But before I have the chance to take my thoughts any further, Priti and Digha return, giggling as they take the two vacant seats left for them, one beside Rudra and the other beside Varun.
My muscles tense as Priti glances at me, dragging the plastic chairforward. It’s silly to think someone might know what’s going on in my mind, but with Priti it almost seems possible. Rudra pulls her attention away by sliding the menu toward her.
I’ve let this trip get extended beyond measure. We should be checking into that hotel in Goa right now, and I should be gearing up to meet Amrit tomorrow. Instead, I’m being put into these exasperating situations and warring with thoughts of kissing someone I barely spoke to until a couple of days ago. I long to talk it out with Srishti, but she’s going to be incognito until Tuesday, and it’s all on me to handle this,withouther blessed advice.
It’s just one more day; I’ll be in Goa tomorrow, I tell myself, gulping down the jealousy that stings the back of my throat when I notice how Priti’s and Rudra’s knees accidentally touch under the table. This unexplainable dynamic, tension, and affection between them wasn’t my problem to begin with. I’m just here to get to Goa and hopefully never have to see either of them again.
I take in a deep breath, convinced.
I can do this.
17
I Can’t Fucking Do This
Prabalmachi, Saturday
We’re about fifteen minutes from Prabalmachi, and the bus has descended into a peaceful hush. Varun, Digha, Priti, and Charu are fast asleep, and so are a couple of the college boys. Jalaj is deep in conversation with Padam about something fitness-related.
I tried to sleep earlier, but the chai will probably keep me up for the next few hours, so I resign myself to staring out the window, listening to my audiobook, until I see something move in the corner of my vision.
I turn and find Rudra getting to his feet, lumbering to the front of the bus. I frown, wondering if he’s going to ask the driver to stop the bus so he can attend nature’s call or something, but he flops onto the metal steps that lower toward the entrance instead, disappearing from view.
For a few minutes, I stay put, but I can’t help myself. I get to myfeet, sneak past a snoring Charu, and tiptoe down the aisle between the seats.
Rudra is sitting on the second step from the top, staring at the view outside, his elbows resting on his thighs. His headphones curl around his neck instead of his ears, playing muffled music. I hesitate for a second, reminded of what I told myself back in the dhaba. I need to keep my feelings in check.
But what could the harm in just sitting beside him be? I need to talk to him about the Priti situation anyway. I doubt I’m going to get another moment alone with him without her shooting me wary stares.
Giving in, I clear my throat to alert him of my presence, making him turn back. As he looks up at me, the breath is snatched out of my body, because he looks so...sad. His eyes are brimming with emotion. He probably didn’t expect me to come up here, and for a moment, everything about him is unguarded and vulnerable, walls down.
But then he blinks, and whatever I saw there momentarily is gone. Replacing it is that neutral expression again, the one he’s clearly mastered. I wonder if it’s because he now knows who Priti’s ex is and why she’s going to Goa. I wonder if the possibility of Priti getting back together with Soumyaroop is breaking his heart.
“Can I join you?” I ask softly.
“Sure,” he says, shifting so I can sit next to him. I step down and instantly regret it, because the space is so narrow and the step so steep, I nearly trip. I reach a hand out to steady myself against the railing bar, but Rudra takes it. I carefully sit next to him, and he immediately withdraws. We’re touching all along our sides, my right shoulder resting against his left.
Even though it’s summer, a chilly draft blows in through theentrance, and I instinctively seek the warmth oozing from Rudra’s body. Goose bumps sprout along my bare arms and legs, and I rub them absent-mindedly.
The ends of my loose hair tickle my cheeks. I pucker my lips, blowing them away, realizing I should’ve probably tied my hair into a ponytail.
Rudra is smiling at me when I finally look at him, making those dimples appear in his chin again, along the lower corners of his lips. I want to press my fingers to them, as if to smooth them out.
I raise my eyebrows, struggling to look at him through my hair. “What?”
He shakes his head, turning away. “Nothing.”
“You’re smiling again.”
“I have a hair tie, if you want,” he says, pointing to his (stupidly hot) man bun.
“Don’t you need it?”
“I have a clip. I’ll manage. My hair is wavy, unlike yours, so it’ll stay.”
I consider refusing it—but what could be so wrong in borrowing a hair tie from him? Nothing romantic about it.
“Thanks,” I say.
