2| The Bad News

‘Did you call her?’ Neha asked as soon as she spotted me pacing on the patio. The army girl in our group, Neha Jain—grade A, NCC cadet, was a bit chubby but tall and very amicable. She although was more boyish than an average tomboy should be, there was something lovely about her character that attracted people like beehives. 

Neha was sweet ninety-nine percent of the time. She will happily endure each one of our ‘girlishness’ with a sweet smile and will try to go with the flow, but the one percent she will lose her calm, it will be catastrophic.  

‘I tried. Today is the third day, I don’t know what happened. She isn't answering my phone calls. I just don't know...’ My voice trailed off in want of an appropriate word that never clicked.  

‘Fuck! I just wish I could kick the asshole out of her life. I swear if he tries too hard to touch a strand of her hair. He is busted!’ The squeaky voice startled me. It just made Neha roll her eyes while I failed to come up with any response and decided to fill the gaps with blank stares. 

It was then that I had noticed my other buddies stepping out of Kushagra's car which wasn't parked at a distance. It was a Bentley. (Rich kids! I told you.)  Sighing dramatically, we shifted our gaze to Ishana Singhania: the fashionista and a woman Casanova in our group(Or whatever it is called!).

Ishana was the prettiest in the lot. A curvy figure wrapped in white satin Tokyo Talkies and matching skinny jeans, Ishana was the 'ideal' Delhi girl who was known to be the heartbreaker. She huffed out a dramatic puff and cat-walked towards us. Her high heels making a click-clack sound with each step.  

Her standing out hazel eyes were narrowed at nothing. For a minute, my eyes enviously raked over her slender figure, long legs, and perfectly styled hair. Everything about Ishana was a boy’s wet dreams, yet she was no match to the weeping beauty we were worried about.   

Ms. Anne Singh Rajput was twenty-three and a student pursuing a degree in Company Secretaries. (We all were!) The academic program being a demanding one, our classes swallowed most of our time and energy. Nonetheless, we adored the pressure and loved every minute of it. We considered the pressure to be a sign of growth and had faith that our work would, one day, create a difference in society. It made us feel worthy. 

Anne was a nerd and so was I. It didn't mean we didn't appreciate the flings. We did! We just hated how hard the aftermath become.  At the moment, we were just bearing the consequences of one of such events.

Anne, my best friend, had just had her ninth break-up of the year. Ven (the ex-boyfriend) was our senior in high school and apparently, Anne had a crush on him ever since...I don't know. 

Two months back, we bumped into him at a cruise party in Mumbai. We had an audit scheduled at NSE which ended up giving free access to a high-ended party. They chatted, got drunk, and ended up with a couple of lasting orgasms that lingered till we came back to Delhi. A week later, Ven and Anne were official. Things went smoothly until recently, Ven's parents arranged his wedding with a friend's daughter.

Long story short! Ven couldn't disobey his parents for his fifty percent stake in the family and had dumped my friend for the witch who probably had fucked more guys than you can count on fingertips. Now, the dumping wasn't an issue, but the lack of a boyfriend was! Apparently, Ven had decided to walk out a week before Anne's sister's engagement where she had promised her folks to introduce them to her 'boyfriend' (who doesn't exist anymore!) and show them how 'responsible' she had become.

'Umm, girls? Any good news?' The masculine voice put a halt at my racing mind. Again, I hadn't had to turn around to know who it was. (Again!) Kushagra Malhotra, the jock of our institute and one of the two males in the group, was standing with a sheepish grin on his face. 

'You think so?' Neha retorted, narrowing her eyes at him. 

A chubby, cute, and adorable nerd who not only excelled in academics but was good in other branches of life too—such as public speaking, and arts, I was always short of words to define Kushagra and Neha's relationship. It could be a one-sided love story or it could be nothing. 

Almost everyone in my Circle had a thing...except me. Hey! But I wasn't any less either. 

Enriched with sassy humor, wittiness, and a sharp tongue that can bite the life out of you, I once had boys lined up for me, but every one of them had left me disappointed (Just like Rudransh did!). For a year or more, it will be all good with cheesy pick-up lines, butterflies in the stomach, and little surprises here and there, but as time passes and we get closer it will turn out to be plain-ass nothing. 

Physically, I was an attractive woman. A little overweight, but busty, sexy, and cool. I stood five feet tall with dark chocolate eyes, long curly lashes, and blonde highlighted hairs which fell just beside my breasts. I wasn't particularly the look-at-me-and-you-will-sure-to-get-a-boner type. Rather, I was a chat-with-me-and-you-will-never-want-to-stop-talking type. Maybe which was why, I was never short on proposals. 

