Rudra may be pining for his best friend, and I may be spinning over a boy whoisn’tdestined to be my first kiss, but at least Priti seems happy.
6
Why Would Anyone Name Their BluetoothJimi Hendrix’s Groupie?
Mumbai, Friday
The route is pretty straightforward. We experience the worst traffic on Mulund–Airoli road, but it’s smooth from there on, all the way to Mumbai–Pune expressway. It takes more than an hour to commute within the city itself, but that’s just how it’s always been navigating traffic in Mumbai—a real pain in the ass. We picked a time when it would take us a minimum of four hours to get to Pune, so this is better than usual.
Rudra drives like he knows the roads like the back of his hand—which he probably does since he’s lived in the city all his life. I don’t even have to navigate the route to the expressway half the time. He’s cool and silent, as usual, and I almost forget that, until a while ago, he was actually making conversation with me.
As for Priti, she looks like she’s having a grand old time in the back seat. She’s lying down, a car bolster placed under her head, herlong legs resting on the window ledge. She barks out a laugh, and I turn, squinting at her reflection in the window, to find her watching a scene from the K-drama Srishti and I asked her to binge with us last month. Back then, she gave us a dirty look.
Now look at her, snickering away there.
At least Rudra’s playlist is nice. He’s got a decent collection of songs, mostly English, a far cry from my curated Bollywood road trip playlist, which would suit the current vibe better. But I’m not comfortable enough asking him to share his Bluetooth with me.
I turn back to my phone, glancing at the map, and frown. “Hold up, why are you getting off the highway?”
“Tank’s almost empty,” Rudra says. He turns the car into the petrol pump station, doing that hot rotating-the-steering-wheel thing. Because he’s wearing a half-sleeved shirt, his right bicep pops up when he does it, and it takes me a whole five seconds to realize I’m staring.
I swiftly turn back to my phone, dousing the heat creeping up my face.
Priti sits up as Rudra stops the car in front of the pump. He presses the button to open the tank and steps out of the car.
“Where are we?” Priti asks me, slipping on her shoes.
“Navi Mumbai,” I say, and jump out of the car.
“Already?”
I almost say,If you’d look away from your phone for a second, you’d know, but I just nod instead.
We wait as Rudra tells the attendant to “???? ????? full ???.”*I stretch my limbs, taking a deep breath. I’ve always loved the smell of petrol. It’s so satisfying.
Priti heads to a nearby tuck shop, leaving Rudra and me alone.Again.It goes from zero to awkward in less than two seconds. Andlike the idiot I am, I left my phone in the car, so it’s not like I can avoid him, much less contact anyone if I get kidnapped here, like Alia Bhatt inHighway.
Rudra just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching Priti as she buys some gum from the shopkeeper. He has the smallest smile on his face, and my suspicions about him having feelings for Priti are only further confirmed.
He turns to find me looking at him, the hint of a smile gone. Oops. I need to initiate escape mode, which means only one thing: say the first thing that comes to my mind.
“So does Priti make you watch K-dramas with her?” I blurt, regretting it a second later. Rudra does not look like the kind of guy who is itching to have K-drama discourse. Worst conversation starterever.
“Yeah,” Rudra replies shortly, and then adds, “But she watches anime with me in exchange.”
Wait, seriously? “Any chance you’re into manhwa? One of my favorites got adapted into a K-drama.”
“Tried it. Same with manga. But I’m better with purely visual stuff. I have dyslexia.”
“Oh. Filling out applications must have been tough for you, then. For Juilliard, I mean. The portals aren’t exactly accessible.”
“Yeah, Priti helped me out,” Rudra says, feet fidgeting. Am I making him nervous? Fuck me. “We filled out our applications together.”
“What applications?”
“For US colleges?”
What.
