Chapter 5: Ritu’s Demands

The next morning, Ritu waited on a park bench, wearing a crop top, big eyes blinking, sipping chai from a paper cup. Old uncles walked laps, a stray dog dozed, the air fresh with the scent of dewy grass and distant samosas.

"Aren’t you cold?" I asked, eyeing her bare arms, shivering in my sweater. Typical Ritu—never cared about what anyone thought.

She handed me her half-finished chai. "Worried about me?" Her lips curled into a half-smile. Lipstick smudged the rim, and the masala chai was oddly comforting.

I pushed her hand away. "Don’t play these tricks." My patience was thin, her perfume—a mix of jasmine and something sharper—lingered in the air.

"Not drinking? Then I’ll leave and tell my sister you forced me." She stood up as if to go, her dupatta slipping from her lap. I noticed her hand trembled just slightly, and her voice was lower, almost a whisper.

My heart skipped a beat. I knew she meant it. Ritu never bluffed.

"Come back, I… I’ll drink." I gritted my teeth, took the cup, careful not to meet her eyes. I could smell the faint perfume and the warmth from her hand on the paper.

The tea was lukewarm, slightly too sweet. I tried not to think about how intimate the simple act felt.

"Tell me, why did you do all this?" My voice shook, anger and confusion simmering beneath the surface.

"Why else? Because I like you." She said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. I almost choked on the tea.

"Nonsense, we’ve only met a few times." I tried to sound stern, but even I wasn’t convinced.

"How many times did you meet my sister before you fell for her?" Her comeback was quick, sharp as ever. I was speechless.

She looked at me, eyebrow raised, challenging me to disagree. "What does liking someone have to do with how many times you meet?" Her eyes were bright, almost feverish, as if daring me to argue.

"I’m your saali." She grinned, eyes twinkling mischievously.

"We’re not married yet." I reminded her, but she just shrugged, unimpressed.

"Still, I’m your girlfriend’s sister." She stood up, puffing out her chest. "Ever since I was little, I’ve looked exactly like my sister. Face, body—everything’s the same. You saw, na, I’m not less than her in anything." Her voice cracked just a little, revealing insecurity beneath the bravado.

I stood up too, looking her in the eye. "I admit your sister is beautiful, and I like her a lot, but it’s definitely not just because of her looks." I spoke firmly, hoping she’d understand.

"Oh." She smiled, leaning in to whisper in my ear, "You saw, na, I’m not less than her in anything." The words made my face burn, heat creeping up my neck. I wanted to disappear.

"You really are crazy." I glared at her, unable to believe what I was hearing.

I tossed the chai away and started to leave. "Give up. Even if I broke up with your sister, I’d never be with you."

"If you leave, I’ll tell my mum you slept with my sister and then with me. You’ll never be able to marry my sister." Her eyes glinted with a strange determination. I felt trapped.

"Go ahead, I accept it. Let’s just break up then." I braced myself, ready to face the consequences.

"Then I’ll call the police and accuse you of rape." She said it, then paused—a beat of silence. Her hand trembled, a tear slipping down her cheek. Her voice cracked, "What else can I do, jiju?"

I stopped and glared at Ritu. "What exactly do you want?" My voice was low, trembling with anger and fear.

"Take responsibility for me." She said it so quietly, I almost didn’t hear. Her eyes searched mine, desperate and defiant all at once.

"But I slept with your sister too. Who am I supposed to be responsible for?" I ran my hands through my hair, feeling lost.

"Both." Her answer was immediate, almost flippant.

"The three of us together?" I laughed, the sound hollow. The idea was absurd, impossible.

"Not impossible." She shrugged, as if we were discussing what movie to watch, not our lives.

"Stop it. Your sister would kill me. You know she’d never agree."

She thought for a moment. "Then just be my boyfriend." Her voice was almost pleading now, the bravado slipping a little.

"Impossible." I said it firmly, arms crossed. "Find someone else, Ritu."

"Then… can you pretend to be my boyfriend…" She looked down, twisting the ends of her dupatta, her voice barely audible.

I sighed. "There are plenty of good men in the world. Why are you clinging to me?" I tried to keep my tone gentle, but I felt tired, defeated.

She suddenly fell silent, head lowered, tears rolling down like pearls. "Where are the good men? Why haven’t I met even one?"

"You will." I put a hand on her shoulder, meaning it. She sniffled, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

Ritu grabbed my hand. "Jiju, be my boyfriend. For seven days. Just seven days. After that, I’ll personally explain everything to my sister and make sure you two get back together. My sister loves me the most—you have to trust me."

Her grip was tight, desperate. I hesitated, but something in her eyes made me pause.

"Really?" I studied her face, searching for any hint of deceit.

"Really, I swear. If I don’t do it after seven days, may I get hit by a bus when I go out…" She raised her hand, solemnly. I panicked, slapping my palm over her mouth.

I covered her mouth with my hand. "Enough, don’t swear. I promise you." Old superstitions ran too deep—I couldn’t let her say such things, not even in jest.

She grinned slyly, licked my palm, and I quickly pulled my hand away, shaking it in disgust, but unable to stop a small, helpless smile. What a mess, yaar. What a mess.

My phone buzzed—Neha’s name flashed on the screen. My heart stopped. What now?