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JESSIE
Iinstinctively took a step back, feeling his words like a body blow.
My eighteenth birthday. The worst day of my life.
I wrapped my arms around myself protectively and leaned against the wall of the public toilet, this time without any thought to urine stains.
“It killed me to push you away that night,” he whispered.
“Yeah, right,” I said, with a loud snort.
“It did! You were so radiant. So gorgeous. So… perfect!”
I. Was. Not.
When I was eighteen, I was fat and dumpy and far, far from perfect.
If Aryan was going to spout nonsense like this, I was leaving, I decided. In a minute. Once I got the strength to look him in the eye and call him a liar for saying such things. In a minute.
Until then, I was a prisoner of my memories as the events of that evening flashed in front of my eyes.
Ma had thrown me an eighteenth birthday party that could rival the annual Devgarh Diwali bash. The whole palace was lit up and decorated with flowers, and she had flown my favourite boy band in from the US to perform. I was delirious with joy. Not just at the prospect of a fabulous birthday party, but also because the newly-minted Dr Aryan Sharma had agreed to attend.
Aryan had just begun his residency at Devgarh General Hospital, and he was on duty that weekend. But he had agreed to swap his duty with a friend just so that he could attend my party. How did I know that?
I had known because I had been talking to him on the phone every night, for the past six months. He still hadn’t asked me on a date. I thought that was because my mother had a strict rule about no dating before I turned eighteen. Extremely unfair, but non-negotiable.
I had first called him up because I needed his help in throwing Nivy a surprise party forhereighteenth birthday. And then, he had called me the day after her party to see if I’d suffered any lasting effects of the seven shots that I had downed on a dare. The dare had been to down ten shots and walk in a straight line for thirty seconds after that. I had lost both, the dare and the contents of my stomach after the seventh one.
That twenty-minute phone call with Aryan had made up for the hangover that made me swear off doing shots for the rest of my life. And then, I’d called him the next day to say that I was better. And so on. Our midnight conversations became a part of my life, and I couldn’t fall asleep without Aryan’s voice whispering goodnight in my ear.
All of which had convinced me that he was going to ask me out on my birthday. Well, he didn’t.
Mainly because he hadn’t turned up for my party. Nor had he answered any of my desperate calls. My eighteenth birthday party was officially ruined, thanks to Dr Clueless. I had suffered through the party and the concert and cut the giant cake, and smiled at every last guest through gritted teeth, while my eyes kept turning to the door in the forlorn hope that he would come. He didn’t.
But I wasn’t ready to give up yet. After all the guests left, I sneaked out of my bedroom and forced Nivy to drive me over to Aryan’s hospital quarters because I wanted answers.
She had insisted on staying in the car because she knew her father would disown her if someone stole his car. I had marched upstairs to his room and banged on the door furiously.
My hand was still raised to bang on it some more when the door swung open and a pimply young man in a ganji and shorts took one look at me and yelped. I averted my eyes as he grabbed a towel and covered his shoulders.
“Umm, I’m sorry to disturb you like this. But I’m here to see Dr Aryan Sharma,” I said softly.
He lifted a shaky hand and silently pointed towards a dingy staircase that led up to the roof of the building. I shot him a polite smile and ran up the stairs. The door to the roof was ajar. I pushed it wide open and poked my head around the door. And let out a relieved sigh.
Aryan was sitting on the parapet, with his back propped up against a wall, staring into the distance. I walked up to him slowly and cleared my throat. He turned sharply and I held my breath until he got off the parapet safely.
“What are you doing here?”
I shrugged uneasily because I had just realised that I had no answer to that question.
“You didn’t come to my party.”
“I was on duty. Happy birthday, Your Highness,” he said stiffly, and I just wanted to throw up.
“That’s it?” I asked, aware that my voice was rising. “You didn’t even answer my phone calls. And why were you on duty today? I thought you had arranged to swap duties with a friend.”
“There was an emergency, so I had to stay back.”
