Page 62 of Red Flags and Rishtas
That took him by surprise.
‘Why do you say that?’
I scoffed and said, ‘Haven’t you seen the two of them together? That man has no respect for his wife.’
‘Oh come on. We’re outsiders. You and I don’t know what their relationship is actually like,’ he argued, pulling his chair closer to the table so he could place his elbows on the counter.
‘Sure I do!’ I exclaimed. ‘I’ve sat in, like, six hour-long interviews where they talked about it in excruciating detail.’
‘And based on this information, you think they’re not meant to be together?’ he asked.
‘Yes!’
‘Okay, give me some details.’
I gave him a sickly sweet smile and said, ‘Of course not. That would be against my journalistic ethics.’
‘But you’re not a journalist,’ he countered.
The glint in his whisky-coloured eyes mirrored mine. I thought about how gossiping with a sponsor about a client would be considered a no-no in any corporate handbook. But then again, I was also involved in an elaborate life-altering bet with this sponsor, so my professional code was already compromised.
‘Okay, fine,’ I said, and he flashed me a grin.
‘For one, they met on Instagram. And everyone knows that no great love story starts with a “Hey Dear” in someone’s DMs,’ I said, then added, ‘that’s like the tackiest meet-cute ever.’
‘A meet-cute? What’s that?’ he asked.
I stared at him, aghast.
‘What?’ he asked when I continued to gawk at him in silence.
‘How can you be so out of touch with romance?’ I demanded.
He placed a hand on his heart in mock pain and said, ‘Educate me, O Queen of Love.’
I rolled my eyes before introducing him to the cinematic trope of a meet-cute.
‘It’s when the two protagonists of a love story meet for the first time. Sometimes it’s a silly stroke of luck, sometimes more. But it’s always special.’
Like when Raj offered his hand to Simran, who was struggling to catch a departing train inDDLJ. Or when Major Ram got roped into a college prank and sang a song for his chemistry teacher, Ms Chandni inMain Hoon Naa. Or even when Jack tried to talk a suicidal Rose off the edge of the Titanic inTitanic.
His amusement grew with every meet-cute I recited from the movies I’d grown up watching and re-watching.
‘And you think this happens in real life?’ He smirked at me and asked, ‘When was the last time it happened to you, O Queen of Love?’
I threw a dirty look in his direction, but his question evoked a long-suppressed memory in my mind.
I was in the cafeteria, talking to a fellow classmate about the band competition we’d just sat through. Colleges from around the country had come to participate in the music festival, and we’d flocked to the auditorium to witness the magic. As freshers, we had no clue what to expect, but that hadn’t stopped us from rooting emphatically for the four-person rock band that represented our college, Vandalism. That was until we saw them perform.
‘They sucked so bad, Tanuj. The acoustics were all over the place, the drummer had less energy than my childhood physics teacher,’ I was saying to my classmate as we waited for our order at the counter.
‘They weren’t that bad …’ he said, looking nervous.
‘Are you serious?’ I asked, then continued to ramble, ‘They were terrible. And that singer? He plays the guitar really well but someone needs to tell him he can’t sing in public again. Like ever.’
When I stopped talking, someone behind me cleared their throat, and Tanuj took me by the shoulders and turned me around.
Standing there, looking half-annoyed and half-tickled, was the singer of the band. The same man I now call my ex.
