‘What are you talking about, Meena?’ Chhaya asked.
Meena must have noticed the shift in mood. She was shaking her head. ‘Yeah,’ she said, smiling suddenly. ‘Let’s change the topic. Let’s not talk about that creep.’
‘But,’ I said, still in a daze, ‘what were you doing having all those lunches and dinners with him when he was the one who was hitting on you and you were ignoring him?’
‘You know how it works, hon.’
‘No, I don’t. Tell me.’
‘We were mates; it’s not like we were strangers. We had to meet. He was in a big city, and I tried to help him out. You know me; I’m the friendly, helpful sort.’
With every word Meena uttered, a layer of her mask was peeling off. It’s incredible what you see when you view people without spectacles powered by affection.
‘Why would you give him an expensive phone on his birthday? Why would he block you?’ The words came out of my mouth really slowly.
It was late now, and the bar was slowly emptying. Meena’s hand was on her knee; she looked like she was getting ready to get up.
‘How does all this matter now? You and Andrew are history.’
‘Were you and Andrew in a relationship in the US?’ I asked.
Meena blinked. ‘We were friends, we always were. Even when the two of you were dating.’
I was freaking out; my hands were shaking. ‘So you had a fight? A falling out?’
‘Listen, I’ll be very happy if we stop talking about Andrew. He’s nothing to me, and hopefully, nothing to you. It was an ugly chapter in my life, and if you must know, he chased me, relentlessly. I was fobbing him off because I knew how deeply you felt for him.’
‘But you bought him an iPhone…’ Chhaya said. I think she was screaming, too.
‘He asked me to buy it for him.’
‘Low maintenance! Buy me a Jag!’
Nothing of what Meena was saying was making any sense to me.
Andrew had chased her, hit on her.
They met for countless lunches and dinners.
She gifted him an expensive phone; he blocked her on WhatsApp.
‘Why?’ I asked the question.
Meena lowered her head and looked directly at me. ‘My relationship with Andrew is mine; yours is separate. If you have any questions, you ask him,’ she said.
Chapter 10
I was wriggling my backside into running tights when my phone lit up. One of my social media handles was on fire.
I was obsessing over a kurta a Bollywood actress was papped in after a family function. It was vanilla edged with sprinkles. I couldn’t ascertain the label even after reaching out to her agent. That’s how hard I tried.
I wanted to know the price. Instagram had worked it out for me perhaps. An arm and a leg.
I’m not a kurta person, but there were days when I romanced it like no one before me. I didn’t run around trees, singing songs. I sashayed between desks, taking my time, and sometimes, on an evening out, I held it up with a glass of fine gin. I don’t wear traditional attire to hide behind it, go out and about in it.
I tapped my phone, and Andrew Brown’s angular face was smiling at me.
Well, good morning, even though it was a little too late for that. But what in god’s holy name was Andrew Brown doing on Pooja Patil’s – PPpicks – page?
