Our eyes latch for a staggering second, then another. I’m not breathing, and I don’t think he is either, because his chest no longer rises and falls rapidly. Our shoulders are touching, and neither of us moves away, my bare skin grazing the soft fabric of his T-shirt...
“There you are!”
Priti rushes toward us, crossing the street and coming to a stop in front of us, bending over to catch her breath.
“I couldn’t find you both. What happened?”
“The food didn’t sit well with me,” Rudra says, pushing off the tree, away from me. “But I’m fine now.”
Priti pats his cheek, puckering her lips in concern. “See, this is why rich boys like you shouldn’t eat at roadside restaurants.”
Rudra scoffs, but he’s grinning. “And yet you’re the loser.”
Priti smacks him before pulling at his cheek. “Cutie. Such a sensitive stomach.”
It’s never been more obvious to me how in love they are with each other.
I stand there, off to the side, watching their exchange, having been forgotten. I’m taken right back to that moment seven years ago, my first summer back in India after we moved, desperate to meet my Priti, my best friend again, after not having spoken to her for more than a year, only for her to break my heart and tell me she had Rudra now. That she didn’t need me anymore. That I was no one to her.
I thought I’d left my jealousy of their friendship behind after years of having the wound punctured again and again. But the roiling in my gut tells me that I haven’t. I still envy their bond, what they have; this irreplaceable connection that no one can match.
Especially not me.
13
Not Arguing with a Boy Who Has Dark-Brown Eyes and Long Lashes—Whatever You Say, Baby Girl
Pune, Saturday
For the trek, I borrow a pair of loose nylon shorts and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt from Digha. Jalaj said we’d get food and water at the trek site, so I leave the rest of my belongings behind and carry just my fanny pack with a few essentials.
While we’re waiting for the minibus Jalaj’s club booked for the group, I twist my hair into a knot and secure it with a butterfly clip. Frankly, I’m exhausted, but the excitement at the prospect of seeing fireflies and camping out tonight overshadows that.
We’re all sitting in the boys’ bedroom, soft songs playing through Jalaj’s portable Bluetooth speaker in the background. They’ve turned on the cerulean fairy lights strung along the walls of the room.
Priti, Charu, Digha, and I are on the lower bunk; Varun is perched on the beanbag, Jalaj on the desk chair by the study table, and Rudra on the floor on the opposite side of the room, back resting against thewall, right under a gaming poster.He looks better since he threw up outside the paratha place, having claimed repeatedly afterward that it was worth it because we won.
The boys are all on their phones, Charu’s head is bent over her Kindle, and Priti and Digha are whispering furiously to one another.Again.It’s not that I’m curious or anything, and at first, I try my level best to focus on my audiobook. But they’re literally sitting right next to me, and I can’t help but overhear what they’re saying. At some point, I press pause, but I keep my AirPods in so I don’t look suspicious, eyes trained on my phone screen.
“You have to know what you’re doing is really brave,” Digha is saying, her voice soft.
“Brave?” Priti says, and I’m shocked to hear the vulnerability and... fear in her voice. It’s so unlike her to let her guard down like that. “I feel like I’m about to shit my pants.”
“What are you so afraid of? Rejection?” Digha shakes her head. “You’re still following each other, and it wasn’t even you who sent the re-follow request.”
“I know, but a re-follow request doesn’t prove someone’s still in love, right? You do that when you’ve already moved on.”
Oh my fucking god.
Priti had abreakup.And recently, by the sound of it.
It sort of explains why she’s been so detached and bitter this entire vacation. This has to be why she was crying on the balcony during the house party.
I can’t help but feel sorry for her when I’m reminded of the way she attempted to conceal her tears that day, even though it was so visible. I can’t forgive her for everything she’s said and done either, but if I had a breakup, I would take forever to recover from it. Or maybe it’s justmewho’s made that way—I tend to get attached too easily.
Then again, despite how prickly she is, Priti would—literally—kill you if you hurt someone she loved. She’s fiercely protective and feels everything on a magnified level. I know, because I have experienced firsthand what it’s like to be hated by her. And people who can hate someone like that... can also love someone with an equal level of ferocity and measure.
“What about the likes on your posts, then?” Digha is saying, and my attention drifts back to their conversation.
