I’mfloored.
And so on edge that when he directly meets my gaze, my insides turn to mush.
He sets aside his guitar. “So yeah. That was it.”
I think I’ve forgotten how to speak, because I can’t come up with a single adjective, let alone a sentence, to explain how I felt about his song. And how it shot an arrow so close to everything I’ve felt the past couple of years.
There’s only a bare gap on the bed between us. The room is so quiet all I can hear is the sporadic dripping of water in the bathroom and the groan of the AC.
“The song was about... bisexuality, wasn’t it?” I finally say, tentative. “About questioning if your identity is valid because you haven’t been with a boy?”
Rudra’s eyes widen in surprise. “H-how did you know?”
“I feel the same way. Always questioning if I’m bi enough.”
“Oh.” Rudra looks away, biting the inside of his cheek. “That’s, um... me too.”
I can’t help the warmth that pours into me.
Rudra isbi, like me!
A goofy grin splits my face. I just love getting to know other queer Indians; it makes me feel a lot less alone. I rub my arms as a fresh wave of goose bumps pops up. “Also, that was beautiful. That fingerstyle was orgasmic, and so was your voice.”
It’s only when I’ve uttered the sentence out loud that I grasp how it sounds.
One corner of Rudra’s mouth hikes up. “Orgasmic?” That maddeningly cute dimple appears again.
“You know what I mean,” I say, flushed.
“No, please, enlighten me,” Rudra teases, which is so unlike him.After a moment, he adds, “Thanks, though.”
I duck my head, vacantly drawing lines on the bedsheet with my finger. “I—I’m not out to everyone yet. So would it be okay if you said nothing of this to Priti?”
“Of course,” Rudra says. “Though you might be surprised to find she’s a lot more understanding of this than you think.”
I shake my head. “Things are just too rough between us right now.Youknow.”
“I understand.”
“Does she know? Priti—does she know about you?”
“Yes, she does. But hey”—I lift my head, meeting his gaze—“whether or not she knows about me doesn’t matter. I won’t tell her about you.”
We look at each other again for a moment too long, and I notice how soft his eyes are, his sclerae dotted by the deepest-brown irises. Were they always this...warm? There’s a tug on the corners of his mouth, the hint of a smile, and my gaze drops to his lips—before my conscience is suddenly activated and gives me a swift roundhouse kick. I drop my legs to the floor, face poker-hot and body ice-cold.
“All right—I guess I’ll get going.”
Rudra nods quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah.”
“Good night,” I say. “Thanks for letting me use your washroom.”
“No problem.” Rudra ducks his head back down to his phone. “Good night.”
I rush to the door, my face burning. I’m surprised I haven’t turned into a beetroot already. It’s only when I’m out in the corridor again and the door’s shut behind me that I take a second to pause.
I haven’t had manymomentswith people in my life, but the few that came close were with Amrit. The heat filling my cheeks, thebutterflies flapping their wings in my stomach, the feeling of nervous anxiety that makes me want to throw up and give in to the skittishness at the same time. They’re as familiar as a next-door neighbor.
Oh god.
