‘Don’t jaan me. I’m not unnecessarily spending on a hotel room. We aren’t,’ I insist.
‘It’s just one day,’ he says, his voice patient.
‘And I’m not becoming a burden on Day One, okay? The waiting room is comfortable, don’t worry about it. I’m not an oldie like you.’
‘Jaan,’ he repeats, a warning note in his voice. ‘You’re not a burd—’
‘No,’ I insist now. ‘I won’t. You keep saying it, but I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.’
‘Should I also stay at the airport then?’ he asks, his tone dropping a little.
‘Yours is free, Aman! If mine were free, I would have ordered room service ALL THE TIME!’
‘Room service is not included,’ he says. ‘Listen to me. What will you do there the entire night? Look, my money is your money—’
‘I’ll read my book, sleep a little. And anyway, you’re landing at six. I’ll have to leave the hotel at four. It’s not like I’ll get anysleep,’ I urge him. ‘And I’ve made a friend who’s staying here the night, so I’m sorted.’
‘A friend?’ he says with mock jealousy. He’s the not the possessive kind. He’s the exact opposite. He jokes that once you’ve had a long-term relationship go bust, you know it’s seldom someone outside the relationship. It’s you. In the past one and half years that we have been together, he has mentioned his failed relationship thrice—which is not a lot, I know—but I would have liked it to be zero times. I’m the possessive kind.
‘He was waiting for the same flight,’ I explain. ‘And guess what?’
‘What?’
‘His fiancée is travelling too on the same flight!’
‘Okay?’ he says, plainly. ‘Is that really a big coincidence?’
‘There’s something else too,’ I say and drop my voice to a whisper. ‘Though that’s a sad bit. Their situation... it’s a bit like ours.’
‘Like ours?’
‘Their parents didn’t agree to their relationship. They are also running away.’
Aman drops his voice and says, a little softer, ‘We are not running away. We are walking away. There’s a difference. We don’t need to be guilty about what we are doing here.’
I nod. ‘You’re right. They are also walking away.’
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Yeah, that I would say is quite a coincidence.’
‘Her name’s Megha,’ I tell him. ‘Go say hi if you find her.’
‘There are 250 people on the flight,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Idoubt I will find her.Achchalisten, they are just telling us where to catch the shuttle. I will call you in a bit.’
Click.
When I look up, I find Raghav buying himself a book from the bookstore. It’s a productivity book,The Best You, that toutsto change the reader’s life and make them reach their absolute potential. I have been through the phase too. However, unlike the others, I was drowning in assignments while many coasted and I started to believe there was something wrong with me. Having paid, he stands there, completely absorbed, running a hand through his short, well-managed hair. He has a nice face. Not handsome in the easy, bright way Aman’s is. Aman is in his final form—handsome, built well, but Raghav’s still... a work in progress. You can still see aboyin him. His tan is uneven, a tell-tale that he must be spending a lot of time outdoors, and it kind of suits him. He’s wearing a simple, dark-grey linen shirt. Looks expensive. And so do his dark trousers that he’s wearing over Nike minimal sneakers. I wonder what his salary is. Should I Google Glassdoor and find out? That would be too weird. I slip into these patterns every now and then every time my own employment smacks me in the face.
‘Have you read this?’ he asks when he catches me staring at his book.
I nod.
‘Did it help?’ he asks.
‘For a day, and then I resorted to my old habits. So, I’m guessing I will never reach my potential. The best me,’ I say.
‘There are some other books too that I can recommend,’ he says. ‘There’s one by—’
‘I’m beginning to thinkthere’s no compelling reason to find out what the best, most productive version of me will be like,’ I say and point to the cover of the book. ‘If I were a world-changing genius, I would have known by now.’ He doesn’t say it, but I know what he’s thinking, so I say, ‘You think that’s giving up, right?’
