Chapter 31
If You’re a Heartbroken Goth Lesbian, Muse Is Tailor-Made for You
Goa, Monday
Priti lets out a shriek so loud Rudra and I have to clamp our hands over our ears.
“Jeez, Priti!” I cry.
“Guys, what the actual fuck?” Priti places a hand over her heart and turns off the music she’s been blasting. She’s wearing
her all-black lehenga choli, the same FUCK YOU fit she wore to one of our relatives’ weddings.
The choli is a tube-style, fitted bodice blouse; the skirt flares out, glittering with hundreds of black sequins; and a shimmery
gossamer chunni is thrown over her left shoulder. The choli is about the length of a bra and the lehenga is low waisted, so
it shows off almost her whole torso.
“You’re so pathetic,” I say, and if our horrible fight had happened before this trip, I might not have been able to even look at her.
But right now, my relief outweighs my anger.
Because we made it, and although the likelihood of convincing Priti to take the plunge in the nick of time seems implausible, I’m willing to try.
Because even though we’ve hurt each other beyond repair, I want to see her happy again.
Last night I got a glimpse of a version of her that I haven’t seen in eight years, and I want that Priti back.
“Gee, thank you, Krishna,” Priti says, shooting daggers at me with her gaze. She flips to Rudra. “Why the hell are you both
even here?”
I place my hands on my hips. “Considering I’m the reason we’re on this road trip, in Goa, in the first place, the answer should be pretty obvious, shouldn’t it?” I’m looking at Priti, but from the corner of
my eye, I can’t help but notice Rudra’s features twist with hurt. A flicker and then gone.
Priti’s eyes flash with anger. “So you’re still going after Acharya, are you?”
I can’t believe she’s turning this on me! Again!
“That’s not—” I groan in frustration. “Stop diverting the conversation, Priti.”
“I’m not diverting anything. Last I checked, you and Rudra were screwing.”
“We weren’t screwing!” Rudra and I protest in unison. Our eyes meet, and both of us flush.
Priti sees it, the red all over our faces, and barks with laughter. “And you were calling me pathetic.”
“Cut the crap, Priti,” Rudra finally says. Thank god—I was getting jittery waiting for him to say something. “I’m sick of
your tantrums, and I’m sick of your lying.” Rudra glances at me, and we both realize, at the same time, that it’s now or never.
We need to tell Priti that we know about Mansi, tell her what we’ve been planning. It’s not sunset just yet. We don’t have long, but it’s enough to turn things around for Priti. It’s enough to sabotage this wedding.
I let out a heavy breath. Then I take her hand. She startles, like an antelope caught in headlights. It would be funny if
the situation weren’t so serious.
“Tell her, Rudra,” I say.
“We know you’re here because of your girlfriend,” he says. “Mansi Joshi. The one you dated in Powai and broke up with a while
ago. We were supposed to help you stop her wedding, but you hightailed it here without us—in my car, mind you—so we came here
on a borrowed bike to find you. We discussed the possibility of you chickening out, which is why we’re here to tell you to
get your shit together.”
“Guys—”
“No, we’re not going to listen to any more of your crappy excuses,” I interrupt. “There’s still time, and we can find a way
for you to catch Mansi before she ends up making the biggest mistake of her life by marrying this Soumyaroop dude. But we
don’t really have a plan either, so we’re just going to have to wing it. We initially wanted you to have a talk with Mansi
before the wedding, at noon, but, well . . . all of us overslept.”
“Krishna, what are you—”
“I was thinking we could empty the buffet table so you could get on it and profess your love for Mansi just before—”
“Krishna,” Priti says, clamping her right palm over my mouth, cutting off the rest of my words. There’s shock written all
over her face. “Rudra. You idiots. Stop for a minute.”
I mumble into her hand in protest. Priti holds up her other hand, shaking her head, and we give in. She shuts her eyes, furrows
her brow, and clucks her tongue.
“Okay,” she says after a minute. Her eyes open, and she drops her left hand, sucking in a long breath. “First, I don’t know how the two of you figured out I was here to meet my ex-girlfriend, but good detective work, I guess. Maybe I wasn’t nearly as slick as I thought I was.”
Rudra and I roll our eyes in unison.
“Nuh-uh,” I mutter through her hand.
“Shh. I’m not done.” Priti scoffs. “I didn’t come all the way here to ruin this stupid wedding. I don’t even care about it. The only reason I’m here in the first place is because Krishna happened
to propose her wild-as-fuck plan to me and I knew my ex-girlfriend would be here, and I was free, so it just sort of . . . fit?”
“Nah-nah-nuh?” I ask. Can I talk?
Priti sighs, letting her hand fall.
I gulp, eyes wide. “But why wouldn’t you care about the wedding when your ex is the one getting married?”
“Because, dufus,” Priti says, slapping my head lightly, “Mansi Joshi isn’t my ex-girlfriend. Nikita Joshi, her younger sister,
is.”