Page 20 of Better Catch Up, Krishna Kumar

Should I??? Priti asked me the same thing.

@srishti_without_an_h

ngl it’s going to be weirder if you show up after ghosting him

but text him or don’t, you always have Rudra??

@notkrishnakumar

You’re right (except for the Rudra bit)

Okay I’ll text him.

@srishti_without_an_h

lmk what he says

I lock my phone and set it aside, sighing, and spot Priti walking back to our table from the corner of my eye.

“Let’s get going, kids,” she says. She’s so weirdly cheerful and chatty around Rudra—it’s going to take getting used to. “We’re already late.”

After we gather our things, we head out of the café and down the stairs to where Rudra’s car is parked by the side of the road. He opens the trunk and loads our things in. Priti mock swoons at me as we stand behind him, and I roll my eyes.

A few hours more of this and I’m going to barf.

“All right.” Rudra shuts the trunk. “Who’s navigating?” Earlier, we decided Priti and I would take turns navigating even though Rudra’s car has GPS because it would make sure at least one of us stayed awake with him if the caffeine didn’t work its wonders.

“Krishna, you go first,” Priti says. “I’m shit at directions anyway.”

“Okay,” I say. If I navigate, I can also control the music, so it’s a win-win.

“You can sit in the passenger seat, up front with me, then,” Rudra says.

“Cool.”

We get into the car, and Priti stretches like a cat in the back, splaying herself out across the length of the seat. I open the map on my phone. “Straight to Pune, right?”

“Yep, I’ve booked us an OYO there,” Priti says, her shoes off and bare feet resting on the ledge of the window.

“What’s the address?”

“Give me that.”

As Priti types, Rudra starts the car. He turns to me, gesturing with his eyes to the seat belt. “You should put on your seat belt.”

“Oh, right.” I pull the strap down. “Where’s the buckle?”

“One sec,” Rudra says, unbuckling himself. He leans toward me, and I get another whiff of his cologne. His fingers are long and slim, I notice as he tucks them under the seat cover to retrieve the missing buckle. He has a true pianist’s hands, the way my tutor used to say—unlike my tiny ones with their nail-bitten fingers.

I become hyperaware of our proximity as he gets the buckle out and reaches around me for the strap. We both fumble with it for a few seconds before getting it into the buckle. I get a close-up view of his face: clean-shaven, smelling like a hint of aftershave, and dotted with a light sprinkling of acne scars. His eyebrows are really thick, and I’m filled with the sudden desire to—

“Here,” Priti says, and thrusts my phone between us.

I blink and stutter my thanks as I take the phone from her.

Rudra moves away, his face taking on a distant expression again, and while I’m struggling to tamp down these wildly ill-timed urges, he’s already grabbed the stick and switched to first gear.

“Road trip, baby!” Priti cheers.