Priti’s eyes are pools of lava. “You know what? I take it back. Youarethat kind of girl. The kind who uses people only when they serve some purpose, who doesn’t hesitate a second before abandoning one shiny thing for another. You led Amrit on all summer, only to fling yourself at Rudra the moment he started being nice to you.”
The blood drains from my face at her words, herhorriblewords, and I think I’m about to faint or collapse or break down because I’m so tired and devastated and overwhelmed.
The optimist in me used to believe what people say about how bonds once broken, while forever changed, are reparable. But with Priti’s words, I’ve come to realize that our relationship has been severed too many times to be redeemed.
As long as we have secrets, even if we do keep patching things up, we’ll end up hurting one another and undoing all that work eventually,only to come back less trusting. It’s a vicious, never-ending cycle.
“You don’t deserve him,” Priti says, her final, skewering remark only cementing my realization. Priti and I—we’re never meant to be best friends again.
“Fuck you,” I say, a near whisper at first. Then louder, so loud I’m yelling, my voice carrying over the waves. “FUCK YOU!”
I turn on my heel, tears running hot and fast down my cheeks. Everything burns, everything hurts, and I just want to wake up from this horrid dream to realize none of this happened, that I didn’t spend the wildest days of my summer... no, mylife, with her and Rudra.
But I don’t wake up. This is not a dream. This is real life, and what Priti said?
It’s true.
All of it.
29
There’s Only One Bed (Or Sofa Bed, in This Case)
Goa, Monday
When we get back to our room after a long, harrowing, quiet drive, Priti shoves past us both, stomps straight to the bedroom, slams the door shut, andlocksit. I let out a sound that’s halfway between a gasp and a scoff. Then I march up to the door and rap the wood sharply. “Priti, open the door!”
No answer.
“Stop being so childish!”
Still no answer.
I bang my fists on the door, letting out a groan of frustration. “Priti, for god’s sake, I need tosleep! Open the fucking door!”
When I’m met with radio silence, I press my ear to the wood. I hear shuffling inside, followed by the creak of the bed.
Priti’s getting into bed. The goddamn audacity—
“ARGH!” I try the knob furiously, ramming my shoulder into the door.
She’s locked me out for good.
I turn to Rudra, slumped on the couch, looking so exhausted I feel sorry for him. His spine curves with how much he slouches, just sinking into himself. He was weary even before Priti convinced—no,coerced—us to head out, and now that it’s past three a.m., I have no idea how he managed to drive us back here after the terrible night we’ve had.
That’s when it occurs to me that I am left with no choice but to sleepnext to him. On the creaky, tiny sofa bed. What is wrong with Priti? First she wants me to avoid Rudra, and then she locks me out with him, leaving only one bed?
I don’t think Rudra fully registers the gravity of the situation, because his voice is lacking any hesitation at all when he says, “You can sleep out here.”
“I don’t think I have a choice,” I say, pushing my hair off my face. I’m so sapped, and so fed up with Priti. I just want to go home.
If anything, Rudra looks more worn out than I do.
“You should get sleep,” I say softly. “You’ve been up the whole day.”
Rudra turns to look at me, and his eyes are flitting closed. His movements are so slow it’s like he’s glitching. “Yeah.”
I hesitate for a second, then walk over to him. “Rudra.”
