Chapter 22
My Ego Is Literally Going to Get Me Killed One Day (And That Day Might Be Today)
Prabalmachi, Sunday
After I get back to my tent, I’m prepared to lie awake, physically unable to sleep a wink and replaying each millisecond with
Rudra over and over in my head until I’m sick to the core.
But when I collapse next to Priti, heart beating a mile a minute, I fall asleep almost instantly.
It doesn’t last long, though.
A couple of hours later, Priti shakes me awake, grumbling about how we need to leave for the second half of the trek right now, and how if I don’t wake the fuck up, she’s going to make me smell her sock again.
At the sock threat, I sit up so fast the speed disorients me momentarily.
My head is throbbing, as if someone is slowly hammering away at my skull.
But this time, I don’t protest at Priti’s utter lack of humanity because the moment I register where I am, what I’m doing, and why I’m here, it all comes crashing back to me.
Everything.
Rudra, standing achingly close to me, looking up at me, deep-brown eyes illuminated in the light of a hundred fireflies, his
hand braced on the slope of my neck, a million tender emotions swimming across his face. I shut my eyes, brows knitting, and
every moment with him plays in my head like a movie, captured in high definition.
Everything I feel when I recall those moments with him—it’s all too real and raw. It’s funny how when it was all happening
to me, I felt like I was wading through a dream, but now that it’s part of my memory, branded into my brain, it feels realer
than ever.
Rudra and I almost kissed last night, and the thought of it makes every square inch of my skull ache. I don’t think I can
look at him ever again after what happened. After I rejected him.
I wrap my arms around my chest, ducking my head so my temples touch my knees. I think I’m having a migraine. My eyes are burning,
and my eyelids are stitched together so tight that trying to open them feels like trying to pry the lid off a can. My whole
body is shaking because it’s chilly. I didn’t realize how cold it was until now.
Rudra was so warm yesterday is the first thought that comes to my mind. He exuded heat, standing so close I would’ve only needed to take a step forward
to fall into his arms. Steal some of that warmth.
“Krishna?” Charu says, poking her head in through the tent’s flap.
“If you don’t move your ass this instant, we’re leaving you behind,” Priti says from somewhere outside the tent, her voice
dripping with annoyance. I’m a little surprised at the harshness of her tone. Didn’t we reach an equilibrium last night? Why
is she speaking to me like that?
I wish I could just shut my eyes again and slump back, crumple into a ball, and never get up again.
That’s when Rudra speaks up, making my heart nearly stop. “It’s okay if she can’t go for the second half of the trek. Maybe
she’s just tired. I can stay back with her if that would be better.”
Priti lets out a sound that’s halfway between a scoff and a shocked burble. “Dude. Don’t encourage her.”
“No, no,” I hear myself say before my body shimmies out of the tent of its own accord. My hand grabs my bag, slinging it on
as I sluggishly get to my feet. I feel hungover—no, worse than hungover. It’s even colder outside, and my teeth chatter as I get to my feet. “I’m coming. I’m ready.”
Priti mutters something under her breath before stomping away to the group that’s gathered by the extinguished bonfire from
last night. Ohmygod, what’s her deal? I groan, too exhausted to think about what might’ve made her sour again.
My eyes take a second to adjust to the barely dawning sky. My hair is still in the braid from last night, so I just have to
push a couple of strands away from my face and behind my ear. The thought takes me back to the feeling of Rudra’s fingers
deftly braiding my hair, movements gentle and smooth.
I shift my glance to Priti, who has the most rotten look on her face and refuses to glance in my direction or even acknowledge
me. Great. Just when I thought things were finally getting better between us, Priti’s officially giving me the cold shoulder
again.
“You’re shivering,” a voice says from a few feet away, and I turn, heartbeat ratcheting.
It’s Rudra. He looks just as tired as I do, purple bags hanging beneath his eyes, hair pulled into a messy ponytail.
It looks like he woke up a minute before I did, because the sleep hasn’t left his eyes and most of his hair has spilled from his ponytail.
A few blades of grass stick out of his hair in a haphazard manner.
Despite myself, I nearly melt at how adorable he looks.
“I’m okay,” I say, barely able to look at him. My chest twists painfully, and I’m just so tired. I can’t stop picturing the
hurt expression on his face, his pitiful scoff when I asked him if he wanted to kiss me and he responded with Does it matter, Krishna?
