‘Why are you in my room?’ I ask.
‘Raghav’s is locked!’ says Tejal. ‘Anyway! Now show us the room! How is it? Is it fancy? Are you guys having fun?’
A familiar pang of guilt hits me, but I also feel a spark of excitement. I take the phone from Raghav and flip the camera, giving them a quick tour of the room, the balcony and the private pool. Sumrit lets out a low whistle.
‘Bro!’ he says. ‘But you guys deserve this. Seriously. Havefun.’
‘Yeah,’ Tejal adds, her voice softening for a moment. ‘Forget everything else. Just be there. And take many, many days off. We need the apartment.’
We all laugh. After we hang up, a comfortable silence settles between us.
Raghav looks at me, asks again(!) ‘So?’ he asks, repeating his earlier question. ‘Do you want to go out?’
I find myself nodding. This is the first time he has ever asked me this question, and this is the first time I have said yes to it.
An hour later, Raghav and I step out for a walk. The resort glows with a soft, expensive light, and so do the tourists, tanned and smiling. We find a scooter rental tucked behind a massage parlour offering deep tissue massages at throwaway prices.
Raghav points to a dented red scooter. He starts to haggle half-heartedly, his heart is clearly not in it. ‘Twenty thousand rupiah?’ he offers, sounding more like he’s asking a question. I elbow him gently. He’s only doing this because I insisted on paying. Left to his own devices, he’d pay the first price they quoted and get ripped off, just like he usually does. After a bit of back-and-forth, I steer him through and we settle on a price. He hands me a helmet to try on and a sleek black one for himself.
Just then, his phone rings again. He squints at the screen, an unknown number flashing.
‘Must be Tejal?’ I say.
He answers it on speakerphone while fumbling with the chin strap. ‘Hello?’
A man’s stern voice crackles through the tiny speaker. ‘So, you puncture my tires and then run off to God knows where?’
Raghav’s whole body goes rigid. His face tightens. ‘Papa,’ he says, his voice dropping ten degrees. He tugs at the helmet strap, trying to unclip it. And then, in a low grumble he says, ‘Why did you call?’
‘Kahan hai tu?’
‘What do you want?’ Raghav repeats, his voice strained with impatience. He tries to take the helmet off now, but it’s jammed, sitting awkwardly on his head. With a growl of frustration, he tries to turn the phone off loudspeaker and jam it inside the helmet, but it’s too tight.
‘I call you and this is how you talk to me?’
‘I didn’t ask you to call me,’ Raghav grinds out, giving up on the phone and pulling uselessly at the helmet strap again.
‘You have gone somewhere,’ his father says, his tone accusatory. ‘Where?’
‘It doesn’t matter where—’
His father’s angry voice cuts him off sharply. ‘This girl you’re with? Is she of that sort too?’
I watch as Raghav’s eyebrows knit together, a nerve throbbing on his forehead. ‘What do you mean, “that sort”?’ he asks, his voice dangerously low. ‘Careful how you talk to me.’
‘Haan? Is that how you talk to your father?’
Raghav lets out a bitter laugh. ‘I’m being kind,’ he spits, his voice dripping with contempt. ‘And the only reason I’m even talking to you is because you’re still the father of my sister. Otherwise, you two...’
‘You two?’ his father bellows. ‘Talking about your Maa like that? Is this how we brought you up?’
‘Brought me up?’ Raghav scoffs, abandoning the helmet to glare at the phone in his hand. ‘Thank god I’m not like you guys.’
‘What do you mean? All this just because of that chinki girl? Anyway, I have not called to talk to you about that. I want to—’
‘Shut up, Papa, just FUCKING SHUT UP,’ he says, voice trembling with rage. ‘Stop embarrassing yourself. Calling me like a fucking desperate father? Did I call you? No. Just go away.’
‘You’re swearing at me?’ his father shouts. ‘Listen, this is about—’
