Chapter 25
My Duty as a Passenger Princess Is to Promptly Fall Asleep for the Whole Ride
Goa, Monday
When Priti returns, a dance to her step, we head downstairs to where the car’s parked, packed and ready to leave.
“You look way too chipper for someone who just got back from an all-night trek,” I comment, grimacing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Priti says, practically skipping to us.
Charu, Digha, Varun, and Jalaj have come downstairs to see us off, and as I load my stuff into the trunk of Rudra’s BMW, I
feel a wave of melancholy wash over me.
Although my interaction with Priti’s cousins has been brief and I’m no stranger to uprooting myself from a place entirely
and leaving everything behind—I did it when I was ten—I still feel sad. The chances of meeting them again are slim. Their
lives are headed in such wildly different directions than mine.
I shake hands with Jalaj and Varun and hug Digha and Charu, giggling when our heads knock together. Priti joins in, and we stay there, bundled together as if we’re players huddling before a game. We exchange numbers, promising to keep in touch.
I walk to the front of the car and open the passenger-side door.
Priti gapes. “Wait, you’re serious? You’re going to let me have the back seat?”
“You fetched the car, so this is, like, the least you deserve,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “I’ll navigate.”
Priti blows me a kiss, and my suspicions about her being extra happy because she’s meeting Mansi tomorrow are confirmed. It
doesn’t stop me from being taken aback, even though things are better between us now. I’m not used to Priti Gaikwad blowing me kisses.
Once our last goodbyes have been said, we buckle ourselves in and wave until the four of them have disappeared around the
gate, and then we’re off.
The rest of the trip to Goa is so much longer than I thought it would be. I navigate for a couple of hours, but as the sun
slowly sinks into the horizon, my eyes start shuttering closed, try as I might to keep them open.
I doze off and only come to when Priti shakes me awake. We’re parked on the side of the road, hazard lights turned on.
“Come to the back seat. We can’t have you navigating like this,” Priti says, but the rest of her words are blearing together
in my head, and I’m slowly falling asleep again.
Minutes later, I’m being unbuckled from my seat.
Even through my sleepy haze, I get a whiff of Rudra’s scent, my cheek smushed against his chest as he lifts me into his arms like a baby.
His muscles are taut under my knees and head, and he’s holding me firmly like he’s never going to let go.
But he sets me down in the back seat too soon, much to my dismay.
I mumble something garbled to him—even I fail to fully comprehend what I’m saying—and he ducks toward me, trying to make sense of it, so very close, but Priti says,
“She’s just sleep talking,” and he starts to move away.
I grab the front of his T-shirt, eyes closed, knowing he’s there just by the warmth radiating from his body. “Don’t go,” I
whisper, and I don’t know whether he hears me and chooses to ignore it or whether he can’t hear me at all, but he pulls away,
gently prying my fingers from his T-shirt.
“What was that?” Priti asks.
“Nothing, she just grabbed my shirt. Her grip’s strong even in her sleep.”
The back seat door slams shut, and the rest of their conversation fades away. I don’t know if this is all a dream, but it
feels too real to be one. Rudra’s form against mine felt too real.
The next time my eyes open, a dim porch floodlight is shining down on me, and I can hear voices again.
I groan, placing my arm over my head to block out the light. But the voices keep talking, and I’m so parched my throat hurts.
I drop my arm and prop myself up on my elbows, squinting out the window through the light.
It’s dark outside, the night sky bordered by trees, and it takes me a second to register that those are palm leaves and that . . .
We’re in Goa.
The floodlight settles in my vision and I spot Rudra and Priti talking to a plump middle-aged lady—probably Mummy’s age or older—by the gate of a multistory building. They’re laughing, and the lady hands Priti something. Keys, I think, as metal glints in the light.
I check my phone. It’s half past twelve—we made it in the nick of time. I reach for the bottle in the cup holder between the
passenger and driver seats and am relieved to find it nearly full. I down the contents in one go and set the empty bottle
down before opening the car door.
At the sound, all three of them turn to look at me, and Priti says, “There’s our devil.” But her tone’s not condescending.
It’s almost . . . affectionate.
“Hello, sweetheart,” the lady says, smiling cheerily down at me.
She’s got Anglo-Indian looks, as most Goan people with Portuguese descent do; fair skin that’s not white, light-brown eyes,
hair a mousy shade and threaded with silver. She’s wearing a soft cotton maxi nightdress that’s pastel blue, like the sky
during the trek today, with pink and yellow flowers bordering the hem. She has a slight accent, not too distinct unless you
listen closely.
“Hello,” I say, smiling back as I walk up to stand between Rudra and Priti. “I’m sorry—it’s been a long day.”
“Yes. These two were just telling me. It’s a wonder you made it here at all.”
“Yeah, like we mentioned, it was a family emergency,” Priti says, not missing a beat. “Thank you so much for letting us check
in so late, Ms. Fernandes. We really appreciate it.”
“No worries at all, sweetheart.”
She guides us inside the building. It’s quite cozy-looking, with a glass staircase and wooden banister leading to the upper
floors and an elevator right opposite it. There’s no lobby, since this isn’t a hotel but rather a beach house they rent rooms
out of.
Priti booked this place because it was safe, owned by a lovely couple, and in a quieter part of Calangute, North Goa. There’s a dining room and bar up ahead, with exquisite oakwood furniture and polished glasses and bottles arranged in rows along the counter.
A sardar ji is lounging on the leather couch inside, snoring softly. Ms. Fernandes giggles as she presses the button to call
the elevator. “That’s my husband. Don’t mind him. He wanted to stay up to ensure you kids were okay and safe, but he’s had
a busy day and more than one glass of wine to drink.”
