three Liar Liar Pants on Fire
three
Liar Liar Pants on Fire
Neil and I had been sitting beside each other for the last forty minutes. Despite the silence between us, my mind refused to quieten.
Why did he keep glancing my way? Was he onto me? What had I said to give it away? My eyes stayed glued to my screen, but the words and images blurred together. I clicked through random tabs, pretending to work, as if I wasn’t falling apart inside.
I had gotten away with this lie for over three years. Three whole years. I just had to get through one internship cycle without this guy connecting the dots.
There was another stretch of silence. Another flick of his gaze. And then, casually, he spoke. ‘You know, it’s kinda crazy we never ran into each other at NYU.’
My fingers froze over the trackpad for a millisecond before I forced them to keep moving. ‘Well, it’s a big university. Besides, we were in different batches and courses.’
You’re overexplaining. Stop. Play it cool.
‘Yeah, but still. I might’ve remembered an Indian girl’s face.’ He clicked his pen against the desk. ‘Where did you usually hang out?’
I racked my brain for an answer, but came up short.
I knew nothing about NYU’s campus. I had never even been to New York.
Whatever I knew about the city, I’d learnt from F.R.I.E.N.D.S.
And I was pretty sure Central Perk was a fictional coffee house.
So, if he wanted to quiz me on Joey’s best lines, I’d ace it. Otherwise, I was screwed.
But this wasn’t just going to go away. I needed to give him something—anything—to get him off my back. ‘I wasn’t very social. Spent most of my time at some of the cafés near campus,’ I managed to say, forcing myself to meet his eye.
Yes, cafés. Safe.
‘Oh, yeah? Which ones?’ he asked.
‘There were a few.’ I shrugged.
He tilted his head, his long lashes casting faint shadows against his cheekbones as he studied me. ‘No favourites?’
‘Um, not really. I liked to switch it up,’ I said, pressing my lips into a thin smile.
He hummed. A thoughtful, slow sound that made my skin prickle.
Inside, my brain was screaming at me. Why hadn’t I done any research about the university?
It wasn’t like I hadn’t had the time. Three years was plenty to memorize a few key details, to map out the campus, to prepare for a moment exactly like this.
But that was the thing about lies—when you told them enough times, they stopped feeling untrue.
I had repeated this one so often, let it settle so comfortably into my identity, that I had stopped thinking of it as something that needed maintenance.
It was just a fact now. A fact I had created.
And because no one had ever really questioned it before, I’d assumed no one ever would.
The only time I ever had to worry about keeping my story straight was during my interview with Rajat. I had told him casually, like it was no big deal, that I had studied at NYU. And when I saw his face light up, I knew I’d cracked the code to impress him.
‘How come it’s not on your CV?’ he had asked, squinting at the printout in front of him.
‘Oh, it isn’t? I must have printed out the older version.
Sorry about that,’ I had said, lying with a confidence I didn’t know I possessed.
And he hadn’t pushed. He simply moved on to asking me a few generic questions about what I’d studied and how my experience had been.
I had answered easily, throwing in safe details—big campus, great professors, rigorous coursework.
Nothing too specific, nothing he could catch me on.
Later, after I had received the offer, I went back and quietly edited my LinkedIn profile to update my education.
I’d even photoshopped my name onto a diploma, but the HR here never bothered to ask me for it.
The lie had settled so smoothly into my life that I had forgotten that I was not equipped to defend it. Until now.
‘Kenzo’s gonna be so bummed you don’t remember him.’
My pulse jumped.
I turned to him again, keeping my expression neutral. ‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. I texted him just now,’ he said, holding up his iPhone. ‘It’s probably too early in the morning for him, but knowing Kenzo, he’ll have a lot to say when he sees my text. He was always up in everyone’s business … I’m sure he’ll remember lots about you.’
My fingers curled under the desk. This was it. The thread was unravelling. And Neil refused to stop pulling.
