‘Thank god for the toothbrush then. We might be spending another night here if they are diverting,’ she says.
There’s a crick in my neck because of last night. I’m sure I won’t be able to survive another night on these ergonomically cruel chairs. ‘And I don’t think Urban Company will allow another delay.’
‘That’s what you’re worried about?’ she says with an impish smile.
I watch the board. The plane has been ‘on time’ for nearly an hour now. They should be close.
‘They’ll probably be so tired,’ Aditi says.
‘I want to add here that I will be overseeing the packing while you guys will be in a hotel. Probably getting a spa or something.’
She frowns. ‘Do I look like someone who gets a spa done?’
‘Is there a specific type?’
‘Like Megha. She looks like one. Model types,’ she says.
I smile. ‘Okay, what do you think Megha does exactly?’
‘I don’t know. Flight attendant? Or HR? Influencer?’
‘She’s preparing for the NET,’ I answer. ‘Mathematics.’
‘Oh, nice!’ she remarks. ‘So both of you are, like, maths, analytics kind of people?’
‘I mean, she’s much better at it. She’s enrolling herself in a PhD as well.’
She shrugs and a sadness comes over her. ‘Actually, I don’t know the type. I’m just an unemployed MBA graduate like thousands of others.’
‘Don’t be too hard on yourself,’ I tell her. ‘You will find a job.’
Though I know it’s not easy. The market’s shit and there are hardly any non-toxic, well-paying jobs for freshers from average colleges with no experience. Maybe she knows that I’m lying because she falls silent.
I check the time. 6.54.
The board still says ‘On Time’. How could it not have landed and still be one time? Fucking glitch.
ETA: 6.57.
Then 6.59.
Then 7.01.
Still ‘On Time’.
Still no messages.
We both look up again.
Nothing has changed. But somehow, everything feels slower. As if the board itself is waiting for someone else to decide what to do. Aditi gets up and paces, then returns to her seat. The plane should have landed by now. I look outside and rain’s heavy so maybe...
‘Why hasn’t it changed to “Arrived” yet?’ she says, too casual for how her foot is bouncing. ‘Did it get diverted again?’
‘It might take time to update,’ I tell her. ‘Traffic or rain maybe slowed the taxiing.’
She doesn’t reply. She’s now checking FlightRadar on her phone.
Then she pauses.