My life had only made me cautious about the love side. For a year, I had been continuously turning down proposals—one after another like a woman on a mission. I always believed I was special in so many ways and being special has a price to pay of its own. 

I had already paid the price by trusting the wrong man. I needed no reminder of the humiliating memories. The event was fresh as if it was just yesterday.

'Umm...guys, it will be better if we check on our girlfriend rather than watching you both sucking the life out of each other.' Ishana squeaked. (She didn't! She always sounded like that and by now I must have gotten used to it. But I couldn't.)

'Surely!' Kushagra signed, walking away towards the 'apartment'. Now, people must be wondering why my best friend, daughter of one of the ten richest people in India, was crammed in my storeroom, weeping over a guy that meant nothing.

Apparently, it has another story. Growing up, Anne had regular issues with her parents who wanted her to be 'something' when Anne wanted to be anything but that 'something'. 

One day, the arguments just went overboard resulting in her getting kicked out and cutting the regular flow of money from the legacy. She needed a space to put up which wouldn’t make a wider hole in her already cramped-up pocket and wouldn't poke her privacy. Where she could be just Anne and nothing more. My family had recently cleaned up the storeroom for the upcoming Diwali Festival. (The heart and soul amongst the Infinite festivals in India.)

It was during the third week of her unwanted stay at Kushagra's place that I proposed the aspect that she could work as a tenant in my Disney Castle-like house with little to no rents as consideration. Initially, the idea horrified her. It was barely a room where she could see herself spending the 'rest of her life' (Her words, not mine!) and she'd better live at a footpath than the rat's hole. 

Unlike hers, my parents weren't amongst the richest people in the nation. My father managed the 'Blueberries' franchisee and my mother was a house maker. We were more on the scale of upper-middle-class than the super riches I hung out with, but they were admirable, cool, and supportive.  

When her third call in the quest for an apartment couldn’t provide her with a square box where she could stuff up her seven bags, some hundreds of books, and her essential commodity (i.e., a Macbook), I offered to show her around and see if it could work. Long story short, the storeroom was converted into lodging for our royal guest, and the next day, Anne moved in.

'Umm...guys! You go get Anne out. I will go check on Priyanka. She wants to tag along.' I told them, shuffling away.  

'Eh? Priyanka?' 

'The one getting divorced. Didn't I tell you about Mrs. Vohra's daughter? The court is being ridiculous again. I think she needs to losen up a bit.'

'Is she hot?' Kushagra asked as he stuffed his hands down the pocket and stared at me expectedly with a wicked grin. 

'As fire! Wanna burn?' You guessed it! It was Neha's snarl. 

'Have been waiting since eternity! Engulf me the fire, babe. I cannot bear the sensational itchings.' I heard Kushagra retorting flirtatiously as I crossed the road and rang the doorbell. A beaming Mrs. Vohra opened the door and welcomed me.  

'What a lovely girl! Please, come in.' Mrs. Vohra stepped aside, gesturing me to follow her. 

'Umm...my friends are waiting. If you don't mind, can you please tell Priyanka to hurry up?' I asked her, taking my phone out of the backpack. I plopped on the couch and started scrolling through the news feed where a single headline particularly caught my attention. 

The Shenoy's have introduced another Benchmark. Young Shenoy to introduce robotics in construction. 

I clicked on the link to read further. 

Shenoy Group that has recently taken over the Sanyam Bangha (PVT) Limited, is all set on revolutionizing the Indian Architect Market with new technology. Mr. Rudransh Shenoy has been recently seen negotiating a tech deal with Sankyo. Rumors are that the young CEO is planning on tapping the market by introducing freshly developed robot-driven technology which is both efficient and cost-effective.

As alleged by the sources, chances are Mr. Rudransh Shenoy will finalize the deal with Sankyo by the end of this week. His private jet has been spotted at the Indira Gandhi Airport, New Delhi. 

Remarkably, the Shenoy Group has witnessed unexpected acceleration since the young Shenoy has overtaken the management. 

The temperature in the room had suddenly declined to a significant level which made me choke on my own saliva.  

'Rudra is back? In Delhi?' The thought was muzzy, unapproachable. It made my head spin. It had almost been a year since he had left the city. For once, I was grateful for being left alone to weep at my miseries. I had almost forgotten that he could still be traveling to places, fucking women, and making groundbreaking deals without giving a second thought about the struggling woman he had left behind: The woman who still wasn't over him, the woman who could still not breathe after reading mere news of him being in the same city. 

The woman who never wanted to be his! 

'I DON'T CARE!'