Page 4 of Red Flags and Rishtas
‘I know,’ I whined.
‘But you hate arranged marriages.’
‘I know.’
‘But you don’t have to do it, right? You just have to meet this guy,’ she pondered.
I didn’t know why I had agreed to do this. As our school psychology teacher would put it, I had let my parents get a foot in the door. Now that I had complied once and given them an in,it would be easier to get me to agree to their bigger requests in the future. If I wasn’t careful, I’d find myself marrying a lalaji’s son in no time.
A week ago, when Mom and Dad had brought up the topic of shaadi at the dinner table, I’d thought nothing of it. They were discussing potential matches for my cousin Riya, who was twenty-nine and ‘looking’. And suddenly, they started talking up this one boy who worked in marketing, had a seven-figure salary and apparently looked like a movie star. I oooh-ed and aaah-ed at regular intervals, pretending to be interested in my cousin’s fiancé-to-be. Until it dawned on me that they weren’t talking about a match for Riya.
‘They’re so sneaky, man. They made my biodata without asking me. And you know the worst part?’
‘What?’ Vrinda asked, her face aghast.
‘They used that horrible photo of me from Garima’s Diwali party,’ I groaned.
She snickered before her face went deadpan again.
‘You know, they just worry about you because you haven’t had a real relationship in years. Ever since Mr You-Know-Who,’ she said, pulling me close.
We didn’t talk about my ex. That was another rule. It was a story as old as time. Hot musician meets gullible girl, leads her on and then breaks her heart, forever tainting the way she lived and loved.
I nestled my head in the crest of her shoulder and said, ‘I know.’
‘You just need to put yourself out there a bit more,’ she said, rubbing my arm gently. ‘You know, meet new people – and I don’t mean off the apps. Talk to real people,’ she said.
‘Where am I going to find these “real” people?’ I asked, pursing my lips.
‘I don’t know. Anywhere. At the supermarket, or the park or uh … parties,’ she whispered the last part into my ear.
I tore away from her.
‘God, you’re relentless.’
‘Come on, just come. I’ll be your wingwoman,’ she said.
I sighed. She wasn’t going to let this go. When V wanted something, she made sure she got it. Especially with me.
‘Fine. But I’m not letting you set me up with any of Saurav’s annoying friends. I’ll bring my date.’
She squealed and hugged me again, satisfied with her victory. Meanwhile, my brain was busy making a list of things I needed to arrange in the next three hours.
1. A bomb-ass outfit.
2. A guy called Aakash.
2
The Failed Fuckboi
Awarm puff of windwent past me, tousling my shoulder-length hair. Instead of flying smoothly over my face like Deepika Padukone’s introduction shot inOm Shanti Om, mine got stuck to my lip gloss. I turned around and slapped the stray strands away, blowing air from my mouth for assistance. I fished out my phone from the tiny black sling bag I was carrying. A text awaited me.
Ugh. My date’s lack of punctuality was costing me my outfit. I already regretted wearing the peach bodycon dress, and I hadn’t even had a bite to eat yet. The body-hugging outfit that had seemed flattering a few hours ago was now a recipe for sweat patches. Of course, I could’ve avoided waiting out here in the heat, but the thought of entering Saurav’s house by myself was somehow less appealing than enduring this humid April weather. I wasn’t ready to face the pack of wolves yet.
The party seemed like it was already in full swing, if the hum of music coming from inside the bungalow was any indication. The 11:00 p.m. noise curfew did not apply to this uber-rich neighbourhood, despite it being a residential area. The plots in Sainik Farms were huge and far apart – ideal for throwing ragers.
I was about to dodge the second call from Vrinda in fifteen minutes when a cab pulled up in front of me and Aakash stumbled out of the backseat.
