Chapter 3: Games People Play

"Naina, what do you mean it’s too late?"

"You haven’t even drunk much. Come on, have another drink."

I was jolted from my memories by someone calling my name.

My eyes blinked open to the bright lights of Kabir’s bungalow, the pulse of Punjabi songs vibrating through the walls. A boy with a guitar strummed "Pee Loon" in the corner, and someone else popped open a cola with a loud fizz. The taste of nostalgia mixed with dread in my mouth.

Only then did I realise—I had been reborn, back to my final year.

Everything was the same: the decorations, the food, even the cloying scent of jasmine in the air. My heart thudded as I realised I had another chance, the kind of chance you only read about in Amar Chitra Katha.

The campus bad boy was the host, inviting all our classmates to his family’s empty bungalow in Pune to celebrate graduation.

Kabir’s bungalow was the stuff of legend. People whispered about its spiral staircase, the marble Ganesha idol in the foyer, and the fact that his parents were always away on business trips. For one night, it was our kingdom—a place for secrets, drama, and the kind of madness only the end of college can bring.

For others, farewell night might be the start of a new life.

Girls gossiped about jobs in Bangalore, boys made promises to stay in touch, and someone had even brought a guitar to croon late into the night. The air crackled with excitement, dreams, and the faint hope that life outside campus walls would be just as thrilling.

But for me in my last life, it was the gateway to hell.

My stomach clenched as I remembered how quickly joy could turn to accusation, how a single night could brand you for years. In the corner, someone opened a box of kaju katli, and the sweet smell almost made me gag.

The one who had just spoken was the college queen, Yashi.

She was perched on the edge of the sofa, the picture of innocence in her rose-pink saree. Her laughter tinkled like a windchime, and even the boys from the cricket team craned their necks to catch her eye.

Her voice was sweet and coy.

“Come on, Naina, don’t be such a bore!” she chirped, flashing her dimples. I forced a polite smile, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. She had a way of making you feel like you were missing out, even if you were allergic to the very idea of parties.

Arjun always wanted me to learn from her, even telling me to act spoiled when angry—few could resist her.

I remembered all those times he compared me to Yashi—her bubbly laugh, her easy charm. He’d tease me, "Naina, at least once, try to be filmy!" But that was never my style. Even my attempts at being angry ended with me apologising first.

I never could handle alcohol, but since the college queen toasted me, if I didn’t drink, people would say I was being ungrateful.

It’s the unspoken rule at every Indian party: refuse a drink, and you’re called boring or uptight. Accept, and you risk making a fool of yourself. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, waiting for my response.

Unfortunately, I was reborn at the wrong time. I’d already had a glass and was starting to feel dizzy.

The room spun a little, the fairy lights blurring into coloured halos. I held my glass tightly, hoping no one would notice my shaky hands.

So no matter how much Yashi coaxed me, I didn’t take another sip.

I just smiled sheepishly, mumbling about being a lightweight, and kept swirling my drink, pretending to savour it.

I just held my glass and pretended to be tipsy.

A trick I’d learned after years of being the odd one out at family weddings. I swayed a little, giggling at nothing in particular, just to keep up appearances.

After all, I still had things to do later—I couldn’t really get drunk.

My mind buzzed with plans, calculations, and the weight of what was to come. I couldn’t let myself slip—not tonight.

Seeing this, Yashi’s eyes flashed with calculation.

She hid it well, but I caught the slight narrowing of her eyes, the way her lips tightened just so. She was always two steps ahead, her mind ticking like a perfectly tuned watch.

Holding her wine glass, she announced to the table:

"Since the campus bad boy isn’t drinking, I’ll drink for her."

Laughter erupted, glasses clinked, and the spotlight swung to Yashi. She smiled sweetly at me, as if bestowing some great favour. I ducked my head, cheeks burning.

I lowered my head, the corners of my lips curling into a cold smile.

I remembered the lessons of my past life—the need to play along, to never show your cards. My smile was polite, but inside, I was steeling myself for whatever came next.

She was clearly drinking her own glass, yet claimed she was drinking for me.

It was a classic Yashi move—twisting the narrative so that she came out looking generous. The rest of the table nodded in admiration, missing the sly glint in her eyes.

In my previous life, how could I have matched her scheming?

I was always the simpleton, the one who believed in the goodness of people. But tonight, I saw through every layer of her performance, my heart hardening with every sip she took.

She was a better talker than a playback singer.

If she’d been on Indian Idol, she’d have won by sheer charm alone. The way she spun her words, you almost wanted to believe her, even when you knew better.

I poured myself a glass of plain water, sipped it, and quietly watched Yashi’s performance.

No one noticed as I swapped my drink for water, the taste crisp and cold on my tongue. I sat back, letting the night play out, my mind whirring with possibilities.

At this time, Arjun had already helped Yashi get Kabir drunk and sent him upstairs.

Somewhere in the house, Arjun’s laughter echoed, mingling with the shouts from a cricket match on TV. I caught a glimpse of his silhouette disappearing up the stairs, one arm around Kabir’s shoulders, the other steadying a nearly-empty bottle.

And Arjun himself was also drunk, resting in the room next to Kabir’s.

