Fiction: Namya’s privileged college life is challenged when crossing paths with Vir, a village boy

It’s late in the evening here in the Atrium. I feel more put together because Pari did most of my introductions and she is comfortable around random people. I try to shut away all my inhibitions and focus on these new people, one by one, rather than on my inner voice which is constantly trying to unravel what they are thinking of me behind their polite exteriors.

After half an hour of forcing myself out of my own head, I start to calm down. The horrible afternoon has given way to a glorious overcast sky, Spotify’s Chai & Acoustic playlist is on a loop, and warm samosas, adrak-wali chai and cold coffee are being served in this Karan Johar-type college. I try to speak to a few people out of my own volition, and Mehreen emerges as my favourite. I feel an immediate ease with her, and she is easy on the eyes, too. She helps me figure out the name of the guy Pari was on the hunt for, and I’m relieved to have been of some use in this department.

We are sitting on a bench, sipping on our respective drinks. I’m enraptured by her A-class storytelling. She has already told me bits of her life story:

Her annoying siblings, her dream of doing law at Oxford after Maurya, her clueless but emotionally available parents, and her growing up in an all-girls boarding school on the outskirts of Bengaluru. Apparently, in the hostel, they would get only one bucket of warm water per day, and just two buckets on Saturdays for their weekly hair-washing. When they had boyfriends (who studied in the neighbouring boarding school), their only way of communicating was through phones that the lucky few had managed to smuggle into school, which they fought over like rabid dogs to talk to their first loves. The only other option was to send chits to their intended romantic partners via their mutual friends at festivals, all while dodging their bloodhound-like teachers.

“That’s so romantic!” I hear myself singing to her freely.

“Oh, it was. But bro, I think we just overly romanticised it because, you know, happy gas, no? But you would get expelled if you were caught! And war was declared when two girls were into the same guy! This giant bubble called Maurya will be nothing for me after all that!” she giggles.

I, too, laugh, pretending to know what she means. Just then, some other girl, also exuding confidence, calls out to her. Mehreen hurries away, apologetically, promising to return.

I don’t think I’ve seen so many good-looking people in one place in real life before. I feel like I’m on some show like Perfect Match, except I’m the person who gets eliminated in the first round for not being sexy enough. I imagine hidden cameras all around the Atrium as I smoothen out my dress and take a deep breath to make myself look more composed in whatever they’re recording.

What if Samarth walks in right now, sees how awful I look, and is over the moon that he chose Mira over me? I fell for Samarth when I was twelve years old. We lived in the same colony and our conversations were short and mostly awkward, but I would sit and repeat every idiotic word he ever uttered to me in my head over and over again, looking for signs that he felt the same way.

I would go to my balcony at the same time, every evening, knowing he would show up below it to kick his football around the park and make fun of his friends loudly, only to look up at me every five minutes to see if I had laughed. He had light-brown eyes and an inherent purity about him. Every time we made eye contact, my body would turn to jelly, and I would smile foolishly at him; he would flash back his big smile with the slightly crooked teeth and I wouldn’t be able to get sleep until five in the morning. This carried on for years. But we didn’t have anything in common and seldom had an excuse to talk to each other. Eventually, he dropped out of my life.

By the time he’d finished school and entered Maurya, my parents were divorced, and I’d already moved out of our old house. But whenever I was anxious and alone, I’d think of his smile and feel better. Because I missed the way he made me feel – like a ridiculously giddy child who no one in the world could get down. In the hero of every romcom I watched, I found Samarth; in every great Bollywood movie, he was the young SRK; and at every stage of my short, sad life, I craved the nervous turn of my stomach and the shot of adrenaline through my veins that only his crooked smile could provide.

A few months ago, I saw Samarth for the first time in nearly a year. It was the wedding reception of someone in our old colony and Papa forced me to go because obviously he was too busy to be there himself and someone had to “represent the family”.

As usual, he made up by pushing me to take his driver and the new Merc as an apology. I knew no one there and was hovering awkwardly in some corner, shoving snacks down my throat, when Samarth showed up with another girl on his arm. She had short black curls, a sleek nose, thin arms and a narrow frame. She was gorgeous.

“Are you alright?” Strangely, it was one of Samarth’s friends who asked me this.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I responded coldly.

“Oh, come on! Everyone knows what’s going on here,” he said teasingly.

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to look uninterested. He sensed the distress in my voice and suggested something else instead.

“You know Samarth has always been the jealous type…”

There was a long and awkward silence until he had to spell it out for me.

“Would you like to dance?”

It was a formal dance at a Catholic event – way out of my comfort zone. But he put one hand on my waist and the other in mine, and before I knew it, we were moving about the floor slowly, leisurely. Like clockwork, I looked up and saw Samarth approaching the dance floor, eyes darting at us. He had his hand on her waist, and his body against hers. To make things worse, he kept his light-brown, longing eyes locked with mine, refusing to look away. It was such a movie-type moment! Like in Jaane Tu…Ya Jaane Na, when Jay and Aditi are dancing with other people but staring at each other and, you know, they’re desperately in love and should just be together instead!

Pathetically enough, I wanted to kiss him. Clearly, that night, I had sought inspiration from my beloved mother and that thought horrified me.

I abruptly pulled out of the dance, walked swiftly towards the exit and pushed the doors open as quickly as I could to the desolate lift lobby. I was right outside the lift when I felt strong fingers close in around my arm and effortlessly spin me around.

“Hi,” Samarth said gently, still holding my arm.

“Oh, hey, when did you get here?” I said, playing my part, pretending to see him for the first time that night.

Excerpted with permission from Liberal Hearts, Nayantara Violet Alva, Penguin India.