maintain a solid relationship with her.
“Isn’t it a relief to see her like this again? Happy?” Jalaj says suddenly. Digha doesn’t say anything; she shoots Jalaj a
pointed look, which he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Who?” Varun asks blankly.
“Priti, you idiot,” Charu says.
“Oh.” Realization crawls back over Varun’s face. “Oh, yeah, she was depressed as hell, bro.”
I frown, glancing at Rudra, wondering if he knows what they’re talking about. He looks less befuddled than I do, but it’s
obvious he’s paying close attention to what they’re saying, like he’s looking for clues.
“Depressed?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’m not sure, but I think she had a breakup or something,” Varun says.
Bingo.
I glance at Rudra again, and this time, realization is blooming in his eyes. So he does know about this. And so do the rest of her cousins. Everyone knows, or at least has an inkling of what’s happened, except
me.
“And frankly, we couldn’t ask because we were afraid she’d bite our heads off,” Varun says, throwing his hands up defensively
when Digha shoots him a glare. “What? She can be scary sometimes.” He turns to Rudra. “Please don’t tell her I said that.
Unless you want me dead in a ditch.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rudra says matter-of-factly.
“We did think it was someone from Powai, though,” Jalaj says thoughtfully. “Because Priti was doing an internship there last
year.”
“Okay, can we stop talking about Priti?” Digha says suddenly and firmly. “I don’t feel comfortable doing this behind her back,
and neither should you.”
Jalaj, Varun, and Charu exchange guilty looks, changing the topic.
My eyes drift to Rudra.
His gaze is distant, focused on the artificial wall creepers swaying in the cool swish of the AC.
He’s wearing the same T-shirt from this morning and a borrowed pair of tracks.
His hair is down again, gathered behind his ears, and he fiddles absently with a black tie wrapped around his wrist. His lips are pursed in thought, forming the shape of a small Cupid’s bow, fascinatingly delicate.
I get off the bunk, walk over, and sit cross-legged against the wall next to him. He flicks his gaze to me, dark eyes reflecting
the blue fairy lights, lashes enviably long. It’s so unfair how boys can go around walking with lashes like that while I have
make do with my mascara.
Up until this moment, I never thought blemishes, acne scars, or pimples could be pretty, but Rudra’s features are so sharp
they almost fit. Perhaps all those people who told me it’s pointless being conscious of those bad-skin or random-zits-popping-up-in-the-worst-spots
days were right. Because when I look at him, I don’t notice them as separate, glaring entities that stand out and distort
his face. Instead, they’re just part of him, part of who he is, never taking away from how striking he is.
I’m so mesmerized by how he looks I nearly forget what I came here to talk to him about. But he blinks at me questioningly,
and I snap out of my trance.
“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat. “Are you feeling better?”
Rudra scratches the back of his neck. I don’t know if he’s blushing, because the lighting doesn’t show it. “Yeah. But that’s
not why you came over, right?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Priti’s breakup?”
“Not exactly,” I say, biting my lower lip. Rudra glances at it once, then back up at my eyes, and I lose my train of thought.
“I mean—I—uh, not about her breakup specifically. But I’m wondering how come you don’t know why she’s headed to Goa.” Too harsh, Krishna?
“What do you mean?” Rudra says, sounding a little . . . put off, as if I’ve said something wrong.
I try again. “I was wondering why you barely seem to know anything.”
Jesus.
I can tell by the way his eyes fill with hurt that I’ve only made this worse.
“It’s not like I don’t know anything,” Rudra says. Oh god, I feel like I’ve kicked a puppy.
One last time. Please don’t mess this up.
“I’m sorry, I’m just—This is all coming out wrong,” I say, twisting toward him fully. Facing him squarely might help. “I should’ve
put it in a better way. I didn’t mean to sound like you don’t care or that Priti doesn’t—”
“It’s fine,” Rudra says, cutting in. At least that hurt look in his eyes has dimmed. “I get it. I knew she was dating someone
in Powai, and I knew she had a breakup, but I don’t know who her ex is or why she wants to go to Goa so badly.” He licks his
lips, and they shimmer in the blue light. “That’s what you wanted to know, right?”
“Yes,” I say. He looks the complete opposite of the cold, unapproachable guy I’ve known him to be all these summers. “And
I’m not going to ask you about Priti’s relationship because it doesn’t concern me. But I can tell you’re bothered by her hiding
these things from you.”
“I’m not bothered,” he insists, though his expression says otherwise.
“Fine, you’re not,” I say gently. “But I know it can be scary when someone keeps secrets and you have to hope they don’t make
you drift apart.”
“That’s because Priti . . .” Rudra says her name like it’s a prayer. “She means everything to me.”
Something cracks beneath my ribs right then, discomfort sprouting all along my body. I don’t know why. It’s not like I’ve been in love with Rudra for years and am having my heart broken because of the realization that I’ll never match up to Priti in his.
It’s a crush, barely a day old, nothing compared to the decade-long relationship Rudra and Priti share. But I can’t help but
feel envious of how he speaks about her, as if he’d make the earth rotate backward for her.
Part of me wants to believe I’m just jealous because I’m lacking that in my life. It makes me feel foolish for doing all this,
putting in all this effort to reach Amrit even though I don’t even like him in that all-consuming way you’re supposed to,
let alone love him the way Rudra loves Priti.
I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone like that.
The other part of me knows it’s because it’s Rudra—whom I somehow never noticed my entire life, all the years I’ve known him. Whom I’m discovering for the first time, even
though he’s been around this whole while. He was like a fossil in a quarry, right in front of my eyes, always there, existing,
seemingly unimportant. And suddenly, in the exasperating way that life works, I dug him out, seeing him . . . no, more than seeing him, far too late. Because he and Priti are meant for each other.
There’s a boy less than a day’s journey away from me, a sweet, smart, beautiful boy who likes me back. Who isn’t hopelessly
in love with his best friend. Who will be the perfect person to ride pillion with into the summer romance of my dreams.
Yet, here I am, slowly falling for Rudra Desai.