“Likes are inconsequential.”
“DMs?”
“I haven’t gotten any. I told you that.” Priti shoots a glance in my direction. “I think we’re being too loud.”
Oh shit, I’ve been looking.
I duck my head back down to my phone and pretend to scroll through something, being the opposite of subtle. I don’t want Priti to think I’m eavesdropping, or that I care about what she shares with Digha. Because I don’t.
But the bits and pieces of their conversation I overheard replay in my head, and wheels start turning, slowly at first, then faster. Puzzle pieces fall into place quicker than I anticipate.
When Priti excuses herself and goes to the bathroom to take a dump (damn, she really did need to shit her pants earlier), Digha joins Varun on the beanbag, lightly threading her fingers through his short, mossy hair. And in that moment, I wonder what it is about Digha that makes Priti connect to her in a way that she can’t connect tome. It’s not like they live in the same city. From what I’ve gathered, they rarely meet.
Yet Priti has managed to maintain a solid relationship with her.
“Isn’t it a relief to see her like this again? Happy?” Jalaj says suddenly. Digha doesn’t say anything; she shoots Jalaj a pointed look, which he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Who?” Varun asks blankly.
“Priti, you idiot,” Charu says.
“Oh.” Realization crawls back over Varun’s face. “Oh, yeah, she was depressed as hell, bro.”
I frown, glancing at Rudra, wondering if he knows what they’re talking about. He looks less befuddled than I do, but it’s obvious he’s paying close attention to what they’re saying, like he’s looking for clues.
“Depressed?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’m not sure, but I think she had a breakup or something,” Varun says.
Bingo.
I glance at Rudra again, and this time, realization is blooming in his eyes. So hedoesknow about this. And so do the rest of her cousins. Everyone knows, or at least has an inkling of what’s happened, except me.
“And frankly, we couldn’t ask because we were afraid she’d bite our heads off,” Varun says, throwing his hands up defensively when Digha shoots him a glare. “What? She can be scary sometimes.” He turns to Rudra. “Please don’t tell her I said that. Unless you want me dead in a ditch.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rudra says matter-of-factly.
“We did think it was someone from Powai, though,” Jalaj says thoughtfully. “Because Priti was doing an internship there last year.”
“Okay, can we stop talking about Priti?” Digha says suddenly and firmly. “I don’t feel comfortable doing this behind her back, and neither should you.”
Jalaj, Varun, and Charu exchange guilty looks, changing the topic.
My eyes drift to Rudra.
His gaze is distant, focused on the artificial wall creepers swaying in the cool swish of the AC. He’s wearing the same T-shirt from thismorning and a borrowed pair of tracks. His hair is down again, gathered behind his ears, and he fiddles absently with a black tie wrapped around his wrist. His lips are pursed in thought, forming the shape of a small Cupid’s bow, fascinatingly delicate.
I get off the bunk, walk over, and sit cross-legged against the wall next to him. He flicks his gaze to me, dark eyes reflecting the blue fairy lights, lashes enviably long. It’s so unfair how boys can go around walking with lashes like that while I have make do with my mascara.
Up until this moment, I never thought blemishes, acne scars, or pimples could be pretty, but Rudra’s features are so sharp they almostfit. Perhaps all those people who told me it’s pointless being conscious of those bad-skin or random-zits-popping-up-in-the-worst-spots days were right. Because when I look at him, I don’t notice them as separate, glaring entities that stand out and distort his face. Instead, they’re just part of him, part of who he is, never taking away from how striking he is.
I’m so mesmerized by how he looks I nearly forget what I came here to talk to him about. But he blinks at me questioningly, and I snap out of my trance.
“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat. “Are you feeling better?”
Rudra scratches the back of his neck. I don’t know if he’s blushing, because the lighting doesn’t show it. “Yeah. But that’s not why you came over, right?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Priti’s breakup?”
“Not exactly,” I say, biting my lower lip. Rudra glances at it once, then back up at my eyes, and I lose my train of thought. “I mean—I—uh, not about her breakup specifically. But I’m wondering how come you don’t know why she’s headed to Goa.”Too harsh, Krishna?
