When Vaibhav had first attended the puja, Riddhi had very excitedly told him that her best friend would be attending it. Now, Riddhi's best friend, the word had painted an image inside his head that was quite unlike what Shweta had turned out to be. Never in a million years would he have imagined that the demure Riddhi had a loud-mouthed best-friend who swore like a sailor at times. When Riddhi had tried to introduce them, it had taken Shweta only two seconds to interrupt her and say, "I'm the best friend. And really, that's all he needs to know. Now, Riddhi your mother was looking for you. Why don't I make your cousin feel at home?"
As if she were Riddhi's family and he an outsider. And in many ways, he supposed he was. When Riddhi had dashed off, her Bambi-like eyes widening at the mention of her mother, Shweta had given him an impish smile. "I'm Shweta, by the way."
"Nice to meet you, Shweta by-the-way. I'm Vaibhav, by-the-river." A lame joke that he'd thought of the very instant, the memory of which made him cringe. But what followed never made him regret having made it. Shweta had thrown her head back as she laughed, her short hair sticking to the sides of her face as she gave him an amused smile once she was done.
"Why the river, though?" She'd asked, her dark eyes thoroughly entertained.
"Because that's the end, isn't it? That's where we end up once our ashes are burnt." He had said, and the surprised look on her face made him feel strangely proud. She hadn't been expecting it.
"That's awfully dark." She'd pointed out.
"But hey, when the mortals come to meet me, they'll talk to me of how they met you on the way," Hed said; a brazen move towards someone he had just met. But within the ten minutes in which he had met her, he had never been more attracted to a person.
Shweta had grinned, her smile was a bit embarrassed and flattered. That she was flattered, he would receive his confirmation in the next seven days when she'd continuously seek out his company. When she wasn't running behind Riddhi.
The dynamic between Riddhi and Shweta always confused him. In many ways, it would appear that Shweta was the loud and dominating one making every decision in their friendship. And in many ways, it was like that. When he'd catch them making plans, Riddhi would suggest a place and Shweta would shoot it down without so much as a second thought. Whether Riddhi ought to text back an over-excited admirer or not, Shweta seemed to purse her mouth and tell her things like wow, that's lame, or but he's cute though. She never seemed to consult Riddhi for her own decisions, her best-friend never factoring in those decisions of hers.
But at the same time, when Shweta received nasty messages from her frenemy (she seemed to have a lot of those), it was Riddhi whose counsel she'd seek over anyone else's. It was quiet Riddhi who seemed to be the only one whose opinions she listened to and even respected enough to follow them through. Shweta was guarded, that much he knew, but even when she didn't let her guard down around Riddhi the unwavering respect never seemed to fade. You could almost say, that Riddhi was the only person Shweta considered to be better than herself.
It made him jealous at times, the way she spoke of Riddhi. A sense of admiration and even pride at having Riddhi as her friend. He had almost wanted to ask her, but he hadn't for fear of offending her. How had she managed to uphold it without being jealous of what she clearly admired in her friend?
But he had let it slide and the thoughts had receded to a quiet corner inside his head. He wasn't really concerned with Shweta and Riddhi's dynamic as he was with his own with her. It had puzzled him and excited him in equal amounts. And his only consolation was that she seemed equally excited and puzzled by him. She never seemed to be afraid to show that she was attracted, never tried to pull him in and then coldly push him out, simply to madden him. With her, he knew exactly where he stood; yet it never failed to excite him.
It wasn't that she was predictable. She was by far the most unpredictable girl he had met. But there was this refreshing honesty about her that stood out; a blunt, not ill-intentioned honesty that landed her in trouble more than once. Trouble seemed to follow her wherever she went and she took it sportingly. Never hesitating to put people in their place when they seemed to be taking advantage of the polite Riddhi, rushing to her friend's rescue before Riddhi even asked for it. Never hesitate to put him in his place when he teased her; though the tell-tale blush and the slight smile never left her face assuring him that she quite liked all of his attention. Underneath all of that bolster, was a fair bit of bluff at least where he was concerned.
And he had been besotted. Within day-three, they'd found themselves upstairs in one of the empty rooms of Riddhis house while the puja downstairs blared on full volume on loudspeakers. He had meant to tease her, fingertips dancing at the edge of the door while leaning against the doorframe. She was talking about Mathematics and god knows what else, when all he had wanted to do was trace his fingers on her lips, run them along her jawline and touch the small mole that sat on her chin. The mole, that to him, looked just as impertinent as she did when she got into one of her arguments. Don't you see, he suddenly wanted to tell her, how beautiful you are? Can we please talk about that for a minute? He wondered what she'd do if he attempted to do that. Laugh at him, mostly. He hoped she wouldn't be offended.
