‘Yeah,’ I say, putting my phone away. ‘But my parents were quite manipulative... She’s fifteen. She can’t win against them. They threatened to kill themselves if I married Megha. I told them they wouldn’t. They’re just scared people, living scared lives, obsessed with what others think.’
‘You said that to them?’
‘My dad came at me, wanted to hit me, but stopped. I think he realized I wasn’t a kid any more. I was bigger than him. AndI think they knew it too when they called her a... a two-paise slut.’
The words still taste like acid.
I continue, ‘Papa left the house. And Shilpi was with Maa all night. Consoling her. That’s when I knew she would not come with me.’
‘We shouldn’t have to go through this,’ she whispers.
I look at her. ‘I’m sorry. I just told you what I did because these little lies we tell to survive, these things that we hide—they blow up later.’
‘What kind of lies?’ she asks.
‘The easy ones at first,’ I say, the memories come flooding in. ‘“Yes, I’ll tell my parents, Megha.” “No, they’ll definitely agree, Megha.” “I’m sure they’ll come around, Megha.” Then they got bigger. “No, they don’t think you’re bad.” “I’m not having second thoughts.”’
‘I get it,’ she says, nodding slowly.
‘So now she and I have decided not to hide anything. We don’t have to be alone even in the only relationship we have left.’
She leans back into the bench and sighs.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t want to dump all this on you.’
‘Thank you for doing that,’ she murmurs.
I find myself going back to that same day. Shilpi in Maa’s room, and me, in mine, feeling utterly alone. That’s when I feel Aditi’s hand on mine.
‘You know it’s good to have someone in the same boat. Unfortunate, yes, but...’ she says, her voice trailing off. She’s quiet for a moment, then a small, mischievous glint appears in her eyes. ‘Good for us?’
‘For us?’
‘I mean, think about it,’ she says, her eyes suddenly bright. ‘We could be each other’s couple friends, no? We could meetevery Saturday and bitch about our families? Won’t that be cool?’
I know what she’s trying to do. Yank me out of my thoughts. That’s kind of her because it works.
‘I wouldn’t say cool. Therapeutic? Maybe,’ I concede.
‘Now all we want is for Megha and Aman to get along,’ she says. ‘Aman’s pretty likeable.’
‘Megha’s not likeable?’ I ask, raising an eyebrow.
‘Megha’s hot, no? Hot people can’t be trusted too much,’ she says, and then when she sees me frown, she adds, ‘I’m sure Megha is likeable too.’
I smile.
‘I’m going to doze off for a bit,’ she says.
She puts her head against her backpack and closes her eyes. I too lean my head back against the cold plastic bench and close my eyes. Eventually, sleep wins. For maybe ten minutes.
And in those ten minutes, I dream.
The sounds are muffled, distant. The sharp, clinical white of the airport walls seems to glow. In the dream, I’m standing at the arrivals gate. The doors open, and Megha walks out. She’s wearing the dress she wore on our first date, but her face is tired. She doesn’t look at me. She walks past, smiling at someone else, someone behind me. I turn to see who it is, but there’s no one. Just an empty corridor reflecting my own confused face. Then Aditi is beside me. She says nothing. Just holds out a boarding pass. The flimsy paper feels cold in my hand. It has my name on it, but no seat number. Just the word:Standby.
I wake up with a jolt. Sweat on my forehead. For a second, the harsh airport lights feel like a continuation of the dream’s strange glow. My heart’s racing for no real reason.
Dreams don’t mean anything. I’m not stupid.