Of course it matters! When it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t matter because I made my choice yesterday, and he knows it. Which is
why I don’t get why he’s still being so nice to me. It’s a complete contrast to Priti’s behavior right now, when he has every
reason to be angry with me and she has no reason to.
I literally turned down Rudra for her.
“Here,” he says suddenly, taking off his dark-green hoodie. He holds it out to me, and I stare at it, touched by the action.
Then back up at him, his eyes, his hair, his lips. The urge to kiss him is so strong I have to pinch my palm to stop myself.
“Thank you.” I take the hoodie from him and slip it on. He’s about my size, so it fits me perfectly. It’s soft, and really
warm from having hugged him. It smells like him. The scent is faint, but it overpowers me with the memories it brings back
from last night.
He starts walking away to join the others, and once I’ve (sort of) forced myself to forget everything that’s happened with
him, I follow.
We take the same path through the trees that Rudra and I took last night, then trail along the fork to the left this time
and pass the archway, now dark, with only a few stray fireflies. Nothing like the sight we saw last night.
The sky slowly lightens, a rich blue mixed with a palette of orange and yellow oozing out of the horizon.
The dawn light seeps through the trees, and the forest doesn’t seem nearly as intimidating and spooky as it did last night.
In fact, it looks harmless, really. Just trees, rocks, and grassy inclines.
Not the sort of place you’d find a bear. The difference is jarring.
The chill is gone, and I’m sweating again by the time we take our next pit stop. I remove Rudra’s hoodie, tying the sleeves
around my hips.
There’s a small wooden stall to our right, where a wrinkled man with snowy-white hair sits in front of a wooden plank, an
array of items strewn before him. A pyramid of fresh green cucumbers; piles of bright yellow lemons; a couple of knives; jars
of red chili powder, salt, and sugar; and a stack each of paper plates and newspapers.
Behind him, the view is glorious. A wooden railing looks out over a wide green valley radiant in the morning sun, surrounded
by misty mountain peaks and rocky slopes. I walk to the railing and peer over the edge, heart beating rapidly against my chest.
It’s a solid drop from here, and if I fall, I’m sure I’ll be skewered by the rocks before landing in the thick pockets of
trees, body never to be found. The sunlight prisms out from behind the mountains, enveloping everything in a warm glow. The
view steals my breath with its beauty, yet terrifies me all the same.
To our left, there’s a steady rocky incline, all smooth stone. A rope snakes down it, but there’s no harness or support otherwise.
“Is this the end of the trek?” I ask hopefully, staring at that single rope with mixed horror and apprehension.
Varun laughs. “Oh, no.”
“This is where the actual climb starts,” Jalaj says, pointing to the rope. “We go up that rope to a set of stone stairs, then
climb a vertical wall, and finally, we’ll reach the peak, where there’s a Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Mandir.”
Varun guffaws at my horrified expression. “?? ?? ?? ?????? ??? ?????? ??? ???? ??? ???? ??????”* That’s Shah Rukh’s dialogue from the movie Om Shanti Om, and it does nothing to calm the nerves that have spiked in me at Jalaj’s words.
I swallow thickly. “Do we—do we all have to go?”
“No,” Jalaj says. “Since this part of the trek is the most challenging, do it only if you think you can and truly want to.”
This is not what I signed up for. I thought we were going to see some fireflies, sleep in tents, and light a bonfire, that’s all. This
is getting too ????? ?? ???????* for me to digest.
My hesitation is painted across my face in bright crimson, and the others immediately notice it. Priti shrugs. “You don’t
have to come if you don’t want to, Krishna. There’s no pressure.”
Why is she speaking to me all of a sudden? Her words instantly make my ego swell, and the pungent taste of competitiveness presses the
back of my throat. And I know that like I always do, I’ll regret it and curse myself later if I stay behind. Or, more likely,
when I tumble to my death down those rocks. “No. I’ll come.”
After a few minutes of taking photos posed against the gorgeous view, we order a round of nimbu panis. I also ask for a plate
of spiced kheera chaat and watch with fascination as the old man bisects the cucumber lengthwise, then rubs the insides with
red chili powder and salt. He places it on a paper plate and hands it to me.
I take it from him, mouth watering at the sight of the spicy kheera slices on my plate. It’s funny how I never imagined something
as simple as sliced cucumbers seasoned with chili powder and salt could look so delicious.