Raj arrived on a roaring bike, dressed in branded clothes, his shiny watch flashing its price tag louder than the time. Behind his Ray-Bans, he scanned the crowd, which would filter out anything ordinary.
“You look like Hritik Roshan!” A compliment he heard a lot, from eyes fixed on his bike and watch than on his face.
I never understood how we became friends during our first year of engineering college. We shared no common ground — financial, social, or intellectual. I was the top ranker, the first admission into the program, while Raj was the last, slipping in through a management quota. Yet somehow, we ended up in each other’s orbit.
And later, our eyes — and hearts — settled on the same beautiful girl.
Raj joined a month late. Before he arrived, one early morning, I waited on the porch for the shutters to lift so I could get inside the college building. At that age, my eyes sometimes strayed toward the girls, though the weight of family responsibility kept me in check. I was my family’s hope, the savior, expected to land a high-paying job and lift us up.
Love happens in movies. Real life is about responsibilities. My father’s words were carved into me. He had risked everything to fund my education.
But then Meera walked into the porch.
She looked like an angel just descended to earth on a golden chariot with white horses. She wore a dark pink traditional suit with a white veil over her shoulders. Her deep eyes rested beneath arched brows, her skin glowed with a blush of rose, and her straight, delicate nose was poised above lips that would put lipsticks out of business.
I forgot about the world.
Her eyes met mine. She smiled casually, and I froze — like a deer caught in headlights. She looked down, but her smile lingered.
Our eyes met many times after that — across the library shelves, while walking the corridors. Each encounter stayed at a smile and a soft “hi.”
“Dudes! Finished the math assignment?” One day, Raj dropped at my table uninvited— the day before submission, a week after I had finished it.
That was the start of our friendship. It deepened with every assignment he borrowed, every set of notes I lent him before exams. He was popular; I was the topper. Maybe we bonded on the strengths we each held over the other.
People feel comfortable in relationships where they sense some superiority.
But a small crack appeared the day I saw him with Meera in the canteen. Just the two of them, facing each other with two cups of coffee on the table between them. Later, I kept seeing them together — in the canteen, in the library.
“I love her — way more than my last four girlfriends. And she’s into me. Don’t tell anyone. I’m going to surprise her on Valentine’s Day,” he’d probably told ten others.
I forced a smile.
She’s out of your league anyway, I consoled myself, but the hurt was buried deep inside.
“What’s today’s date, sir?” I asked at the campus bank counter while filling out a check — to withdraw the little money left in my account — to pay my overdue mess fees.
The clerk looked at me as if he’d seen a ghost.
“You don’t know today’s date? It’s the 14th! Valentine’s Day!”
He shook his head, eyes narrowed in pity, as if he were looking at a youth wasted without love.
At lunch break, Raj asked me to come along to the jewelry shop to pick up his surprise gift for Meera.
“Sorry, Raj. I have to pay the mess fee today — it’s already late.”
“Don’t worry, dudes! We’ll grab lunch at Glasshouse on the way back. I’ll drop you at the mess after college. I need you, bro.”
I climbed onto his bike — killing my own secret love story that day.
When we returned, Meera was waiting in the parking lot, waving from a bench under the trees. I tapped Raj’s shoulder to slow down and got off the bike without a word.
“Go on, it’s your moment.”
“Come with me, bro. I need moral support.”
“No. This one’s private.”
Raj’s bike roared forward, dust rising behind him. He parked, straightened his shirt, and prepared to pull out the diamond earrings we had just collected.
I thought about leaving, but heartbreak craved more hurt. Sometimes fresh pain soothes the old — like pressing on aching feet after a long walk.
A minute passed. Then both Raj and Meera looked in my direction. Raj waved at me to come closer. I patted my pocket, realizing I was holding the earrings.
I walked over. Meera lowered her gaze with her signature smile. Raj grinned widely.
“She likes you, dudes!” he blurted. “I’ve seen it in your eyes, too. I tried to trigger you so many times, but you’re such a stubborn motherfucker!”
Beautifully written! I was sort of afraid it'd be the end of their friendship for a bit, but I guess this is what real friends do.