He hadn't dared to make a move. Except for smirk, hide whatever he felt. It was better left unsaid, the words that seemed to be boiling within him with a ferocity that scared him as well.
And when she had kissed him, lips chapped enough to create delicious friction between them. He swore he could see fireworks and for a second even the toxic masculinity that patriarchy had instilled in him couldn't tease him about being 'whipped'. One second, she had been walking ahead towards her house, a goodbye having been said, and then next, her lips were on his. Demanding, hungry, and impatient; everything he had felt in the past week. Taken aback only for a second, he had reveled in the kiss, pulling her closer and pressing her against him, arms around her waist as the soft smell of her coconut shampoo wafted into his nostrils, he only wished he'd done it sooner. He had expected her to drift away from his head once the distance between them increased. He couldn't have been more wrong.
The text messages, the phone-calls where she whispered afraid that her mother would wake up and find her still awake during the wee hours of the morning. Her voice in his ear, soft and gentle, one second making him feel as though he were floating. An ethereal, transcendental voice that had wooed him the second he had laid eyes on the girl to whom it belonged. The next second, bringing him crashing down and grounding him; ensuring his feet were firmly planted on the ground. It was all fun and jokes, a low-key magical vibe that she understood for all of her boisterous-ness.
For someone so loud, so outgoing, and extroverted, she seemed to genuinely not be interested in showing off, becoming an exclusive couple, and was more than content in letting things be. Vaibhav, for all his dark-spirited humor and crooning alongside a guitar under the moonlight, was somebody who felt the need for approval. The yearning for validation that every artist struggles with; pushing it away and pretending he didn't need it was his greatest defense mechanism. He was fiercely individualistic in his desire to create, leave a mark yet equally needy in his want for approval for his existence. Beneath all the sarcasm and smirks lurked insecurity that he battled with, never having been the conventional neighborhood boy; his senses heightened from years of being labeled as a freak.
Then she had walked in, so unbothered and confident simply blooming as though it were the most natural thing on Earth. So unfazed, so firm in her belief that there was nothing wrong with being confident. A genuine, sunniness with which she weathered all of her life; utterly unconcerned with what the world thought of her. He was smitten, not just with her but with all that he could be when he was with her. An infatuation, the most naïve form of love, is birthed when they let you see a flash of your own potential when you are with them. Would this last? We have no means to know, but was there a possibility that it would mature? There was.
She was outgoing, never having a problem with vocalizing; in no way shy, and restrained to a corner. Never providing an explanation to people about what her life was about; never even bothering to wait and hear their take on her business. Never publicizing whatever they shared outside; never having to seek validation from peers, never driving him crazy asking him what they were. He was the one going crazy wondering what they were. Was she just as much attracted to him as he was to her? Were they friends, just friends? Were they something more? She seemed so happy to not have to put a label into whatever they were, so content with the friendship that they shared. Unbothered enough, to not tell anyone, even Riddhi. That one had stumped him a bit; she wasn't embarrassed by him in any way, now was she?
But when they had met for the first time after the puja, at Riddhis home; she had looked at him with such intensity, such longing, that all of the insecurities screaming in his head had died away. She wasn't embarrassed by him, no ulterior motive; just so fucking real and honest that it seemed crazy at times to him that she existed. Riddhi had run off, saying something about organic chemistry tuitions for an upcoming test that she couldn't bear to miss. With a hasty apology to Shweta, Riddhi had run off never imagining that her best friend was more than delighted to be stuck alone in the house with him.
She had smiled, a question hidden within the smile, walking over to him looking so goddamn beautiful the way she did every-time. So confident, so self-assured; did she know how attractive that was?
Gently nudging him against the locked door, he had been more than happy to let her take the lead. Watch her, every inch of her, so tantalizing and hypnotic. When she'd stood on her tiptoes, to reach his lips; he wondered if she could feel his heart-beat erratic and pounding against his chest. She'd smiled against him, in the middle of the kiss and he swore he hadn't believed it was possible to be so attracted to a woman. When she'd undone the front buttons of his shirt, there had been no questioning and hesitation after that. No asking if he was good enough for her; nothing of that kind; she wanted him and that was the only thing he needed at the time.
