Chapter 27 Seriously, in Public?
Seriously, in Public?
Goa, Monday
We’re inside one of the bars in Baga Beach, seated on a sofa, sipping our drinks and eating fried, oily starters. Most of
the items on the menu were seafood and nonvegetarian; the only options on the veg menu were fried baby corn, aloo, and paneer.
I’m too preoccupied to be able to digest anything, so I nibble at my toothpick once I’m done eating one serving of the starter,
feet nervously tapping the floor. We’re on the outer edge of the bar, facing the beach directly, and the view is so breathtaking
I can barely get myself to look away.
The crests of the waves shimmer as some hawkers by the beach shine laser lights on the water, sending green streaks of lightning arcing over the undulating surface.
The night air is cool, tinted with sweat, perfume, alcohol, hookah smoke, and the heat of forms pressed close together.
The waves are tipped in white from the moonlight, and the midnight-black sea seems to stretch out forever, to no end.
On the beach, people walk on the sand, feet dipping in and out of the water, past tables set up for couples and small groups,
covered at the top like tents, pretty lamps and fairy lights frolicking in the wind. Deeper inside the bar, a band plays,
and the purple and pink lights illuminating them throw hued light all the way out to the deck where we’re seated.
Rudra is sipping Hoegaarden from a can—I notice that despite being excited about the alcohol in Goa, he’s holding off on getting
sloshed because he has to drive us both back. Priti’s clutching a whiskey sour, while I’m having a Jamaican passion Breezer
because it’s the least alcoholic drink on the menu and I’m not sure I want a repeat of what happened the night of the house
party.
While it’s impossible to get drunk on something with 4.8 percent alcohol content, I still feel dizzy. Because I can’t stop
thinking about Rudra and what happened in the car earlier—or rather, as is always a pattern with me, what didn’t happen in the car earlier.
We’re all three huddling for warmth and leaning close to have our words heard over the mayhem (even though it’s mostly Priti
engaging both of us in a conversation because Rudra and I don’t look at or speak a word to each other).
I don’t know why he would think I haven’t made up my mind. He must have been talking about Amrit, because what else could
it be?
Even though I was the one to misdirect him, make him believe I’m still in this for Amrit—can’t he see it, see the way I react to him whenever
he’s close? Can’t he see I was lying, that I’ve made up my mind already? Why do I have to tell him that outright?
But deep inside, I know that his confusion and frustration are justified. I did this to him—to us.
The more I think about it, the more my head aches. I set aside my drink after a bit, staring out at the ocean, mind swimming. I feel faint. I need air.
Just when I’m contemplating excusing myself from Priti and Rudra and taking a breather by the side of the beach, an emcee
announces that some world-famous DJ Sujin is in the house and that she’s ready to bring the roof down and wants everyone on
the dance floor. I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t hear the band stop playing, step off, and leave the stage.
A deafening cheer erupts around us, and Priti looks between Rudra and me eagerly. “Ohmygod, let’s go!” She leaps to her feet,
both hands outstretched.
At first, the two of us protest, but then she takes our hands and drags us to our feet, her grip astoundingly strong. I did
want a breather, didn’t I? And dancing is a good way of letting loose. It’s not like Rudra and I are going to find ourselves
in compromising positions together with Priti around.
“Fine!” I say, and Priti cheers, clearly a little inebriated from the alcohol. She did say the whiskey sour was a mild drink,
though, so it could also be her exhilaration paired with the atmosphere of the place. She kisses both my cheeks as I stand,
and the two of us turn to Rudra, who, at my surrender, has no choice but to oblige.
We follow the shuffling crowd to the dance floor within, the energy radiating from Sujin almost palpable as she screams, “What’s
up, Goa?”
The clamor that follows is so loud I have to clamp my hands over my ears. As we draw closer, I can see why Sujin commands
the crowd the way she does: she’s pretty, with curling dark hair and a winning smile, and plays a sick beat that builds to
a crescendo as we gather around her.
Priti’s still clasping my hand as we come to a stop in the middle of the surging throng. The three of us form a triangle, and it puts Rudra and me directly opposite each other. Our eyes can’t help but meet as the music builds, the energy crackling like electricity around us.
The beat drops, and everyone goes absolutely wild.
