Page 15 of 12 Years: My Messed-up Love Story

‘I’m not like that. Anyway, since that day, I gave up on dating.’

‘Why, Saket?’

Mudit said.

‘It’s me. Raashi and Payal, in their own ways, burned me badly. Sometimes I think I’ll never have a proper relationship with anyone again. And that’s a bit …’

I trailed off, searching for the right word.

‘Sad? Depressing? Pathetic?’

Mudit said.

‘Yeah, a bit of all of that. Is there a word that combines all three?’

‘Let’s make one—sadepathetic,’

Mudit said.

I laughed.

‘I still think you need to get laid.’

‘I don’t think that’s the answer.’

‘Sadepathetic again. Listen, I have a solution for you.’

‘What?’

‘Have you heard of SBs?’

‘Sorry, but no. Gosh, I’m so outdated.’

‘Sugar babies.’

‘What? Sounds like a girl band.’

Mudit smiled.

‘Nah, it’s something else. You take care of a girl—give her an allowance every month, and in return, she becomes your girlfriend.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She gives you the benefits of a girlfriend, you understand?’

Mudit winked at me.

‘You mean she has sex with you?’

‘Come on. She makes love to you. Let’s be gentlemen about it.’

‘And I pay her?’

‘To support her, yes. Another gentlemanly thing to do.’

‘Dude, this sounds like hiring a hooker.’

‘Not really. She’s steady and exclusive with you.’

‘A hooker on a subscription plan?’

I said, raising one eyebrow.

‘Come on, bro. So harsh. Okay, fine. It’s SaaS. Only, it’s not “software as a service”. It’s “sex as a service”. With some friendship and love thrown in, maybe,’

Mudit said and grinned.

I remained silent and looked at Mudit, shaking my head.

‘Don’t be so judgemental. For centuries, women and men have had this arrangement. They meet each other’s needs,’

Mudit said.

‘But I pay her?’

‘Which real-life girlfriend comes for free?’

Mudit said.

‘Come on, Mudit. We both know what this is. And I don’t want it.’

‘What do you want then? You can’t date because you won’t let anyone get close. You won’t do this because of some morality or principles. Are you going to be alone and celibate all your life?

‘Maybe.’

‘You’re kidding me,’

Mudit said, his voice tinged with irritation.

‘Pooja was five years ago, bro.’

‘Payal, not Pooja.’

‘See, I even get confused about her name sometimes. But man, you’re still hung up on her.’

‘I honestly want to move on and date someone. It’s just not happening.’

‘Then try my approach. Sugar it.’

‘Sugar is bad for you,’

I said, lifting my burger with both hands and taking a bite.

Dubai is part of the Arabian Desert, one of the driest places in the world. A desert, by definition, is an area where it barely rains. And yet, on that fateful day, it didn’t just rain in Dubai, it poured. It was almost as if the rain gods had decided to compensate for all the years of drought in a single day.

Because of the downpour, it took me thirty minutes just to find a cab to the airport. Then, somewhere along Sheikh Zayed Road, the rain turned torrential. Water beat against the windshield as traffic on the usually superfast highway came to a standstill.

‘I’ll miss my flight,’ I said.

‘Inshallah, you’ll make it,’

the cab driver said.

It took the cab three hours to finally reach the airport. I ran to the check-in counter, dragging my large suitcase behind me.

‘Relax, sir,’

the airline personnel manning the check-in counter said.

‘The flight is delayed.’

‘Oh. By how long?’ I said.

‘We don’t know that yet, sir. There’s a huge backlog of flights waiting for take-off. But we’re looking at a couple of hours, at the very least.’

‘What?’

‘We’ll keep you updated,’

she said, attaching baggage tags to my suitcase.

‘For now, you can proceed to the business-class lounge. Please wait for further announcements.’

The Emirates Business Class Lounge at Terminal 3 in Dubai is the size of a football field.

It stretches across the entire terminal, a level above the boarding gates, with more than a dozen seating areas and multiple dining options.

Under normal circumstances, the lounge is a quiet, peaceful haven for travellers.

But these were not normal circumstances.

