Chapter 22 #2
I sit on one of the wooden planks next to Charu, closing my eyes as I bite into the fresh cucumber, the flesh cracking satisfyingly between my teeth.
Maybe it’s the much-needed electrolytes in the salt and water from the vegetable, or just the simplicity of the chaat, but I love it so much I’m craving another plate when I’m done.
I shouldn’t overeat, though, as has been my lifelong tendency.
I can always have a plate on my way back.
We guzzle down our nimbu panis—again, incomparably delicious—and I watch as the college guys begin the ascent. The first one,
Padam Patel, is hoisted up by his friend behind him, and time drags as he stretches his hand out toward the rope and grips
it tight, knuckles poking out. My breath is trapped in my throat, and I set my empty glass aside, reconsidering my decision
to continue.
But I know myself. I will end up having the worst FOMO if I don’t do this. And that will be much worse than potential death.
It always is. At least when you’re dead you can’t feel anything.
One by one, the rest of the college guys scale upward toward the stone staircase, disappearing around the rock face. The rising
sun makes the jagged surface of the mountain shimmer as if there are shards of jewels embedded in the rocks.
And then it’s our turn.
Jalaj stayed behind for us because the college boys seemed confident enough to manage the rest of the climb on their own,
with another local accompanying them. What’s shocking to me is that these locals hardly use the rope, barely skimming it with
their fingers, cruising up the mountain in their chappals without a care in the world.
Varun and Digha go first, followed by Charu. Digha slips once, her hand scraping the rope, and I gasp, eyes scrunched closed to avoid looking. But luckily, Varun catches her in time.
Jalaj turns to us when the three of them have reached the staircase and stand perched on the rocks there, clutching the grooves
tightly. “Who’s going next?”
Priti turns to Rudra and me, and when neither of us responds, she sighs. “I’ll go.”
My heart is in my throat as Rudra hoists her up, her long leg nimbly propelling itself off his interlocked fingers. She finds
the rope, steadies herself, and starts scaling.
“Krishna?” Jalaj says, waving a hand forward. Rudra won’t go first, just like he didn’t last night. Which is good, because
I don’t want to be the last one left standing down here, and I’d rather Rudra hoist me up than Jalaj.
I nod, gulping, walking toward the cliff face. I survey the height. It doesn’t look like much, to be honest, but I’ll need
to make use of what little arm strength I have to get onto the slope and begin climbing. Rudra meets my eyes, a flicker of
emotion passing through his and then gone.
He gets down on one knee, forming a tiny hammock with his crossed fingers. There’s something so intimate about how he’s kneeling
before me, looking up at me with those endless brown eyes. For a wild fraction of a second, it looks like he’s proposing.
I send the thought flying out my head with a swift kick, my face burning.
“Go on,” Jalaj says.
I eye the nest of Rudra’s hands uncertainly. He did hoist Priti up quite effortlessly, and although she’s slimmer, she’s much
taller as well, so she probably weighs the same as me, maybe a little less. But . . .
“I don’t know if I should do this,” I blurt, looking down at Rudra.
“The trek?”
“No. The stepping-onto-your-hand bit. What if your fingers break or something?”
Rudra’s previously worried face splits into a smile, and my heart nearly skips a beat. “They won’t, Krishna. I’ll be pushing
upwards too.” I just love how he says upwards instead of upward and the way he pronounces my name. He enunciates the na correctly, unlike my American counterparts, who make it sound like nuh. “The momentum will prevent my fingers from breaking.”
I love the way he smiles, the way he looks at me. I love everything about him—
“Okay,” I say, snuffing out my internal monologue and the dangerous direction it was headed in. I gingerly lift my foot and
place it on his palms, hesitating when they dip with the weight.
“Trust me,” Rudra says. I can feel Jalaj looking at the both of us, and when I dare a glance at him, he immediately looks
away, a small, embarrassed smile playing along his lips, as if I’ve caught him eavesdropping on our private conversation.
Even though there’s absolutely nothing private about this.
I give in and put my full weight onto Rudra’s palms and feel a pressure propelling me up. I grab hold of the edge, leap, and
flail unsteadily for a few moments, hanging on just using my arm strength.
But Rudra’s hands grab my legs, pushing me up, and, using his help, I get onto the slope, breaths heavy as the rope slips
into my hands, instantly steadying me. It’s not as much the rope as it’s the feeling of its coarse threads brushing my palms,
assuring me that even if I slip, it’s there. I can just wrap my fingers tight around it and it’ll break my fall.
Just like Rudra will.
Some of the comfort leaves me as he lets go, stepping away and brushing his hands on his track pants.
I bite my lip and start moving. It takes a minute for me to gain the confidence to push my body up to standing, but after that, it’s much quicker.
I avoid the loose gravel, toes curling into the grooves on the rocks instead.
Priti helps me onto the first step, hands gripping my arm tight until I’m stable on my feet. The rope shudders when I let
go, undulating as Rudra and Jalaj make their way up.
I catch my breath, crouched on the step. My legs are shaking, and I need a moment to regain my balance, but I still snatch
my hand from Priti’s.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, noting my change in expression.
“I don’t get why you’re being mean to me again,” I say before I can help it.
Priti doesn’t look directly at me when she says, “I’m not . . . being mean to you.”
“And here I was,” I say, my voice cracking, “thinking that things could be all right between us again.”
“Krishna . . .”
Her voice trails off when Rudra joins us on our perch, flopping down in the empty space next to me. There are rivulets of
sweat trickling down the sides of his face, and he gathers his astray hair into a high ponytail at the top of his head, exposing
way more of his face than I’ve ever actually seen clearly.
I never noticed how sharp, almost pixielike, his ears are, and how there’s this delicate angle formed by his hairline just
behind his ears. And how small his forehead is and how I shouldn’t care anymore.
Rudra opens his mouth to ask what’s up. Priti continues staring at me helplessly, but I stand, dust off my shorts, and resume
climbing on my own.