That’s what brings tears to her eyes. In a low whisper, she says, ‘He’s not here, is he? He’s dead.’
‘And it didn’t take long to forget—’
‘Forget?’ she repeats, her voice dangerously low. ‘You think I could ever forget? I live with him every single day. Just because I’m not sitting in a dark room talking to a ghost on my phone doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten!’
The words hit me.
A friendship like this cuts both ways. If I know how to hurt her, so does she.
A ghost on my phone,she says.
She calls the last living memory of Megha a ghost.
Fuck her.
‘Mind your fucking language, Aditi!’ I shout back.
On the last day of Bali, she had stumbled on to it and called it an insult to the memory of Megha. She’d said it was a horrible thing to do. A twisted, terrible thing to do. She said I was trying to rewrite the present and that was no way to end my story with Megha. She insisted I delete it from my phone or she would not be friends with me. What the fuck was she thinking? Then, andnow?
It’s not the first time she’s mentioned it since Bali. And I know it won’t be the last.
‘I’m doing what I can to heal,’ I lie, my voice rising. ‘I’m fucking grieving. Not like you... trying to hook up with—’
‘Shut up,’ she says. ‘That app is an insult—’
‘The fact that you have gotten over Aman pretty quickly is an insult, Aditi. All it took was a guy to ask you—’
She cuts me off. ‘You think this is easy for me?’ she shoots back, taking a step closer.
‘Looks easy,’ I say. ‘Looking pretty fucking easy.’
‘I spend every single day feeling guilty.’
‘Doesn’t feel like that to me. Feels like you’re havingfun.’
She throws up her hands in frustration. ‘C’mon, Raghav! I feel guilty when I laugh. Guilty when I have a good day at work. Guilty that I am alive and he’s not. And I come home to this? To you, judging me from the sidelines? Judging if I’m sad enough? Do you have any idea how exhausting that is?’
‘Oh, poor exhausted you! And fuck off, I don’t judge—’
‘Yes, you do! You do it all the time! With your little comments and your heavy sighs and your closed door! You’ve built a fortress of your grief—’
I interrupt her. ‘I have built this? You moved in too! You spent more than a year too in this fucking fortress that you’re talking about and now—’
‘Why the hell are you getting angry with me because I’m trying to find a way to live outside of it?’
The doorbell rings. Thank god. Because I want her to get the fuck out of here.
It’s him. Kunal.
Aditi looks at the door, then back at me, her face a mask of fury and heartbreak.
‘I hate you sometimes,’ she whispers.
‘I hate you . . .’ I tell her. ‘. . . all the time.’
She turns, walks towards the door and yanks it open. I can’t see him, but I hear his low, calm voice. ‘Hey. You ready?’
Aditi walks out without looking back, slamming the door behind her. I hear their faint voices in the corridor. She’s complaining, I’m sure. And he’s listening. How’s that any different from what I’m doing?