Including Priti, who cups her hands around her mouth and crows. I burst into laughter at that, and Rudra splits a grin. The
music oscillates over my skin, and my body moves of its own accord. The crowd insistently pushes the three of us close, and
I find myself nearly face-to-face with Rudra in the little vacuum left.
His hand comes up, and I stare at him in quiet shock as he places it on the small of my back, thinking he’s going to pull
me close and kiss me in front of Priti, right here . . . but he guides me to his side instead.
Seconds later, a throng of guys drunkenly crash into the spot where I was standing. Oh. I look up at Rudra, his hand fraught against my back as he shoots them a menacing glare.
“Hey!” he snaps sharply, making me start. “Watch where you’re going!”
My breath catches in my throat, and I think a fight might erupt between them, but then one of the men just raises his hands
in apology, smiling sheepishly before herding his friends elsewhere. I’m staring up at Rudra, stunned, as the group stumbles
off. His hand relaxes, then drops, and he tilts his head down toward me, eyes warm again.
“Are you hurt?”
No, I mouth, my voice stuck in my throat. They hardly had the chance to crash into me, he knows it, and yet . . .
“Are you okay?” Priti asks, stepping toward me, her eyes blooming with concern. “You’ll always find a pack of drunken guys
like that in clubs.”
“I’m good,” I finally say.
The assault of emotions I feel right now nearly makes me burst into tears.
Here’s Rudra, on one hand, whom I’m beginning to care for, who makes me want so much more with him, and then there’s Priti, my beloved cousin, my once best friend I’m so close to having in my life again.
My mind duels, swords clashing endlessly, because no matter what I choose, I’ll end up suffering a loss.
I step away from Rudra and let the music wash over me again, shutting my eyes. I dance like I’ve never danced before, feeling
my body turn damp with sweat, craving the distraction from the conflict roaring in my head. I don’t know how long I dance,
but at some point, Priti pats my shoulder, and I open my eyes after what feels like forever.
“I’m headed to the washroom. Be back in two.”
“Do you want me to come along?” I ask.
“No, you stay. Dance. You look like you’re really enjoying yourself.” She smiles. I did lose myself in the music there. It dragged me from my thoughts, which I’ve been needing for a while. “Just pay attention
to your phone. I’ll text if I have trouble finding you two again.”
Priti disappears into the dancing throng, leaving Rudra and me alone again.
Rudra stares down at me, his breath quickening. It’s such a contrast to how he was in the car, or with the group of boys.
My heart jolts with how he looks at me, as if he can see all my thoughts. And I wonder . . . will anyone else ever make me
feel the way he does? Will I ever again be capable of attraction, of romance like this? Why is it that every time, something gets in the way?
Priti didn’t want me with Rudra because she didn’t believe I could think with my head when it came to romance, but now that things are better between us, I could make her see it, couldn’t I? That I’m changing, and deserving of someone like Rudra Desai, if he wants more to do with me?
I step closer to him and wrap my arms around his neck. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat and his eyes widen when I raise
myself onto my tiptoes, speaking directly into his ear so my voice can only be heard by him. The music is softer, aiding me.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I say. “And you’re right. I needed to make up my mind, and—”
Rudra plants his hands on the curve of my waist, pulling away, his eyes pained. I think it might be the gravity of my emotions,
but he looks scared. Scared of what I’m about to say, of what I’ve made up my mind about.
“What?” I ask, my stomach in my throat.
“Not here.” He lets his hands fall from my waist, takes my hand, and guides me through the crowd. The throng fills the space
we previously occupied, the swarm of people parting ahead of us as we make our way back to our table. The music isn’t as loud
out here, and the sea breeze replaces the smoke inside. My body instantly cools, and I take in a deep breath as Rudra sits.
I sit next to him, shifting closer, and turn my body to face him entirely so that my knees brush the side of his thigh. He
glances down at the point of contact and then up at me, his pupils dilating.
“And?” he asks, unmoving but not tentative, not like he was on the dance floor a minute ago.
I pick up right where I left off. “And whenever I try to think about anything at all, all I can do is go back to thoughts of you. And thoughts of kissing you.” I pause, hyperaware of our proximity, my heart picking up speed inside my chest. I know I’m going to regret this later, but the way he’s looking at me right now, like he would crush his mouth against mine if I just let him, makes a fire ignite in my gut. “I want to kiss you, Rudra.”
Rudra says nothing, and I wonder if I’ve dreamt the past few days, whether I’ve confessed to wanting to kiss a boy who has