“Nothing, she just grabbed my shirt. Her grip’s strong even in her sleep.”
The back seat door slams shut, and the rest of their conversation fades away. I don’t know if this is all a dream, but it feels too real to be one. Rudra’s form against mine felt too real.
The next time my eyes open, a dim porch floodlight is shining down on me, and I can hear voices again.
I groan, placing my arm over my head to block out the light. But the voices keep talking, and I’m so parched my throat hurts. I drop my arm and prop myself up on my elbows, squinting out the window through the light.
It’s dark outside, the night sky bordered by trees, and it takes me a second to register that those are palm leaves and that...
We’re in Goa.
The floodlight settles in my vision and I spot Rudra and Priti talking to a plump middle-aged lady—probably Mummy’s age orolder—by the gate of a multistory building. They’re laughing, and the lady hands Priti something. Keys, I think, as metal glints in the light.
I check my phone. It’s half past twelve—we made it in the nick of time. I reach for the bottle in the cup holder between the passenger and driver seats and am relieved to find it nearly full. I down the contents in one go and set the empty bottle down before opening the car door.
At the sound, all three of them turn to look at me, and Priti says, “There’s our devil.” But her tone’s not condescending. It’s almost... affectionate.
“Hello, sweetheart,” the lady says, smiling cheerily down at me.
She’s got Anglo-Indian looks, as most Goan people with Portuguese descent do; fair skin that’s not white, light-brown eyes, hair a mousy shade and threaded with silver. She’s wearing a soft cotton maxi nightdress that’s pastel blue, like the sky during the trek today, with pink and yellow flowers bordering the hem. She has a slight accent, not too distinct unless you listen closely.
“Hello,” I say, smiling back as I walk up to stand between Rudra and Priti. “I’m sorry—it’s been a long day.”
“Yes. These two were just telling me. It’s a wonder you made it here at all.”
“Yeah, like we mentioned, it was a family emergency,” Priti says, not missing a beat. “Thank you so much for letting us check in so late, Ms. Fernandes. We really appreciate it.”
“No worries at all, sweetheart.”
She guides us inside the building. It’s quite cozy-looking, with a glass staircase and wooden banister leading to the upper floors and an elevator right opposite it. There’s no lobby, since this isn’t a hotel but rather a beach house they rent rooms out of.
Priti booked this place because it was safe, owned by a lovely couple, and in a quieter part of Calangute, North Goa. There’s a dining room and bar up ahead, with exquisite oakwood furniture and polished glasses and bottles arranged in rows along the counter.
A sardar ji is lounging on the leather couch inside, snoring softly. Ms. Fernandes giggles as she presses the button to call the elevator. “That’s my husband. Don’t mind him. He wanted to stay up to ensure you kids were okay and safe, but he’s had a busy day and more than one glass of wine to drink.”
The elevator arrives, and we pile all our luggage inside until there’s no space left. Rudra presses the button for the second floor and shuts the lift door, and we start climbing the stairs. Golden chandeliers have been hung intermittently on the ceiling of the stairway, and the glass panes looking to the outside of the building reflect the light, throwing our mirror images back at us. There’s an ache building in my calves, an aftermath of the trekking, but it’s a relief to move again after being cramped in the car for more than eight hours.
Ms. Fernandes quickly shows us around our rooms. They’re pretty spacious. There’s a living room with a black faux-leather pullout couch, a glass coffee table, and a television. Swiggy’s available if we’re hungry and want to order something (she recommends ordering from this Punjabi restaurant a couple of miles away that’s open twenty-four/seven).
There’s a bedroom farther inside with a double bed, one lamp on either side, huge wardrobes, and a bathroom that’s so clean it sparkles. I step in and am pleasantly surprised to find there’s a tub within with jet sprays, a shower curtain partitioning it from the toilet.
I can’t wait to take a nice long bath in it tomorrow before going to the wedding and pulling off our chaotic plan to sabotage it. But thethought of Mansi’s fiancé and what he might go through tomorrow if Mansi calls off the wedding fills me with guilt. Now I’m thinking maybe I don’t deserve to even have a decent bath.
“There are three bathrobes and three sets of towels for your face, body, and hair inside the wardrobe,” Ms. Fernandes says, opening the huge oakwood doors.
“You’re supposed to use three different towels for each?” Rudra asks, but I can tell he’s joking.
I burst into laughter and Priti nudges him. “Idiot.”
“It’s up to you if you want to use all three, though it would be the more hygienic option.” Ms. Fernandes chuckles. “There’s also a locker in here,” she continues, showing us how to reset the passcode. “Aadyant and I will be in our room on the ground floor, so if you need anything at all, just dial zero on the landline and I’ll send one of my helpers up.”
“Thank you so much, Ms. Fernandes,” Priti says, smiling up at her. She looks so pretty and radiant when she smiles, with her straight, pearly teeth. “You’ve been wonderful and such a huge help.”
“And thank you for staying up and waiting for us,” I add.
“Oh, you lovelies.” Ms. Fernandes reaches over and clasps our faces in between her palms, one after the other, and I giggle when she pecks Rudra on his cheek. His eyes widen, but he manages an awkward smile as he pulls away, cheeks filling with color. His reaction is so freakin’ cute... Ican’t.
Ms. Fernandes says good night and leaves the room. Priti immediately turns to us, an excited glint in her eyes. “So where do you guys want to go?”