The whole place was in chaos.

Passengers scurried around, trying to get flight updates from overwhelmed airlines staff, who, in turn, were busy working the phones.

The flight-status display board showed most flights as either terribly delayed or cancelled.

My own flight was delayed by five hours.

Thankfully, though, I found a sofa in a quiet corner of the lounge to relax and maybe take a nap in.

But just as I was about to shut my eyes, I saw her.

Wow, I must be exhausted. I’m hallucinating.

She was sitting across from me, furiously typing on a laptop. I shut my eyes for a second.

Wait, did I actually see her?

I opened my eyes again. She was wearing glasses, the laptop hiding half her face. And she was mumbling softly as she typed.

Okay, it has to be her.

My eyes popped wide open. Payal?

She was dressed in a grey tracksuit, her hair tied in a long ponytail. Her face looked slightly fuller than when I had last seen her five years ago.

What do I do? Should I leave? Sit somewhere else? Should I go up to her and say hi? What if she’s with her husband?

I observed her for a while. It didn’t look like she had any company.

I walked up to her.

‘Payal?’

She stopped typing and looked up at me. It took a few seconds for recognition to set in.

‘Saket?’

She stood up.

‘I saw you from across the lounge. Sorry, I know you’re busy. But I thought I’d say hi.’

‘No,’

Payal said as she regained her composure.

‘It’s absolutely fine. Saket Khurana! God! How long has it been? Five years?’

Five years, eight months, thirteen days.

‘Has it?’ I said.

‘Yes, it has been that long,’

Payal said, exhaling deeply.

For a moment, we both hesitated, unsure whether to hug or not. I settled the confusion by holding my hand out towards her.

‘Hi,’

she said, shaking it.

The touch of her hand still felt familiar.

‘Good to see you,’ I said.

‘Same here. Where are you sitting?’

Payal said.

‘Right there,’

I said, turning and pointing to my luggage on the couch across the room.

‘We’re all stuck today.’

‘Yeah. Have you eaten dinner yet?’ she said.

‘No.’

‘I was about to go eat. Want to come with me to the buffet?’

We walked over to the dining area. We took a plate each and did a round of the buffet. I loaded my plate with kebabs. We came back with our food and sat across each other at one of the many small dining tables.

‘Dal chawal? That’s it?’ I said.

‘Yellow dal and some chawal, that’s heaven for me. What more could I want?’

Payal said.

I smiled.

‘You’re still hitting your protein targets, I see,’ she said.

‘Trying to,’

I said, eating one of the chicken kebabs.

‘You look good. Fit, as always.’

‘Thanks.’

‘What about me?’

Payal said.

‘How do I look, compared to five years ago?’

‘You look fine as well,’ I said.

To me, you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.

‘I have to wear these glasses now,’

Payal said, removing them and keeping them on the table.

‘Especially when I’m working on the laptop. Otherwise, I get a headache. I’m getting old.’

‘You’re not old. I’m the one getting old,’

I said.

‘Forty next year, can you believe it?’

‘You don’t look like it,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’

I said.

‘Anyway, travelling alone?’

‘Yeah, am on my way back to Mumbai from New York. Finished a work trip. How about you?’

‘I’m on my way to New York, for work.’

‘Ah. I don’t even know if my flight will leave today,’

Payal said, looking at the flight-status board.

‘It says there’s a four-hour delay.’

‘Mine’s delayed by five hours. Took me three hours to reach the airport from home, instead of the usual thirty minutes.’

‘Home? You don’t live in Mumbai?’

‘I moved to Dubai many years ago. Started my own company here.’

‘Oh. How come?’

To get over you.

‘Better opportunities here,’ I said.

‘What about stand-up?’

‘I left all that.’

‘Really? You left stand-up comedy?’

‘It’s not like I was that great.’

‘You were,’ she said.

Our eyes met properly for the first time.

‘How’s Parimal?’

I said, switching topics and looking away.

‘Parimal is fine. Busy with the business. He’s doing well.’

‘That’s great,’ I said.

‘How about you?’

Payal said.

‘What about me?’

‘Are you married?’

I shook my head.

