C. The Art of Stalking

I was organizing my room, putting everything in its proper place, when I heard my mom call out from downstairs. "Come down here, one of your friends is here!"

I went down, and there was Vishwas, dressed as a girl. My jaw dropped. I stared at him for a second, then said, "Tui boka, ekhane ki korcho? (You idiot, what are you doing here?)"

"Ami tomay dekhte eshechi. (I came to meet you.)" he said, trying—and failing—at a high-pitched voice.

My mom, squinting suspiciously, asked, "Beta, does your friend have a throat problem? Her voice sounds... odd."

Now you're asking who this guy is? Let me take you back to the past two days.

What am I even doing? This is the 23rd time. How many more times will I have to go through this?

"Vishwas, stop crying! You're not a kid. Seriously, you're like a broken record at this point," I said, rubbing my forehead.

"Divya! My love, if I don't cry, what else should I do? We've been friends for years, but you never look at me that way. What's wrong with me? I'm good-looking, I'm rich, I even have a Gucci wallet!" he sobbed dramatically, wiping his nose with a tissue the size of a napkin.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. At this rate, I'm going to need a drink before I can even deal with him. I checked my phone, only to find more messages about things that actually matter like the fact that I forgot to buy potatoes. Great.

I slammed the car door open, kicked the tire, and took a deep breath. I got back in the car, shoved a handkerchief at him, and he wiped his nose with it like it was his personal lifeline.

"If you can't handle it, maybe we shouldn't be friends anymore," I said, trying to stay calm, but my patience was hanging by a thread.

"But you're so amazing! You listen to me, you take care of me. How can I live without you?" he sniffled, sounding like the world's saddest puppy.

At this point, I could barely breathe. Anger was bubbling up again, but I managed to keep it under control. "Shut up, idiot! Let's just go grab a drink. Want to try a cigarette?"

"You know I don't do that stuff. I'm a gentleman! I can't breathe without you," he said, wiping his nose with an even bigger tissue.

"Ugh!" I groaned. "Go die, then."

I was about to step out of the car when I noticed a girl walking by. I slumped back into my seat.

"Vishwas, follow that scooter! That girl ran off with my purse yesterday."

"Who? Forget it, I'll buy you a new one," he replied, still sniffling like he was auditioning for a role in a soap opera.

I took another deep breath, holding back the sarcasm that was threatening to spill over.

"I wish I had a heart!" I sighed. "You're a good person, but honestly, there's nothing between us. Now, just drop me home. I'm leaving tomorrow anyway, college is over."

"Take me with you!" he begged.

"My mom would kill me if I showed up with a guy and called him 'just a friend.' Her brain's stuck in the 1980s Bollywood movies," I said, rolling my eyes so hard I almost saw my own brain.

He wiped his tears dramatically. "I'll dress as a girl, then! I can't live without you."

"Ugh!" I paused, staring out the window for a second. "You know, I was planning to shock my family anyway, but honestly, I haven't found anyone I can tell the truth to."

"What truth?" he stopped crying, suddenly intrigued.

"This Diwali, I'm moving to Mumbai for good. I'll leave Kolkata and find a job there."

"Don't worry about anything. I'll always be with you, whether you say yes or no. I'm a chill guy," he said, like a guy who's been crying for an hour but thinks he's the coolest person in the room.

"Chill guy? You've cried 99 times this year, and I've rejected you 23 times, and you're still here. What a headache!" I said, rubbing my temples as if trying to physically remove him from my life.

"You said we could still be friends," he said, like that was some kind of magic word that would fix everything.

I glared at him and muttered, "Better to have no friends than one like you."

Vishwas started the car, and I plugged in my earphones, craving some peace and quiet.

You know what's hard? Rejecting a good person. It feels terrible when you can't return the same love they have for you. It's not like there's any reason to say no—except everything. You just don't feel anything for them.

When we reached my house, as I was about to get out, he jumped out of the car to open the door for me like I was royalty.

"My princess," he said with a flourish.

I felt irritation building inside me. Vishwas was too good, and it was honestly making me gag. Someone once told me, "Rejection is better than fake promises."

Vishwas cried like I'd just told him I was moving to the moon. I boarded the train.

Story The end. now focus on present.

What was the question?

My mom, squinting suspiciously, asked, "Beta, does your friend have a throat problem? Her voice sounds... odd."

"She's had this condition since childhood," I said quickly. "That's why she can't speak properly."

Mom handed him a glass of water, giving him a once-over. "What's your name?"

Vishwas hesitated. "Vish...umm..."

"Vish!" I interrupted, cutting him off. I grabbed his hand and dragged him upstairs. On the way, he noticed the girl in the next room.

"Wow, you didn't tell me you have a sister!" he said, slipping back into his usual voice.

The girl, sitting with a book in her hand, turned around and asked, "Who's this? A woman, or a man? Or... a 'momane'?"

Vishwas tried his girl voice again. "Hi, I'm Vish Das."

"Hi, Vish! I'm Shraddha Soni," she said, smiling sweetly.

I snapped, "Let's go inside. She's not my sister."

"Then who is she?" Vishwas asked as I dragged him into my room and slammed the door.

"Who told you to come here? I said stay away!" I yelled.

"I just missed you so much," he said, looking ridiculously guilty.

"Thanks to you, my mom is going to roast me alive. Get out now!" I growled.

"Fine, fine. But can't I stay for a bit? I don't have anything else to do. My life's a mess right now."

"Vishwas, you cannot stay in my room. Go book a hotel. Find a couch or something."

"I drove here, and I can drive you around Mumbai if you need to go anywhere. I'm like Uber, but cooler."

I glared at him. "You can find anyone else—please stop stalking me. Why don't you try wooing the girl next door?"

"What? I was trying to stay loyal to you!"

"Loyal? To what? One-sided love? What's the point of loyalty when I haven't even noticed you?"

"Fair enough. Then you help me. Pick a girl for me, and I'll date her. I clearly have terrible taste in women."

He talks like a 4-year-old who's somehow gotten his hands on adult-sized problems. Meanwhile, I talk to him like he's a walking disaster. Just part of my charm.

"Excuse me? Are you calling me terrible?" I shouted.

"No, no! I mean, your taste is obviously better than mine. Definitely better than... well, mine."

"Get out now." I picked up an orange he dropped and handed it to him. "And don't come back until you learn how to dress."

"Thanks!" he said, grinning like he had just won an Oscar, and walked out.

Shraddha came out of her room and asked, "What were you be bandh darwaja pachi shu vaat karta hata?" We both looked at her in confusion, what? Su? (Pee?) What is she saying?"

She repeated. "What were you two talking about with the door shut?"

"None of your business," I snapped.

"I didn't know ke tane girls ma interest che." she teased, winking.

(I didn't know you were into girls.)