Chapter 3: Bandages and Barriers

4

The bell above the café door jingled, and Arjun Malhotra strode in like he owned the place. Girls at the corner table nudged each other, whispering, "Dekho, Arjun aaya!"

"Sorry, kuch kaam aa gaya tha. I’m late."

He paused, noticing my soaked clothes, then quickly took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders.

"Kya hua?"

His hand lingered, warm against the wet fabric. For a second, my frustration faded, replaced by relief at his steady presence.

I replied, "Nothing, I just spilled something on myself."

The comments were on fire:

[Can the male lead turn around? Heroine ki nazar us par hi hai!]

[Mera dil toota heroine ke liye—she can only watch the guy she likes take care of someone else.]

[Yeh supporting girl kab jayegi? Fast-forward karo yaar!]

I hesitated, looking away. Priya’s eyes burned with silent ache. A part of me wanted to comfort her, but pride rooted me in place.

Clang—

Suddenly, glass shattered. The sharp sound cut through the chatter. Everyone turned.

Priya had dropped a glass. She seemed out of it, mumbling apologies, bending to pick up shards with her bare hands. A nearby aunty tutted, shaking her head: "Arey beta, sambhal ke!"

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the glass. The manager muttered in Hindi, "Dhyaan se kaam karo!"

The sight tugged at something inside me—a memory of falling from my cycle as a child, Amma rushing over, blowing gently on my scraped knees as she bandaged them with loving hands. I remembered the sting of tears, the comfort of being cared for.

I rushed over: "Don’t!"

But too late—her fingers touched the glass, and blood welled up.

She didn’t even flinch, still gathering the pieces. It looked like self-punishment.

[Heroine kitni bechari hai! She’s hurting inside, only taking it out on herself.]

[Male lead will feel so guilty, recreate all her injuries later—full filmy style!]

My head spun. This was a K-serial twist come to life—minus the dramatic violin.

I turned to Arjun: "Band-aid hai?"

He pulled one from his wallet and handed it over. I walked to Priya, caught her hand just as she reached for more shards, and pressed the band-aid into her palm.

"Mat uthao."

A beat. "No matter what, it’s not worth it."

She finally looked at me, then away—her gaze flickering to Arjun, filled with longing, if only for a moment.

She lowered her head and whispered, "Sorry. I’ll pay for your kurti."

I felt helpless. "Joke kar rahi thi. Don’t pay."

I have plenty like it, and it wasn’t her fault. No need to ruin someone’s life over a kurti.

I stood. "I’ll just go home and clean up."

Arjun frowned. "Isn’t that kurti—"

I cut him off. "It’s fine."

He fell silent, then took my hand. "Main chhod deta hoon."

His fingers curled around mine, steady and practiced. I nodded, letting him lead me out—aware of every pair of eyes tracking us.

Just as we were leaving, Priya called out softly:

"I’m really sorry about today."

She wiped her tears with her dupatta, then folded her hands in apology, voice trembling. "Sorry, didi, maaf kar do. And… thank you for the band-aid."

The air froze. Arjun lowered his gaze, replying casually, "That was from my girlfriend. You thanked the wrong person."

His words landed like a stone in a pond, rippling through the tension. I saw Priya’s hands tighten around the band-aid, as if holding on to a lifeline.

We left. The comments flashed:

[Let the male lead keep pretending. Dekhte hain, jab asli pyaar mein padta hai, tab kya hota hai!]