‘Oh, okay. And are you …’

She fell silent.

‘Am I what? Dating someone? No.’

‘Okay,’ she said.

‘It’s by choice,’

I said.

‘I like being single.’

‘Is it? Having fun in Dubai?’

‘Yeah,’

I said.

‘I am. We’re building a good company.’

I proceeded to tell her about SecurityNet and the company’s journey so far.

‘That’s incredible,’

she said after I finished.

‘Already going for a third round of funding. Saket, that’s truly amazing.’

‘Thank you.’

‘No wonder you don’t date. You’re married to your company.’

‘True,’

I said, even though that wasn’t the reason.

You, you are the reason.

‘Well, I’m glad you’re in a good place,’ she said.

‘How about you? How’s life? Work? Any kids?’

‘Kids? No, not yet,’

Payal said and laughed.

‘I’m only twenty-seven. I want to focus on my career.’

‘How’s that going?’

She opened her bag and gave me her business card.

Payal Jain

Vice President

Blackwater Capital

‘Now that’s impressive,’

I said.

‘VP at twenty-seven.’

‘Youngest vice president in the Mumbai office. It’s okay if I have kids a bit later, isn’t it?’

‘Of course. Congratulations on doing so well.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But things are good otherwise as well, right? You and Parimal?’ I said.

Please, please say things are not that good. I don’t know why, but I need to hear that.

‘Yeah, things are good,’

she said, and then, after a pause, added.

‘They are fine, yes.’

‘Okay, I’m happy to hear that,’ I said.

‘I’m happy to hear that you’re doing well too.’

‘Yeah, whatever happens, happens for the good,’ I said.

Okay, that wasn’t necessary. Why did I even say it?

‘Hmm. True, I suppose,’

Payal said.

‘More food?’ I said.

‘No, I’m full.’

What do we do now? The dining is done. There were still hours to kill before our flights. Should we just go our own ways? Say goodbye here?

‘I have to do some shopping,’

she said.

‘From the shops downstairs.’

Ah, she found the perfect exit plan. Girls always do it better. No awkward goodbyes—just a natural parting of ways.

‘Okay, sure,’

I said.

‘Was nice to see you.’

We stood up to leave.

‘What are you going to do?’ she said.

‘Sit and wait for flight updates. What else?’

She laughed.

‘Want to come with me? Walk around the airport a little? We’re stuck here for hours anyway.’

Okay, so she wasn’t trying to escape.

‘You sure?’

‘Yes, come. It’ll be fun.’

‘All right,’ I said.

‘I have to buy some shirts for Parimal and his dad. Maybe you can help me choose.’

How was this fun? What was I supposed to say.

‘Yay, let’s go buy shirts for your husband and your father-in-law?’

‘Sure, let’s go,’ I said.

‘Which blue is better?’

Payal said, holding up two shirts, each a different shade of light blue.

‘I can’t tell. Both are nice,’ I said.

We had come to Brooks Brothers, a posh store selling men’s clothing.

‘The problem with guys is, there are only three colours that you can buy for them—black, white or blue. So difficult to choose,’

she said, sifting through the shelves.

‘What about the ones with stripes? Or checks? That lavender one is nice,’

I said, pointing to another rack.

In the end, she picked up all the eight shirts I had pointed to.

‘I need another suitcase to carry these,’

she said, smiling, as she looked at the two huge shopping bags in our hands.

‘Good excuse to get a new trolley bag. I’ve been wanting one.’

After Brooks Brothers, we went to Tumi, a high-end luggage store. She bought a trolley bag, which cost more than the shirts had. Of course, for a VP at Blackwater, a sixty-thousand-rupee cabin bag was no big deal. We packed the shirts in the new trolley—I had to press down on the trolley while she zipped it shut.

As we walked around the stores, we passed a perfume shop.

‘May I? Last store, I promise,’

she said, pointing at it.

‘Sure,’ I said.

We walked in, and she began browsing the perfume racks.

‘Saket, come here for a second,’

she said, calling me from across the aisle.

I walked up to her and she held both her wrists up towards my face.

‘What?’

I looked at her, confused.

