Thud.
When my eyes open the next morning, the sun is blindingly bright, streaming in through the glass. I turn onto my side, away from the dratted sun, rubbing my hand over my eyes and face. My fingers come away smeared with kajal, and my mouth is drier than a desert.
Oh god, my head hurts.
I sit up, groaning as I massage my temples. Priti’s skirt and bralette are pasted to my skin, forming red marks, and I need to brush my teeth and wash up so bad. What was that noise that woke me up? What time is it?
I get off the bed with effort and grab my phone from the table, glancing at Rudra. He’s asleep, in his fitted black tee and baggy jeans,lying on his stomach with his face pressed into the pillow. Oh, and he’s drooling.
I can’t help but smile. How cute is that?
Memories of last night trickle in. Of curling up beside him, latched on to his form, kissing him...
But my eyes find my phone screen right then, and I let out a gasp.
Rudra stirs, eyes cracking open. “Krishna?” he mumbles.
I’m leaping to my feet. I frantically rush to the bedroom door, which is still shut, and bang my fists on the wood, hard. “Open the door, Priti! It’s four o’clock, ohmygod!”
We were asleep fortwelve fucking hours.
When there’s no response, I press my mouth to the door, hoping my voice will carry through better and louder. “Priti, open up,please! We’re late!”
Rudra’s up fully now, pushing his hair away from his face. He gets off the bed—it grates and creaks loudly, and I don’t even want to think of how loud the bed might’ve been last night when we were making out—and joins me by the door.
“Let me try,” he says, gently motioning me back so he can take my place. “Priti! It’s four p.m. and we’re late! Open up!”
When there’s no response even after Rudra’s attempt, my heart speeds up inside my chest. Something’s gone horribly wrong. What if Priti drowned in the bathtub, what if she choked on her toothbrush, what if she knocked her head into the nightstand and fainted, what if—
Rudra turns the handle, as if on instinct, and the door swings open.
Wait.
What?
He pushes through the door into the room, and I hurry after him, my heart beating so loud I can hear it pumping in my ears.
The room’s empty.
The bedsheets are rumpled, the pillows are out of place, and there’s no sign of Priti.
“Krishna, check the washroom,” Rudra says, walking over to the bed. I rush to the bathroom and find the door open. Steam coats the mirrors, the floor is wet, and Priti’s hair dryer is lying on the basin by the power port, plugged in, as if... as if she took a bath.
When I walk back out, shaking my head, I find Rudra holding an empty plastic saree bag. It’s the same one that previously held Priti’s black lehenga. Understanding rams into the both of us at the same time.
“She left for the wedding,” I say, the blood draining from my body, making me feel faint. “She left without us.”
The thud that woke me—that was the main door shutting behind Priti.
“She took the car,” Rudra says, cursing under his breath. “I didn’t see the keys on the table.” He slaps his forehead. “Jesus fucking Christ, Priti, why do you always do this?”
Everything is going horribly wrong. Even after Priti and I fought, I never once considered how it might affect Rudra’s and my plan. I thought I would have a chance to help her reunite with Mansi regardless.
But now she’s gone. She’s gone on her own, and oh god, what if she chickens out? Or worse, what if it all goes horribly wrong and Mansi doesn’t feel the same?
What if she needs us and we’re not there?
My head is consumed in a white-hot panic, the sort I haven’t felt in a long while. This is like the panic I felt the day before my SATs,when I had this horrible pain in my gut and I desperately wanted to fall sick so I wouldn’t have to attend my exams the next day.