Just then, my phone began buzzing inside my handbag, saving me from further interrogation. I lunged for it, running out without even glancing at the screen to check who was calling.
‘Hello,’ I spoke into the phone when I reached the elevator lobby.
My mom’s voice was stricken with anxiety. ‘Kavu, where are you beta?’
I exhaled sharply, pressing the phone to my ear like it was a life raft. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you for calling. You are the best.’ My voice came out shakier than I intended, my breath still uneven from the conversation I’d just escaped.
‘Huh? Beta, where have you been? You didn’t call me in the morning and haven’t responded to any of my texts either. I was worried sick!’
I leaned against the wall next to the elevator, squeezing my eyes shut for a second, willing my heart to stop racing. ‘I’m fine, Ma. I was just—’
What? Trapped in a situation that threatened to undo my entire professional career? ‘I got caught up with something.’
‘Caught up?’ she repeated, agitated. ‘So much that you couldn’t even send one message? Not even to let me know you’re alive?’
There was no point in telling her she was being dramatic.
My mother had a talent for anticipating disaster.
It made her exhausting on ordinary days and invaluable on extraordinary ones.
Like when the first Covid wave hit and everyone else was busy forwarding WhatsApp rumours, she spent all her free time making lists of local doctors, oxygen suppliers and emergency contacts.
By the time the second wave rolled in, she had become a community hero.
But she didn’t know how to prepare for me moving to Mumbai. The unknowns had multiplied and she couldn’t be there to manage them. Which meant that if I missed even one of our scheduled check-ins, plus the occasional midday update, her mind immediately spiralled to the worst-case scenario.
‘Sorry, mom. I know I should have texted,’ I said, trying to sound sincere.
‘You say this every time,’ she huffed. ‘And every time I tell you, it takes two seconds to send a message. Two seconds, Kavu! If I don’t hear from you, what am I supposed to think?’
Apparently, that I’d been kidnapped, fallen into a ditch or abducted by aliens. If only my life were that interesting. ‘Okay, okay, calm down. I’m sorry and I’m fine. Completely unharmed. Just having a busy day at the office,’ I said.
She let out a gust of air and I could picture her sitting down on the chair next to the landline.
I didn’t know anyone else who still had a corded home telephone, but my parents refused to get rid of ours.
It’s cheaper, they always said, even though they basically had to pay extra to maintain the landline along with their mobile packages.
‘Okay, fine. But don’t do this again. You know my BP goes up every time you go missing,’ she complained, but the sharp edge of her panic-laced voice was starting to smooth out.
Blood pressure. That’s how she always categorized her anxiety, because it felt more medical than emotional. I promised her I’d text her regularly, even if I was in the middle of something.
‘Good,’ she said and paused. When she spoke again, her voice had softened, ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You sound … off.’
I swallowed. The thing about my mother’s anxiety was that it wasn’t just irrational panic—it also made her hyper-aware of the smallest shifts in my tone, my breathing, the pauses between my words. ‘I’m fine, Ma,’ I lied smoothly. ‘Just a long day at work.’
‘Hmph.’ She wasn’t satisfied with my answer, but she also knew better than to push when I wasn’t ready to talk. And so, she moved on to her favourite topic. ‘When are you coming home, Kavu? Did you speak to your boss about taking a leave?’
‘Not yet, mom. But soon,’ I said, brushing her off.
‘Bhaiya’s returning from his MBA soon and you haven’t even planned anything yet? You know how much he’s been asking about you.’
I shifted uncomfortably, the knot in my stomach tightening at the mention of my older brother.
It’s not that I didn’t want to go back to Mussoorie.
I really, really did. And I had enough leaves saved up to take a week-long break, maybe even ten days.
But the thought of spending time with him ...
Well, it wasn’t exactly a warm, fuzzy feeling.
My brother and I had been close growing up. He’d always been the overprotective one, the guy who’d drop everything to make sure I was okay. But things started to shift when I began dating his childhood best friend, Arjun. And they completely changed when I ended up breaking up with Arjun.