‘Tell me which one is better?’

Tell me why you are doing this to me? Making me smell your scent, mixed with perfume. It’ll take me weeks, months—maybe even years—to get over it.

I held her wrists lightly, one at a time, bringing them close to my nose and inhaling.

‘This one, the right wrist,’ I said.

‘Okay, so that’s Gucci’s Guilty,’ she said.

‘No, wait,’

I said, and did another round of sniffing.

Did I do it because I wanted to hold her hand again?

‘Maybe the left one,’

I said, still holding her wrists.

‘That’s Obsession,’ she said.

I dropped her wrists instantly. ‘What?’

‘The perfume. It’s called Obsession, by Calvin Klein.’

‘Oh.’

‘So, tell me, which one should I take? Guilty or Obsession?’

I am guilty of obsession.

‘Take both,’

I said.

‘They smell nice on you.’

She looked at me and smiled. She asked the cashier to pack both the perfumes.

We walked back to the lounge. She returned to her original seat, and I was about to go back to mine when she said.

‘Bring your bag and sit here.’

‘But aren’t you working?’ I said.

‘No, not anymore.’

Nodding, I moved to the couch adjacent to her.

Her phone rang just then.

‘It’s Parimal,’

she said, checking the caller ID.

‘Video call.’

‘Oh, okay,’

I said, standing up to leave.

‘You don’t have to go. I’ll just sit sideways, so you’re out of the frame.’

Were we doing something wrong? I couldn’t say.

She wore her AirPods and answered the call. I couldn’t see or hear Parimal.

‘Still no flight updates. It keeps showing delayed,’

Payal told Parimal.

A few moments of silence followed as she nodded at the screen.

‘I’m in the lounge. Waiting. What else to do? I did shop though. Bought some shirts for you and your dad,’ she said.

Parimal said something on the other end.

‘Yeah, I’ll show you. I bought eight. Had to buy a trolley bag to keep them.’

Payal rested her phone against a glass on the table in front of her. Then she picked up the Tumi bag and kept it on her lap. She opened the bag and lifted the shirts out one by one.

‘Forget about the bag and focus on the shirts,’

Payal said to Parimal.

‘I needed the bag anyway.’

After a pause, she spoke again.

‘I know Tumi is expensive. It’s okay. I can afford it … The price is for the brand, Parimal. You can’t compare it to American Tourister …

Can we not argue over this? Please, just look at the shirts. I can still exchange them if you don’t like any particular one.’

She showed all the eight shirts to him again.

‘You’re being picky for no reason. And just forget about the price no?’

she said at some point during the conversation.

‘Yes, I’ll update you about my flight status. Yes, I’ll return these three shirts. Bye,’

she said, ending the call.

She let out a big sigh and, keeping her phone aside, turned back to me.

‘Sorry, that took a while,’ she said.

‘Everything okay?’ I said.

‘Yeah. Turns out, I bought too many shirts. He doesn’t need so many. I’ll just go return a few,’

she said, standing up.

‘I can come with you,’ I said.

‘No, it’s okay. I don’t want to bother you.’

Before I could respond, a female Emirates staff member approached us, holding an iPad in her hands.

‘Hello. What flight are you on?’ she said.

‘EK203. To New York,’ I said.

‘Okay,’

she said, tapping a few times on her iPad.

‘Sir, ma’am, I’m sorry, but your flight to New York is cancelled due to bad weather.’

‘I’m not on the same flight actually,’

Payal said.

‘Oh?’

The woman looked at both of us, surprised.

‘We’re not together,’

Payal said.

Thanks for that, Payal. I needed the reminder.

‘Which flight are you on, ma’am?’

the staffer said.

‘EK500 to Mumbai.’

‘Okay, give me a minute,’

the staffer said, checking her iPad.

‘Sir, for New York, you’ll be booked on the same flight tomorrow night. You’ll receive a message confirming this. Meanwhile, we’ve arranged a hotel room for you near the airport.’

‘I won’t be needing that,’

I said.

‘I live in Dubai. I’ll just go home.’

‘Oh, okay. In that case, I can help you exit the airport.’