The elevator arrives, and we pile all our luggage inside until there’s no space left. Rudra presses the button for the second
floor and shuts the lift door, and we start climbing the stairs. Golden chandeliers have been hung intermittently on the ceiling
of the stairway, and the glass panes looking to the outside of the building reflect the light, throwing our mirror images
back at us. There’s an ache building in my calves, an aftermath of the trekking, but it’s a relief to move again after being
cramped in the car for more than eight hours.
Ms. Fernandes quickly shows us around our rooms. They’re pretty spacious. There’s a living room with a black faux-leather
pullout couch, a glass coffee table, and a television. Swiggy’s available if we’re hungry and want to order something (she
recommends ordering from this Punjabi restaurant a couple of miles away that’s open twenty-four/seven).
There’s a bedroom farther inside with a double bed, one lamp on either side, huge wardrobes, and a bathroom that’s so clean
it sparkles. I step in and am pleasantly surprised to find there’s a tub within with jet sprays, a shower curtain partitioning
it from the toilet.
I can’t wait to take a nice long bath in it tomorrow before going to the wedding and pulling off our chaotic plan to sabotage it.
But the thought of Mansi’s fiancé and what he might go through tomorrow if Mansi calls off the wedding fills me with guilt.
Now I’m thinking maybe I don’t deserve to even have a decent bath.
“There are three bathrobes and three sets of towels for your face, body, and hair inside the wardrobe,” Ms. Fernandes says,
opening the huge oakwood doors.
“You’re supposed to use three different towels for each?” Rudra asks, but I can tell he’s joking.
I burst into laughter and Priti nudges him. “Idiot.”
“It’s up to you if you want to use all three, though it would be the more hygienic option.” Ms. Fernandes chuckles. “There’s
also a locker in here,” she continues, showing us how to reset the passcode. “Aadyant and I will be in our room on the ground
floor, so if you need anything at all, just dial zero on the landline and I’ll send one of my helpers up.”
“Thank you so much, Ms. Fernandes,” Priti says, smiling up at her. She looks so pretty and radiant when she smiles, with her
straight, pearly teeth. “You’ve been wonderful and such a huge help.”
“And thank you for staying up and waiting for us,” I add.
“Oh, you lovelies.” Ms. Fernandes reaches over and clasps our faces in between her palms, one after the other, and I giggle
when she pecks Rudra on his cheek. His eyes widen, but he manages an awkward smile as he pulls away, cheeks filling with color.
His reaction is so freakin’ cute . . . I can’t.
Ms. Fernandes says good night and leaves the room. Priti immediately turns to us, an excited glint in her eyes. “So where
do you guys want to go?”
“What?” I say blankly. “Why would we go anywhere?”
“Duh, because it’s Goa? And we’re literally in the heart of it?”
“Priti,” Rudra says, running a hand through his hair. He looks so tired; I can see it in the creases that have formed under his eyes. “We just got here. We need rest.”
“Ruds, how many times are we going to come to Goa together?” Priti grips his shoulders with both her hands.
“I know that, but—”
“No buts! I’ve come here with my family, and you’ve been here with your friends multiple times, but we’ve never been here
together!”
“Priti, he’s been driving this whole time, and we spent all night out on that trek,” I say. “Look at him! He looks like he’s
about to collapse to the floor right now.”
“Dude, come on.” Priti lets go of Rudra’s shoulders and grabs mine. Oops. That means she is about to work her wiles on me
now. “Listen. You’re going back to Portland this Wednesday. These kind of impromptu Goa trips don’t happen. You know what they say. Goa trips are always planned, but they never pan out. You remember how the cousins were thinking
of coming here for Divija didi’s birthday, but it never happened? This is a miracle. Us three, here.”
I’m tempted to remind her that she was the first one to back out, saying she had a college event, and that she never really cared if I was even there or not.
But there’s a sort of earnestness in her eyes that I haven’t seen in a long, long time. It doesn’t feel put on, or fake, like
she’s giving me the puppy eyes just to get me to agree, the way she did with Nani. She’s genuinely trying to make an effort
to heal things between us. The way I am.
And I can’t crush that. That’s not me. I don’t do that. Any tiny chance I see of things getting better or working, I try my
level best to see it through.
“But we’re heading out tomorrow anyway,” I add. To be honest, I’m not against the idea of going out for a bit. I got my well-needed sleep in the car. It’s Rudra I’m worried about. “We can see Goa then. Right now, we should really get some rest.”
“Krishna, you can never see Goa enough.” Priti leans closer to me, her dark eyes boring into mine, making it impossible to
look away. If she’s trying to hypnotize me into saying yes, it’s already working. “How about this? We’ll just head out to
Baga Beach—it’s only ten minutes from here by car—grab a couple drinks, eat some good food, and get back in an hour.” She
flips toward Rudra. “What do you think? We’ll only go if you want to.” She pauses, shoots him a wicked grin, and shrugs. “Just
reminding you that the drinks here are unmatched.”
Rudra sighs, and I see his resolve crumbling. “All right. One hour can’t hurt.”
Priti turns to me, clapping her hands together like a little kid. How did I even consider bursting her bubble for a minute
there?
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll come.”
“Prepare to have the best hour of your lives!” Priti says as she does a little dance, before rushing over to her duffel bag,
throwing it open, and pulling clothes out fervently.
Rudra and I exchange a small smile. And I know what he’s wishing—that this moment of elation and happiness she’s having doesn’t
get crushed forever tomorrow.