She grins and links her hand in mine. ‘It’s beautiful, though, isn’t it? Look at those shutters.’
I nod. My eyes keep flitting to Saket and his to mine. His coming here is the start of something. I can feel it. He loves me—if that’s what this is—more than I deserve to be loved. But that’s the fate of every love story. One’s always more in love. One always has more power.
But I don’t want the power to hurt, to reject. I want to be the one who’s more in love. There’s a joy in surrender. I want to feel that.
As the sun starts to dip a little below the horizon, painting Old Town Phuket in shades of twilight, Saket changes out of his T-shirt which is now drenched in sweat and into a sleeveless top. He has the body of a pro tennis player, slender and muscular. Unlike others, he doesn’t blame a knee injury for his short-lived tennis career. He tells me he just wasn’t good enough. I let my eyes rove over him and try to assess what I feel. Despite his blindingly handsome looks, the broad chin, the thick hair, the big eyes, I haven’t been able to do anything more than kiss him. I hope to change that. If we are to be together, I need to want to do more with him.
‘You see that building over there?’ Saket says. ‘That was once the home of a wealthy tin baron. I have no idea why I remember that detail.’
‘You’re trying too hard,’ says Vanita, reaching out for my hand.
‘As I should, right?’
‘Guys, we need to talk about something else,’ I insist. ‘And shouldn’t we get something to eat?’
I follow my nose to a bustling street food stall where a woman deftly flips something on a sizzling wok. It’s a squid, Saket tells me helpfully. And though it looks like my stomach acids could handle it, I’m a little sceptical and instead play it safe by ordering a plate of Pad Thai. Saket orders prawns and Vanita’s distracted by a nearby shop.
‘I don’t want to put you under pressure of any kind,’ says Saket, stripping the tail off a prawn. ‘If you feel that way, just let me know, I will back off.’
I swirl a bunch of noodles around my fork.
‘This is my biggest problem with you, Saket. You’re too understanding, you’re too good. I’m scared you’re a serial killer on the side.’
‘I am, but I only hunt down paedophiles. Though I do have a penchant for violence. I like to kill them very slowly,’ he says with a glint in his eye. ‘I’m not in a hurry.’
‘I am,’ I say.
‘You are?’
‘We are getting too old to make relationship mistakes now,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t want to get into something that ends in heartbreak. For you and for me.’
Saket nods. ‘And we have seen what happens when we wait too long.’
Both Saket and I have spent enough time on matrimony sites to understand that the older you get, the harder it is for you to find someone. You become too rigid, too unyielding, too uncompromising in a relationship. Your checklist becomes longer, your scepticism sharper. You’re not going to change yourself for a person or a relationship. Young people getting married is like manipulating clay. There’s scope forindentations, a little bit of moulding, finding a balance. Saket and I are clay, but slowly drying. Time’s running out before we both become stiff and set in our ways.
‘You’re scared,’ he says. ‘And to be honest, so am I. To be in love with you is a huge risk. Because you know, you’re you.’
‘Because I’m the world’s worst girlfriend?’
‘Far from it,’ he corrects me. ‘You’re you.’
‘You’re great, Saket. You have shown me more patience than I deserve.’
‘I’m not doing it for you, Aanchal. It’s not a favour, not a charity. I’m being selfish. I need you in my life. I’m totally doing this for myself.’
I blush and say, ‘To point out the obvious, if someone went around with a checklist, you would tick everything on it.’
‘Except the part where I’m the serial killer.’
‘I think we can work that out. Passions are passions, after all.’
We finish our food and start following Vanita, who’s now in a shopping trance. We stumble upon the entrance to a quaint market tucked away in a narrow alley, and before we notice, hundreds of others before us have discovered it too and it’s not quaint any more. But still, the market is a treasure trove of local handicrafts, China-made electronics, handmade jewellery and wooden dildos. Vanita chats up a vendor in such detail you would assume she was in import-export.
‘We don’t have a story,’ I say to Saket. ‘Years later when people ask us how we met, we will have to tell them about our matrimony profiles.’
‘I see it as a good thing. It will be a deliberated decision. How many people can claim that?’
By the time the sun dips, Vanita’s accumulated an impressive number of bags. We walk to a small Buddhist temple nestled between the more colourful buildings. We realize how tired we are when we sit down. The peace and silence are welcome. Weslip off our shoes and step inside, welcomed by the cool touch of marble beneath our feet and the gentle fragrance of incense.