"Aren't you going to do something?" She'd asked, tracing her finger against the bare flesh of his chest, sending goose-bumps through all of him.
Of course, he was. Taking her to bed, kissing every inch of her; worshipping her. When he had kissed her again, the afternoon sun falling into her eyes making them look lighter than they were, her hair sprawled against the bed of the guest-room, he swore it was love. Then, he'd kissed her, moving lower and lower. Removing the fabric that separated him from her with a tenderness that surprised him because blood was hammering through him with such impatience. But she was so beautiful, her existence so ethereal that second that he was sure he would have waited all through goddamn eternity just to have her place her sweet lips on his again.
"What are you?" He'd murmured as he kissed her breasts, the nipples taut and erect. She'd moaned her approval and then in true Shweta fashion, she had giggled. "What do you mean?"
"You. You are magic, do you know that?" He'd growled, not even bothering to assess his statement. The cliché, drunk-in-love boy that now that he was. Irony having him become the very stereotype he detested. But if this was Irony, kissing a woman so goddamn wonderful, then he was certain that Irony was kind.
"You're being silly." She had giggled as he had paused up to look at her, as if suddenly aware that her torso lay exposed to him nothing covering him. The warmth of his mouth had left her breasts, little round goose-bumps on the mound of flesh.
But before she could shy away, before any concern of her body arose, he'd returned dutifully to them. Trailing warm kisses along her belly, all the way to the waistband of her jeans. He could feel her tense and he'd stopped to look up at her, asking if it was okay. His own desire, hard and strong but willing to wait.
Pushing herself off the bed, she had climbed onto his lap, kissing him again. Hungry, demanding pushing hard against his chest; a desire that matched his own. Unabashed, furious, and equally ravenous.
There had been no going back after it. There had been the fumbling awkwardness through it all, the constant checking with each other to see if it was alright. His belt got stuck, refusing to move and it was only when her jeans were touching the ground did they realize that her shoes were yet to come off. She had been shy and he had been shy, the experience new to both of them. They lacked the seasoned confidence of cynical adults but they made up for that with unbridled enthusiasm. And when all was said and done, he had lain against her, both of them coated in a thin sheen of sweat.
She had been looking elsewhere, her eyes focused on the beam of sunlight falling through, the dust particles dancing in the light. And he had almost said it, that he loved her. He knew he did.
But coated in the silence that she seemed so comfortable in, he had dared not to disturb it. Keeping it within himself, out of both respect and fear. Fear that she might laugh at him or worse get a horrified look on her face. Out of respect because he knew deep down that she wouldn't do either of those things. She wouldn't say it back but shed go around trying to feel the same for him and making herself miserable in the process. But she was watching the sunlight, the dancing dust and she seemed so happy with it. So happy with the emanating calm.
Sensing his eyes on her, she had rolled over to look at him and smiled her fingers reaching out to caress the rough patches of his chin.
"What?" She'd whispered, looking into his eyes.
"Nothing." He'd shaken his head slightly, contending himself with brushing the hair off her face and tucking it behind her ear.
The nothing would haunt him in the coming weeks when Shweta would call him hysterical and panicky about a missing period that seemed to have everything to do with him. When she'd spoken about her period being missing, she hadn't said anything about what had happened between them. But the insinuation hung heavily in the air and he wasn't so much of a dick to not acknowledge it.
Even if he admitted he loved her, she might always think it was out of pity or some desperate way to make her feel better about the situation. So, he'd said thinking his words carefully as they spilled out of his mouth, "I want you to listen to me before you go for the pregnancy test. This doesn't change anything between us. All of this fooling around hasn't just been that; not for me. So, if you're carrying my child, fuck that's scary, then I'll be here to take the goddamn blame and ask you on a date. And if you're not as well, do I get a date?"
His own heart hammering at the bravado that he had just exhibited. But when he heard the tearful, "You do" from the other end of the phone, it had been worth it.
And now that he was here, he was a man on a mission willing to work through any argument she might have to convince her. That he loved her goddamn it and if she'd just please go on a date with him so he could be the happiest eighteen-year-old boy in the world.
A/n:Â Boys are allowed to cry! Love to all sensitive boys out there. Not that they'd read this book but whatever.
Yours sincerely,
shortgirlbigbook â¤ï¸.