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘And for you, ma’am, you’ve been shifted to EK506 to Mumbai, scheduled for tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. A room has been booked for you at the airport transit hotel, which is in the terminal building itself.’

‘Okay, thanks,’

Payal said.

‘Take the lift down and turn left. You’ll find the transit hotel. Show them your boarding pass and they’ll assign you a room.’

‘Sure,’

Payal said.

‘Sir, you can come with me now. I’ll help you exit immigration and leave the airport.’

‘Yes, sure,’ I said.

Was this it? Was this goodbye? I knew this meeting would end, but did it have to be this abrupt?

I collected my bag. Payal hoisted her laptop bag onto her new trolley bag. Was she going to say anything? Should I?

‘That’s it then. Time to say bye,’ I said.

‘Huh?’

she said, surprised. ‘Is it?’

‘Yes. We both go our own way now,’ I said.

In this airport. And in life.

‘It was nice to see you again,’

Payal said.

‘Same here,’

I said.

‘It’s good to know that you’re doing well, and that you’re happy.’

‘I’m glad that you’ve achieved so much as well. And that you’re happy.’

Who said I was happy? Where did you get that idea?

‘Yes, indeed. I’ve a lot to be grateful for,’ I said.

She nodded.

I would’ve sai.

‘stay in touch’

o.

‘see you soon’, but I knew that wasn’t an option.

‘I’m still blocked, by the way,’ I said.

‘What?’

Payal looked puzzled. ‘Where?’

‘Everywhere. Facebook. Instagram. Even WhatsApp. Though I think you changed your number long back, right?’

‘What number of mine do you have?’ she said.

I opened my phone and showed her the number I had. Her name was still saved as Payal, with a heart emoji next to it. Damn, why did I still have that emoji?

‘Oh, this number is old. Sunita didi has it now,’ she said.

‘Yes, I know that,’ I said.

She looked at me, somewhat confused.

‘Anyway, here’s my new number.’

I saved the number she gave me this time a.

‘Payal New’—no emoji.

‘I just unblocked you on Instagram and Facebook as well.’

‘You did?’

‘It’s just silly now. We’ve all moved on, haven’t we?’

‘Yeah, true,’ I said.

Liar, liar, liar.

‘I don’t post much though,’ she said.

The airline staffer became impatient.

‘Sir, if you could come with me now, I’ll escort you through immigration. There are other customers who need assistance.’

‘Sure, coming,’

I said to her and then turned to Payal.

‘Bye, Payal.’

‘Bye, Saket,’ she said.

‘Best of luck. Have a good life,’ I said.

Who the fuck say.

‘have a good life?’

That was dumb.

‘Yeah. You too,’ she said.

I walked away, feeling the distance between us grow with every step. Every cell in my body ached, as if someone had ripped off my skin. Why did I have to run into her? I had learned to live with my successful career and my low-key depression. I had learned to manage my PTs. And now this?

Why, God? Why?

On the cab ride home, I opened my phone and checked Payal’s WhatsApp profile. The display picture was of her and Parimal, dressed in matching black ethnic wear. His arm was around her waist. I needed to see this—it was a slap, reminding me that she was with someone else now. I zoomed in. Payal was laughing, covering her mouth with her hand. Three and a half billion women on this planet, and yet, hers was the only display picture I blew up to stare at.

Before I could check Payal’s Instagram feed, Mudit called.

‘What’s up, bro? You must be at the airport. Your flight’s on time?’ he said.

‘No, it’s been cancelled due to bad weather. I fly out tomorrow now,’

I said. I left out the bit about meeting Payal.

‘Oh. That’s fine, a one-day delay doesn’t matter,’

Mudit said.

‘Let me know if you need my help to reschedule any meetings.’

‘I can do it,’ I said.

‘You okay, bro? You sound low,’

Mudit said.

It’s scary when your best friend knows you so well.

‘Yeah, just tired,’

I said.

‘Spent so many hours in the airport. And then no flight. But am headed back home now.’

‘Whatever happens, happens for the good. There must be something good in this as well.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘You’re safe. That’s what matters.’

