Chapter 3: Breaking Away

In the dim corner of the restaurant’s private room—one of those family joints on Linking Road, all fake chandeliers and noisy fans—Arjun and Priya sat close, whispering. Priya wore a black crop top and a tight denim skirt, her hair blow-dried to perfection, skin glowing with that South Bombay confidence.

They looked like a page out of a Bollywood magazine, set apart from the crowd, lost in their own world.

Even through the phone screen, a strange mix of excitement and pain crawled up my chest. The background buzzed with someone shouting, "Abe, who’s splitting the bill?" and the mouthwatering aroma of butter chicken and masala fries drifted through the room.

Arjun had said just that afternoon he wanted Priya, and by nightfall, here they were—thick as thieves.

During a party game, Priya picked a dare—guy does push-ups with a girl underneath. Typical. Without missing a beat, Arjun volunteered, all swagger.

Everyone started hooting and whistling. Priya, blushing, lay down on the sofa. Arjun positioned himself above her, doing push-ups, careful not to touch. On the last one—maybe he slipped, maybe not—he fell right onto her. The room erupted in laughter and wolf whistles.

Both turned red as tomatoes. And in all the noise, Arjun bent down and kissed Priya full on the lips, as if no one else existed.

The kiss went on and on—three minutes, maybe more. I held my breath, chest aching as if someone had twisted a knife inside me.

I wanted to cry, but after all those hours in the bathroom, my tears were gone.

"Arrey yaar, Sneha, did you see that? Kissing with strings and all, total filmi scene! He’s so into her, yaar!"

Mitali sighed, moving the camera away and stepping into the corridor, her voice gentle:

"Sneha, don’t hate me, okay? If I didn’t show you, you’d never believe, never move on."

My throat burned. I managed a hoarse, "Hmm. I know. It’s my fault, Mitali. I was the stupid one, holding on so long, thinking just because I followed Arjun everywhere, that spot was mine."

"I just can’t stand Arjun, yaar. He knew you liked him since school! Still, he kept playing dumb, letting you dream, never letting you go. Now you saw—don’t let him waste four more years of your college life!"

I took a long, shaky breath and cut her off, my voice surprisingly steady:

"I won’t, Mitali. I won’t let myself be a fool again."

"I’ve decided—Pune University with you. But promise me, chup chaap, don’t tell anyone, okay?"

To stop myself from changing my mind, I opened my battered laptop right then, Mitali still watching. The window fan buzzed as I hovered over the 'submit' button for Pune’s top college, thinking of all the Delhi dreams I was letting go. My lips moved in a quick, silent prayer—please, let this be the right choice. Then, I clicked.

Mitali squealed, her voice echoing through the walls. She’d wanted this for months, and now, finally, my name was beside hers on the screen.

But it hadn’t always been this way. When we started college, I promised Arjun we’d slog together for Delhi, his dream city. He wanted aeronautics; I didn’t even care for Delhi’s dry air, but made it my goal, just because he asked.

Our parents—old friends, neighbours—were thrilled at the idea. Everyone assumed, once we turned eighteen, Arjun and I would become official. Even I believed it, sometimes. But after today, I couldn’t think of a single reason to go to Delhi anymore.

If I kept clinging to Arjun, I’d lose whatever little respect I had left for myself.

All I wanted was to disappear, start fresh—somewhere Arjun wouldn’t find me, couldn’t ruin me again.

He’s in the north. I’ll go south. Bas, ho gaya.