Page 2 of Born in Ruin

“Is that true, Tiny Balls?” Varun’s hateful voice asked. “Did you actually grow these tiny balls?”

“They’re tomatoes, dickhead,” he snarled, control snapping as he turned to face them. “Cherry tomatoes.”

“OOOOH.” The sound came from several mouths at the same time, some of the girls giggling. “Cherry tomatoes.”

Naveen stepped up to one of the plants Ishaan had been kneeling beside. “This one? This one is yours?”

Ishaan’s brief spurt of defiance died instantly. He’d worked months on these plants, finding peace with his hands in the dirt as he’d nurtured them to fruit. He watched, his heart slowing to a dull thud as Naveen raised his foot, the spikes from his football shoes gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight, and brought it down on the plant, grinding it into the mud. Tomatoes burst under his shoe, red juices spilling out and trailing through the dirt. And Ishaan lost it.

He threw the first punch, his puny fist connecting ineffectively with Naveen’s jaw. His fingers screamed with pain even as Naveen swung back and punched him in the ear. He heard another scream, a distant one, but with his ears ringing and pain surging through him, he could never be sure if it was real or not.

Someone shoved him from behind and he landed on his butt, tomato juices soaking into his uniform shorts. He stared dully as the DD’s stomped and smashed what was left of the tomato plants before laughing and hi fiving each other.

He looked up to where Mayukhi and the girls stood, some laughing, some standing quietly. Mayukhi wasn’t laughing. She came up to him, holding her hand out to help him to his feet.

Ishaan ignored her outstretched hand and got to his feet. “This is all your fault,” he told her, his voice full of hatred that had nowhere to go. In her, he found an easy target. “I hate you.”

Something flashed in her eyes as she stared him down and then she tipped her chin up and declared, “I hate you too, Tiny Balls.”

ONE

Ishaan

“Organic farming,” Ishaan announced shoving Amay’s front door open and striding in.

Dr. Amay Aatre stood in his kitchen, a knife poised in mid-air over a raw chicken piece. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, lowering the knife and smoothly continuing to dice the chicken on the board in front of him.

Ishaan’s step faltered at the sight of Amay. He frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“Thisismy house,” Amay pointed out.

“The hospital is your house,” Ishaan retorted, looking around. “Where’s Goody?”

Dhrithi, Amay’s girlfriend, sauntered out of the bedroom in ratty shorts and a t-shirt, her nose buried in her phone, an intensely focused look on her face. Whatever she was looking at, it wasn’t good. She looked up when he cleared his throat. “Oh good, you’re here. Have you-“

“Tomatoes,” Ishaan interrupted her.

Dhrithi stopped talking, flummoxed. “Tomatoes?” she parroted.

“I want to grow them.”

“Oh!”

Amay’s head swiveled from one face to the other, amusement and concern melding in his expression.

“Want to grow tomatoes with me, Goody?”

Dhrithi continued to stare at Ishaan, a furrow between her brows. “You haven’t seen the news, have you?”

“Focus Goody.” Ishaan rounded the kitchen counter, shoving Amay aside and grabbing the knife. He did a showy little flip with it, and then proceeded to chop what was left of the chicken.

“You could have at least washed your hands!” Amay grumbled, moving off to wash his own.

“Ishaan-“ Dhrithi tried again.

He pointed the knife at her. “Hear me out. Organic farming is where it’s at.”

“You’re a tech guy,” she pointed out, coming to sit on one of the stools that lined the kitchen counter.

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