Now that he was visiting home after completing his MBA in Ahmedabad (and had no looming semester exams to keep him from meddling), I knew he’d try to talk Arjun and me into getting back together.
What’s worse, I knew it wouldn’t take much to persuade Arjun.
So, yeah, I was putting off going home until my brother had left for his new job in Delhi.
But I couldn’t tell my mom that. So, I assured her I’d talk to Varun in a day or two and try to figure out the leave situation.
After a few more rounds of questions about my health, and whether or not I was eating and sleeping on time, she finally hung up.
The conversation left me unsettled, and thoughts of Arjun continued to linger in my mind.
But my ex could wait. Because a much bigger disaster was waiting for me inside the office.
The walk back to my desk felt unnaturally long. It was almost as if my legs knew how much trouble I was potentially in and wanted to delay what seemed inevitable for as long as possible. But Neil wasn’t at his seat.
I sighed with relief and settled in my chair. A quick scan revealed that he was sitting inside Varun’s office. An overwhelming wave of panic washed over me. Had he figured out my lie about NYU? What if he was ratting me out to my boss right now?
Craning my neck to get a better view, I tried to decode their body language.
Varun looked calm and collected, as always.
His elbows were on the table, and he was engrossed in whatever my intern was saying.
Neil’s back was to me, so I couldn’t read the expression on his face.
His broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt as he leaned slightly forward, but his posture wasn’t threatening.
After a few more minutes of blatantly staring at him for cues, I let myself get back to my computer screen.
In all likelihood, they were probably just having a chat about Neil’s first day. I’d seen firsthand how much importance Rajat had given him. Perhaps he’d instructed Varun to suck up to Neil as well?
I forced myself to stop overthinking. Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s going to be okay. Everything will be okay.
I tried to focus on the banner I was supposed to be designing today, but my eyes kept darting back to Varun’s office, to Neil’s muscled back.
My fingers hovered over the mouse and the cursor blinked back at me, patiently waiting for me to snap out of my thoughts.
I opened Pinterest for inspiration, but my mind was spinning too fast to focus on the images in front of me.
A ping went off and a chat box appeared on my screen.
Tanya: Your intern is the new office heartthrob! I just heard Saloni gushing about how cute he is.
Two seconds later, another message popped up.
Tanya: And she’s married!!!
It was just like Tanya—always so light, so carefree, so ... oblivious. I wanted to respond, maybe point out that his looks were probably just God’s way of distracting us from his complete lack of skills, but I couldn’t bring myself to type. Not when I was in the middle of a full-blown crisis.
I had never told Tanya the truth about NYU.
At first, I simply thought it was ill-advised to share a secret like that with a coworker, even though we were fast becoming close friends.
And later, it just felt easier to go along with it.
There was no real reason for me to make that kind of a personal revelation or burden her with my confession.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her; it was just ...
easier this way. At least, that’s what I had told myself.
I looked at my watch. It was 4 p.m. One hour before the end of my shift.
My eyes flicked towards Varun’s office. Surely, Neil would be back soon enough.
The thought of facing him again and answering his questions made me feel nauseous.
And what if Kenzo had responded to him already?
No, I couldn’t do it. I needed more time to come up with a plan.
But if I left right now, today would be counted as a half day. That was our office’s stupid rule. Every employee had to spend a minimum of seven and a half hours in the office for their full-day attendance to count. It didn’t matter if we left one minute before the cutoff.
A half-day deduction on my salary wasn’t as much a financial blow as it was a personal insult.
My salary, honestly, didn’t even merit that term.
It was more like pocket money. I was pretty sure the chai-stall owner under my building made more than I did.
So, the thought of giving the corporate gods the satisfaction of docking my already ridiculous pay cheque on a technicality felt like a bigger loss than it actually was.
I glanced back at Varun’s office. Their conversation seemed to be winding down. Neil was pushing his chair back, ready to get up.
I shook my head and reached for my bag.
Screw it. Half day it is.