‘Love you, man.’

‘Love you too, bro. You want me to come over?’

‘Not in this weather. I’m tired too. Let me just sleep.’

‘Fine. But do sleep. Don’t check your phone or do work stuff.’

‘Okay. Good night, bro,’

I said, and ended the call.

I put my phone back in my pocket.

I didn’t have to check Payal’s Instagram right away.

Nothing good would come of it.

It would just be pictures of her happy married life with Parimal.

Each post would be like a nail hammering into my heart. I didn’t need to torture myself any further.

‘Right there. The building on the left,’

I said to the cab driver as we reached my apartment complex.

‘This isn’t just a Series C investment. This is a vote of confidence in all of us. This is our investors saying whatever we’re doing is valuable. That we, at SecurityNet, have built something they want to be a part of.’

Everyone in the room applauded as I finished my brief speech to the entire SecurityNet team.

My New York trip a month ago had been incredibly successful.

Four different private equity investors had pledged a hundred million dollars in new investment at a much-higher-than-expected valuation of half a billion dollars.

Mudit felt it deserved a small celebration—the team needed a pat on the back.

He organized a dinner at Gazebo, an Indian restaurant in Jumeirah Lake Towers.

As people began to mingle over chilled beers and starters, Mudit came up to me holding two Budweiser bottles.

‘To half a billion,’

he said, handing one of the bottles to me.

‘Like I always say—’

I started, but Mudit interrupted me.

‘It’s on paper. I know, sir.’

He laughed, clinking his bottle against mine.

We were still chatting when one of our employees came looking for Mudit and took him away.

Left alone, I made my way to the terrace, unlocked my phone and checked Payal’s Instagram account—for the fifth time that day.

I’d been doing this compulsively for the past month—while on the way to New York, in New York, in between investor meetings, on the way back to Dubai and then every day since I’d been back.

The posts were exactly what I’d expected: Payal documenting her life in bits and pieces, especially during vacations and festivals.

She didn’t post often, averaging just two posts a month.

But I had five years’

worth of pictures to look through, which meant over a hundred posts—an entire photo album of the love of my life living her life, loving another man.

Oh Instagram, the things you show!

I could see the places where Payal had gone on holiday in the first year of her marriage—Paris, Amsterdam and some Jain temple in Gujarat.

In the second year, they went to Phuket and Shimla.

The third year, it was a trip to Sydney.

In each place, they always took one particular shot—Parimal standing straight with one arm around Payal, who stood next to him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her head on his chest.

Some of her posts included photographs of both sets of parents and the extended family.

Payal never wrote much in the captions, just simple heart or blessing emojis, or the occasiona.

‘Happy Diwali to all’ message.

Swiping through each picture of Payal and Parimal felt like taking a knife and stabbing myself.

Yet, I couldn’t stop.

I noticed every detail, from the handbag Payal carried to the dress and the earrings she wore.

‘What are you doing?’

Mudit’s voice startled me from behind.

‘Huh?’

I quickly locked my phone and turned around. ‘Nothing.’

‘Is that Payal?’

Mudit said.

‘What? No,’ I said.

‘You were looking at Payal’s pictures, weren’t you?’

‘No,’

I said firmly.

‘Didn’t she block you everywhere?’

‘Yeah,’

I said.

‘It wasn’t Payal.’

‘Show me your phone. I’m damn sure it’s her.’

‘It’s another girl.’

‘Then I’m even more interested to see this new girl you’re stalking. Show me.’

Mudit extended his hand. From the look on his face, I knew he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. I unlocked my phone and placed it in his palm.

‘It is her. I knew it,’

he said, scrolling through my Instagram feed.

‘How did you get unblocked? Did you hack into her account or something?’

‘Dude, no.’

‘Then?’

I remained silent.

‘Are you in touch with her?’

Mudit asked.

I shook my head.

‘Then explain this.’

I let out a huge sigh. I told him the entire story about meeting Payal at the airport lounge that night.

‘Wow. You met Payal …’

‘By accident,’

I said.

‘I didn’t plan it.’

‘And you didn’t tell me?’

Mudit said.

