Chapter 16 #2
Priti’s stare is burning a hole in my cheek, but I’m not going to look at her. Not after what—whatever that was—happened.
Luckily, the bus rolls to a stop just then, bouncing over gravel and lifting everyone’s attention off us, including Priti’s.
“Pit stop,” Jalaj says, checking his watch. “You have fifteen minutes.”
All of us file out. Priti and Digha rush to the bathroom while the others enter the dhaba we’ve parked in front of. I will
need to pee eventually, but I’m not a huge fan of public toilets. I’d rather attend nature’s call in the bushes during the
trek.
Plastic chairs and tables have been arranged within the dhaba, and there are a few groups of truck drivers seated within.
I feel self-conscious at first, because I’m in my shorts, but they don’t really spare us a glance, which is new and, honestly,
welcome. We sit down, and I settle back against the plastic chair.
Varun asks, “Chai, anyone?”
“Yes, please,” I say immediately. I can feel the beginning of a deep sleep starting to creep into my eyes, but I have a whole night of trekking awaiting me. Sleep needs to be gotten rid of as soon as possible.
All the six college guys opt for chais. Charu and Rudra grab a Maaza and a Red Bull respectively from the refrigerator at
the far end of the dhaba. A bright white light buzzes above us, and I’m grateful to have applied Odomos before we came here
because there are mosquitoes under the table and flitting lazily over our heads.
Rudra and Charu take seats on either side of me, and I try my best to not look at Rudra as he pops open the can of Red Bull
and starts gulping the thing down. Within seconds, he’s emptied the can. His tongue sticks out cutely to take the last few
drops, and I tamp down any thoughts of having his tongue in my mouth before they can sprout up.
Rudra yawns, covering his mouth with his hand. “God, I needed that.”
“Clearly.” For some absurd reason, I feel like ending our conversation on clearly would be unimaginative, so I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “That duet back there.”
Rudra glances at me. “What about it?”
Fuck me.
Seriously, fuck me.
I just had to say something, didn’t I?
Got an awkward conversation or topic to tackle? Don’t worry, Krishna Kumar will dive headlong into it!
“Our voices go well together,” I say, the million Krishnas in my brain hurling curses at me left, right, and center.
Rudra sets the can on the table, dragging his finger in a circle along the rim. “You’re a beautiful singer.” He clears his
throat, shifting in his seat. “Uh, I mean—you’ve got a beautiful voice.”
I smile teasingly at him. “There’s nothing wrong with accidentally calling me beautiful.” Wait, why did I say that? What genetic mutation in the forty-six chromosomes that my parents passed onto me went this wrong?
Rudra fiddles with the hem of his sleeve. Wait, am I making him nervous? “I meant your voice, but if I had to call you . . .
that, it wouldn’t really be accidental.”
I stare at him, my heart picking up pace. “What do you mean?”
Rudra scans my face, his pupils blowing. “I mean. It’s the truth. You being—beautiful. Not accidental.”
If I were a cyborg, all my parts would probably fritz at this very moment. But I’m not, and I have no wires (that I know of),
so I manage to get out a mumbled “Thank you.”
Rudra may be flirting with me—again!—but this is the first time Priti isn’t even here. So if he isn’t doing this to try to
make her jealous, does that mean Rudra has meant everything he’s said?
I’ve had my share of crushes, like what I had for Amrit—no, like what I have for Amrit—and they’ve all been accompanied by that squishy warmth within, as if torching my insides. And butterflies, so many
of them, flapping a violent rhythm in my stomach. Nothing about these feelings is out of the ordinary, special, or new. What
it is, what this is . . . is unexpected.
I’ve never found Rudra attractive in the sense that I ever gave him a second glance and went damn. The first time I realized he even remotely fell into the attractive category was when Srishti pointed it out to me during
the house party. And I need that easy humor and charisma in people to be drawn to them—the sort of ease Shah Rukh Khan oozes
in all his movies.
Rudra is the opposite. He’s not like SRK from any of his movies. He’s like Sidharth Malhotra’s character, Abhimanyu, from
Student of the Year, I think. My type is Shanaya. Not Rohan. And certainly not Abhimanyu.
Then why Rudra? And why now?
A waiter gets us our chais, pulling me out of my rant. I cradle the paper cup in my palms, letting the steam waft over my
face. There’s something about dhaba chai that remains unmatched when compared to the chai they sell at bigger, posher places.
Every sip is full of flavor, and I can taste so many spices at once—elaichi, adrak, laung, dalchini, and even a hint of haldi.
“Uff,” I sigh. “This has to be one of the best chais I’ve ever had.”
“Really?” Rudra asks.
“Second it,” Varun says, slurping loudly as he sips. Frankly, it’s the only correct way to drink chai.
“Take a sip,” I say, holding the cup out to Rudra. He takes it from me, and his fingers brush mine briefly. His touch is cool
from clutching the Red Bull can. It contrasts sharply with the heat of my hands, and the sensation makes my pulse vault.
Rudra sips the chai from the exact same spot on the rim where my lips were a second ago. The action draws my attention to
his mouth. He swallows, making that damn protruding Adam’s apple bob again.
He passes the cup back to me, and I sip the rest of the chai, hyperaware of the fact that Rudra’s lips were on my cup. I wouldn’t
be if it were anyone else, but it is Rudra, with his pretty lips and pretty lashes. And this time, without any guilt or regret, I wonder what it would be like to kiss
him.
To kiss Rudra.
But before I have the chance to take my thoughts any further, Priti and Digha return, giggling as they take the two vacant
seats left for them, one beside Rudra and the other beside Varun.
My muscles tense as Priti glances at me, dragging the plastic chair forward. It’s silly to think someone might know what’s going on in my mind, but with Priti it almost seems possible. Rudra pulls her attention away by sliding the menu toward her.
I’ve let this trip get extended beyond measure. We should be checking into that hotel in Goa right now, and I should be gearing
up to meet Amrit tomorrow. Instead, I’m being put into these exasperating situations and warring with thoughts of kissing
someone I barely spoke to until a couple of days ago. I long to talk it out with Srishti, but she’s going to be incognito
until Tuesday, and it’s all on me to handle this, without her blessed advice.
It’s just one more day; I’ll be in Goa tomorrow, I tell myself, gulping down the jealousy that stings the back of my throat when I notice how Priti’s and Rudra’s knees accidentally
touch under the table. This unexplainable dynamic, tension, and affection between them wasn’t my problem to begin with. I’m
just here to get to Goa and hopefully never have to see either of them again.
I take in a deep breath, convinced.
I can do this.