Chapter 10: Biryani Hope and Heartbreak
After New Year’s, with a few days of vacation left, I was bored at home.
The city felt emptier, the streets quieter, the TV in the hall playing old serials. I yawned, flipping through WhatsApp statuses for the hundredth time.
I spotted a flyer for a biryani place on the coffee table and my eyes lit up. I snapped a photo and posted it to my WhatsApp Status: “Biryani House Couples’ Meal Half Off! Anyone want to pair up with this poor single guy?”
I clicked the photo with extra care, making sure my old cricket trophy was in the background. Added a winking emoji for good measure.
My Dadi peered over my shoulder, muttering, “Bachcha, don’t advertise your hunger on the internet.”
Within two minutes, my comments blew up.
Priya: “Always chasing these little deals. Wouldn’t eating with me at full price be better?”
Meera: “How about we pair up?”
Friend 1: “Would you go with a guy?”
Friend 2: “Stop fishing—there aren’t any single girls left. I’m tired of your bait.”
Me: …
I rolled my eyes. I had half a mind to just go alone and order the couple meal anyway.
Not long after, Ananya unexpectedly sent me a WhatsApp message.
Ananya: “When?”
I blinked twice, sure it was a prank. My thumb hovered over her name.
Kabir: “?”
Ananya: “Aren’t you going for biryani?”
The heart that had finally calmed down after half a year started pounding again.
It thudded so loudly, my grandma asked if I was okay from the next room.
I didn’t know why she wanted to eat biryani with me, but I was still looking forward to it and couldn’t say no.
Kabir: “When are you free?”
Ananya: “Anytime.”
I checked the time. It was already 8:30 PM.
Kabir: “How about tomorrow afternoon?”
Ananya: “Okay.”
I stared at the chat, grinning like an idiot.
I caught my reflection in the TV, smiling at my phone, and felt both embarrassed and overjoyed. This could be something—maybe.
Maybe she didn’t hate me that much after all. Maybe she was just cold before because she was heartbroken. My imagination ran wild, and my mood soared.
I pictured us at the biryani house, laughing over cold drinks, maybe talking about that night. Hope began to bloom again, stubborn as Mumbai weeds.
I hummed as I got ready for bed. My cousin called, asking me to make some extra cash. I was reluctant.
She gritted her teeth and raised the price: “A thousand if you do it.”
She was offering too much.
I fixed myself up again and rushed over.
Wore my favourite kurta, even combed my hair twice. My cousin rolled her eyes, but paid up without complaint.
Easily made a thousand rupees. Thinking about having dinner with my goddess tomorrow, I was so happy I could barely sleep.
I lay awake, scrolling through old school photos, imagining what I’d say. I even rehearsed a joke in my head.
I sighed inwardly. After being ignored by fate for so many years, maybe luck was finally turning my way.
I hugged my phone and slept till morning.
As soon as I woke up, I kept changing clothes and fixing my hair.
I tried on three shirts, two different pairs of jeans, and asked my mum if my hair looked okay. She laughed, shaking her head.
Then I kept editing and deleting messages to Ananya.
Wrote a hundred versions of, "Good morning!" and "Are we still on for lunch?" Finally, I settled for the least desperate-sounding one.
After agonising forever, I finally sent a simple one: “Are you up?”
But…
Seriously?
She deleted me…
That’s right—out of nowhere, she deleted me.
I was left with nothing but question marks, both angry and amused.
My phone felt suddenly heavier. Maybe this is what heartbreak feels like—not a dramatic filmi scene, just a quiet, empty chat window.
I stared at my phone for a full five minutes, not sure whether to laugh, cry, or call Priya for help. I scrolled through her old messages, looking for a clue. Nothing.
The more nervous and excited I’d been before, the more disappointed and frustrated I was now.
My brain was spinning. I still couldn’t figure out—why did she play me like this?
Maybe this is what people mean when they say, "Dil hai ki maanta nahin." Even after all this, I knew I’d probably wait for her message tomorrow. Just in case.
I stared at her empty chat, thumb hovering. Tomorrow, maybe she’ll message. Or maybe not. But I knew I’d keep checking—just in case.