Chapter 3: Cold Calls & Corridor Tears

02

When I left the library, it was already dark. The compound was mostly empty, except for the security guard sipping chai and an auto rickshaw’s horn echoing down the lane. The air smelled faintly of dust and fried vada pav from the street stall outside the gate.

I turned on my phone, and dozens of missed calls popped up at once.

All from Arjun.

For the first time in two years, he had called me first. The notification bar looked like some twisted award ceremony—his name, over and over again.

Just as I was about to ignore it, Arjun’s call came in again, and I accidentally pressed the answer button. My heart thudded—old habits die hard.

A cold male voice came through quickly from the other end.

"You blocked me on WhatsApp?"

I replied, voice flat as a South Indian movie heroine, "Haan, it was an eyesore, so I deleted it."

There was a pause, then his tone got sharper: "What? Are you angry?"

I let out a short laugh. "Kyun? If you’re happy, I’m happy. I wish you both a long and happy life." My words were light, but my nails pressed hard into my palm—some part of me wanted him to hear just how little he mattered now.

As soon as I finished, I heard something crash on the other end—maybe just static, or maybe the universe really was as dramatic as a Hindi serial.

Arjun’s voice went completely cold: "Meera, do you even know what you’re saying?"

"I know, Arjun. Let’s not contact each other anymore."

I spoke each word clearly, Amma’s proud smile flashing in my mind, her advice ringing in my ears.

Arjun was silent for a long time, then gave a low, self-deprecating laugh.

"Meera, you really are just like everyone else."

A lump formed in my throat. I straightened my shoulders, remembering Amma’s words: "Don’t let anyone see you break."

Arjun hung up, and my mind filled with imaginary comments.

[Ab kya ho gaya? Daily couple wali sweet life ka kya hua? Yeh log baat kyun nahi kar rahe?]

[Heroine full drama queen hai. Hero itna pyaar karta hai, thoda toh samjhauta kar sakti thi.]

[Ha, agar mere paas aisa handsome, sad hero hota toh main toh kabhi nahi chhodti.]

[Main hi pagal hoon kya? Hero ki galti hai, trust sabse important hai. Heroine ko test karna hi galat hai.]

[Oye upar wala, hero aisa hai kyunki bachpan mein uske parents alag ho gaye the. Heroine ko aur care karni chahiye thi.]

Walking back to the hostel, my eyes stung. The corridor tube lights flickered, and I kept my head down. I pressed my dupatta to my face, pretending to adjust my kajal in the hostel bathroom mirror—using the old trick to hide my tears, regaining composure in the most desi way possible.

After all, he was someone I truly loved. How could I not feel sad? I remembered those silly moments—waiting for him at the gate, the first time he called me by my nickname, the way my heart would leap if he even glanced my way.

As for what the comments said about Arjun’s parents, I’d heard about it from his cousin a year ago over chai in the canteen. That’s why I tolerated him for so long.

But facts have proven: you can’t save someone who won’t save themselves. Amma says, "Beta, ek hadd ke baad sabko apni ladaai khud ladni padti hai."

We can’t pull him out of the abyss; we’ll only get dragged in ourselves. It’s not my job to fix broken boys, however much Bollywood says otherwise.

And as for the comments about Arjun loving me—I never really felt it. Not in the way he would ignore me for weeks, or the way he would look through me when his friends were around.

If he loved me, he wouldn’t have left my messages on read for two years.

If he loved me, he wouldn’t have forgotten our dates, making me wait for hours in the rain outside the theatre. I still remember the auto uncle who waited with me so I wouldn’t feel alone.

If he loved me, he wouldn’t have stayed silent when classmates mocked me for chasing him, never once defending me.

All my memories are just proof he didn’t love me. They’re like faded movie tickets and half-read texts—useless and embarrassing.

True departure is never sudden.

It’s the slow build-up of little disappointments. Like how water wears away stone, my hope slowly faded.

Maybe if I made up with him this time, I could really be with Arjun.

But suspicion is like cheating: there’s only zero times and countless times. Amma always says, "Agar ek baar shak kiya, toh baar baar karega."

I don’t want to spend my future constantly explaining myself. I want someone who believes in me the first time—not after a dozen explanations.