I shrugged.

‘Should I be worried, bro?’

Mudit said, looking closely at my face.

‘No. I swear, we just ran into each other at the Emirates Lounge. Made some small talk, ate together, and that’s it. We went our separate ways after that.’

‘She did. You haven’t.’

‘I have too. I’m not in touch with her. Nothing since that day.’

‘So why are you still checking her Instagram account one month later?’

‘I don’t know.’

Mudit scrolled and saw some of Payal’s posts.

‘Every picture is with her husband,’ he said.

‘Yes. She’s happily married.’

‘Maybe it’s good you saw this. Should help you close the chapter,’

Mudit said, shaking his head.

‘Yes, maybe.’

‘Now do you agree with me?’

‘About what?’

‘That you need to move on. Date other people.’

‘I have moved on.’

‘Okay, then let me set you up on a date? There’s this girl I’m sort of seeing right now. She has a cousin who seems nice. Shall I introduce you to her?’

‘No, Mudit! Not right now.’

Mudit pursed his lips. ‘See?’

‘It’s the company. We need to grow it, take it to the next level. That means ten times the work. Where is the time to date?’

‘Really? Nobody in our company dates?’

I stayed silent and turned sideways, looking towards the buffet counter where employees loaded their plates with dal makhani and paneer tikka masala.

‘Saket, look at these pictures,’

Mudit continued.

‘She has her arms around her husband. She lives with him, travels the world with him, sleeps with him. You ran into her by accident, but otherwise, she’s never bothered to check where you were or how you were doing. Do you realize all that or not?’

I looked at Mudit.

‘Here’s the reality, bro. She threw you out of her life. Like one throws garbage out of their house. So, should you still be investing so much emotion into this?’ he said.

‘No, I shouldn’t,’

I said, sighing.

‘That’s why I’m wary of dating. I end up investing too much. It happened with Raashi and then with Payal too. I get into a relationship, and it just takes over my life. Eventually, I get fucked emotionally. It’s not worth it.’

‘Who’s telling you to get emotional? You think I’m emotional about Nadia?’

‘Who’s Nadia?’

‘This girl I’m dating. Whose cousin I want you to meet.’

‘Nadia?’

‘Yeah. Nadia and Amelia. They’re from Ukraine.’

‘Ukraine? What? How did you even meet them?’

‘At a bar.’

‘You’re dating a Ukrainian girl?’

‘I like to know more about other cultures. Besides, I like helping people.’

‘Helping?’

‘Well, I support her. Financially. A little bit.’

‘What? Mudit. What the hell are you up to?’

Mudit laughed.

‘Whatever it is, it’s better than this emotional drama you’ve carried in your heart for years. We’re men. We don’t have to get so emotionally invested to have fun with women.’

‘So, you …’

‘I what? Have a sugar baby? Yes, I do. It helps her and me.’

‘Mudit, that’s weird.’

‘Weirder than compulsively looking at pictures of your ex and her husband? Almost six years after your break-up?’

I didn’t answer. I put out my hand, and Mudit placed my phone back in my palm.

‘What do you think? Meet Amelia?’

I looked at Payal’s Instagram account. A recent post showed Parimal and her in the Maldives, eating breakfast in their private pool villa. I showed the picture to Mudit. He just smirked.

‘You’re right, Mudit. I’m almost forty. This shit isn’t funny anymore,’

I said, deleting the Instagram app from my phone.

‘I have to truly move on.’

‘Good job, bro,’

Mudit said.

‘So, double date? Nadia, Amelia, you and me?’

‘Nothing else has worked so far. Let’s try it your way.’

‘Great.’

‘Is it really a date though? It almost sounds like a deal.’

‘What’s the difference anyway?’

Mudit said, laughing.

A DJ played the latest hit song.

‘Bom Diggy Diggy’

from the movie Sonu Ke Titu Ki Sweety, as the SecurityNet team hit the dance floor.

Michelle, from the design team, ran up to us.

‘Come on, Mudit sir, Saket sir. Join us. We all have to dance!’

‘Let’s go,’

Mudit said, and dragged me with him to the dance floor.