I remembered the sight of his crumpled kurta, his hair mussed from too many hands ruffling it, sprawled out on a mattress with a half-eaten samosa by his side. He’d always been a lightweight, despite his bravado.

Yashi was putting on such a show—she must have another plan.

Her movements were too precise, her smiles too bright. I watched as she leaned into me, whispering secrets and promises, all while her eyes darted around the room, calculating her next move.

Soon, Yashi drank until her cheeks were red, her eyes hazy as she leaned on me.

She clung to me with surprising strength, her grip tightening every time someone looked our way. Her sari pallu slipped off one shoulder, and she giggled, playing up the drunken damsel for maximum effect.

She spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear:

"Naina, I’ve drunk so much for you. You have to send me upstairs to rest."

"My life is in your hands."

"Naina, you must keep me safe."

Her words hung in the air, loaded with meaning. The whole table turned to look at me, their eyes expectant, some even a little accusatory.

In my previous life, I was already drunk by the time Yashi said this.

The memory hit me like a slap—the confusion, the guilt, the feeling of stumbling through a maze with no exit. I barely remembered what happened next, only the heavy sense of dread that followed me for years.

Of all she said, I only heard the part about going upstairs to rest.

Her words echoed in my mind, a siren call that led me straight into the trap she’d set.

Then, in a daze, I let her take me upstairs.

I followed blindly, trusting her like a sister. In the dim light, her hand felt warm and reassuring. I never imagined she’d use that trust against me.

But after being reborn, I realised Yashi’s words and actions were especially cunning.

I saw every move for what it was—calculated, rehearsed, and designed to make me the scapegoat. My blood boiled at the injustice, but I kept my face blank.

She said it all out loud.

Every word was a seed, planted in the minds of everyone present. If anything went wrong, the blame would fall squarely on my shoulders.

It was my fault she drank too much.

Her martyr act was flawless, painting herself as the victim and me as the negligent friend. I could already imagine the whispers that would follow.

I had the responsibility to send her upstairs safely.

It was the unspoken code among friends—look after each other, especially after a few drinks. Refusing would make me look heartless.

And with those words, she planted a seed in everyone’s mind—

No matter what happened to Yashi that night, it would all be my fault.

It was genius in its simplicity. I gritted my teeth, resolving not to let history repeat itself.

Plus, her drunken, leaning-on-me posture painted her as completely harmless.

To everyone else, we were just two friends supporting each other, nothing more. No one saw the steel in her grip, the sharpness in her gaze.

But no one knew—

From an angle no one else could see, Yashi, who was taller than me,

Her hands, seemingly draped limply over my shoulders, were actually gripping them tightly, dragging me along.

My shoulders ached from the pressure, but I kept my face blank, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me wince.

The pain in my shoulders made me frown, so I pretended to be drunk too.

I let my head loll, my steps falter, playing the role she expected. If she wanted a show, I would give her one.

I took off my glasses, using the motion to shake off her grip.

The world blurred for a moment, but I felt her hold loosen. I slipped out of her grasp, my mind racing.

Then I slumped into Yashi’s arms.

Half a head shorter than her, with a flushed baby face, I used a soft, spoiled tone and hugged her.

"Yashi-didi, I swear, my head’s spinning yaar. Can’t walk only."

My voice was small, plaintive, the kind that makes elders want to fuss over you. I pressed my cheek against her shoulder, feeling her stiffen in surprise.

No one expected me to react this way.

Gasps and giggles rippled through the crowd. In their minds, I was the serious one, the bookworm—not the type to act cute or demand attention.

After all, in their eyes, Yashi and I were love rivals.

The rivalry was campus legend: the topper versus the queen bee, both vying for the same boys, the same spotlight. But tonight, I turned the script on its head.

Because Arjun liked her.

Everyone knew it, even if they pretended otherwise. The way his eyes followed her, the way he laughed at her jokes—it was all too obvious.

And just now during truth or dare, when asked who I liked, I’d said Arjun.

The confession had hung in the air, heavy and awkward. I’d seen Yashi’s smile falter for a split second before she recovered.

Very soon, someone exclaimed:

"Oh no! The campus bad boy is really drunk."

The announcement sent a fresh wave of excitement through the crowd. Someone darted upstairs to check, their footsteps echoing in the hallway.

Hiding in Yashi’s arms, I said nothing, just kept pretending to be drunk.

I let her take centre stage, letting the spotlight drift away from me. The less attention I drew, the better.

From an angle others couldn’t see, I curled my lips in a faint smile.

This time, I was the one in control. This time, I would decide how the night ended.

Yashi was startled by my move, her eyes instantly clear.

For a heartbeat, the mask slipped. She stared at me, mouth slightly open, before snapping back into character.

But she still needed me to take the blame for her tonight, so she could only grit her teeth and endure, not daring to push me away.

I could feel her nails digging into my arm, a silent warning. But I didn’t flinch.

And to make the act convincing, she really had drunk a lot—she was at least eighty percent drunk now.

Her words slurred, her steps faltered. The lines between act and reality were beginning to blur.

With her hair a mess, I blinked up at her.

"Yashi-didi, let’s sleep together tonight."

The words were innocent, even playful, but I watched her face closely, searching for any sign of weakness.