The Price of a Kiss These Days Is My Ego, Apparently
Mumbai, Friday
For a whole minute, I just sit there staring at the message, mouth hanging open. I read it once, twice, thrice, barely registering the contents. The fourth time, it finally hits me.
Still owe you a kiss.
Amrit Acharya, the boy I’ve been obsessing over all summer, just sent me a text saying he owes me a kiss,witha winky emoji. My fingers go slack and my phone drops onto my lap, bouncing off my thigh and landing on the futon with a soft thud.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I want to scream so loud I’ll probably wake the entire house if I do.
I reach over and shake Srishti, hard. She sits right up, her hair comically sticking out like straws around her head and her face scrunched in irritation.
“Krishna, I swear to god I’m going to—”
I grab her hand, pull her to her feet, and drag her out of the living room and into the guest room, shutting the door behind us. Srishti stares at me in bewilderment, and I know she’s seconds from cussing me out.I’m shaking and jumping on the balls of my feet as I shove my phone in her face. My body just feels so animated.
Srishti is only further aggravated as she takes the phone from me and skims through the contents. The first time, she doesn’t register any of it, barely out of her sleepy state. But the second time, her brows knit together as she zooms in on the screen and rereads the last part.
“Krishna. Bro.” She looks up at me, eyes as wide as saucers. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Yes!” I affirm, disbelieving of it myself, if I’m being honest.
My crush just sent me a text saying he wants tokiss me. That hasneverhappened to me. I keep playing our moments together this summer over and over in my head until I can’t take it anymore. The mere thought of kissing Amrit sends a rush of exhilaration to the pit of my stomach.
“Holy shit,” Srishti says, matching my energy as she joins me in my prancing, and then we’re just two idiots skipping around together.
“This doesn’t feel real.”
“Well, believe it, Krish, because it’sright here,” she says, waving my phone at me.
I flop onto the bed when I tire of all the jumping. “I wish he’d stayed justonemore day.”
Srishti frowns, pausing with one leg in the air. “What do you mean?”
“My flight got canceled. I’m flying out on Wednesday morning. Not tonight.”
“No way! That’s amazing, hello?”
“But you’re leaving.Allof you are leaving. Manas and Varija haveschool, you have that trip with your friends, Didi and Bhaiya have work, Priti... well, I don’t know.” I absent-mindedly draw circles on the Solapur blanket with my pointer finger. Every Indian household has one of these—it’s a given. “What am I even going to do until Wednesday? Hang out with Priti?”
“Oops. I forgot about that.” Srishti clucks her tongue. “Okay, thatisa little sad.” She sighs as she flops onto the bed beside me. “If only you could go to Goa and make out with Amrit, like, right now.”
I snort at her statement, spread-eagling on the bed. The ceiling fan spins lazily above my head, squeaking just slightly.
That’s when a sudden, wild thought pops into my brain.
“Hey, pass me my phone?”
She hands it to me, rolling over onto her side and propping up on one elbow. “What’s up? You have that look on your face.”
“What look?” I open my phone and typehow long fromMulund to Calanguteinto the search bar. I remember Amrit telling me the wedding was happening in the Calangute district in North Goa, at Baga Beach Resort.
“That look you get when you’re plotting your next winning move.”
“Wait.” The search results pop up: eleven hours and nineteen minutes by car. About half a day. I turn to Srishti, grinning from ear to ear. “I think I might have the wildest idea. And I think—Ithinkit might just work.”
“Should I be worried?” Srishti narrows her eyes. “What is it?”
