A Love Story

I was shocked and amazed to discover, at nineteen, that I was in love with my best friend. It was so sudden, so unexpected. I’d known Nikhil since I was six, and we’d been classmates ever since. Nikhil was my best friend, my pal, my confidante, and it suddenly occurred to me that I could spend the rest of my life with him. More, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I looked at him as I had, for so many years, and I could feel my heart thudding in my chest like never before, my nerves tingling, and the pumping of estrogens through my body. I couldn’t explain why or how, but just that he was the only one for me. 

The only thing left to do was to convince him that I was the only one for him too. Before that, I had to convince him I was a girl, no, not just a girl, a woman. I was his ‘buddy’, and that meant he had the license to shamelessly comment on other girls in front of me, not bother to behave him self, be a slob and not say pretty words just to impress me. In short, he treated me just like he treated his guy friends. I had to change that.

At nineteen, I looked upon myself as a young woman and not a teenage girl. I was stubborn, hard-headed, goal-oriented and I usually got what I wanted, with careful planning and operation. I sat down for a whole evening thinking about how to make him fall in love with me – how to ‘seduce’ him, I thought, with a smile. I imagined myself as one of those romance-novel heroines, and him as the playing-hard-to-get hero. I made a list of what all I could do to impress him. Being his pal, I knew all his likes and dislikes.

First, I tried poetry. I racked my brains and came with a sort of love poem titled ‘only you’. A few days ago, I would have snorted in disgust if I’d had to write something so mushy-mushy, but now, it only seemed romantic to me. I showed it to him one day, or more accurately, kept it on my table in clear view so he would see it when he came home to eat dinner (three times a week he ate at my house-he loved my mom’s cooking. Maybe I should learn how to cook his favourite dish?) . As I expected, he saw it and took it in his hand.

“Hey, shorty, what’s this?” he asked. He always teased me that I was a foot shorter than him.

“What’s what?” I asked innocently.

He read it in silence, and I watched him expectantly, like I used to watch my teacher correct my term papers. He let out a whistle.

“Wow! I didn’t know you could write like this.” My insides jumped with joy.

“Thanks,” I said. 

“Do you mind if I keep this?” he asked. Was he going to keep it under his pillow? Or frame it?

“Um, ok. But why?” I asked.

He grinned at me as he folded the paper and pocketed it. “There’s this first year girl in college I want to impress. You won’t mind if I say I wrote it, will you?”

Something deflated inside me like a balloon pricked with a pin. Strike one.

Okay, maybe the poem was a bad idea. I switched over to plan B. I nagged him into taking me to a romantic movie.

“Why in the world do you want to watch that stupid, sloppy movie?” he said.

“I like Shah Rukh,” I said, “and you can drool at Kajol.” I paused and then said, “I’ll buy the popcorn and coke.” That did it. He was a sucker for popcorn. Actually he was always ready for free food.

He shrugged and said, “Fine, meet me there at two o clock.” I restrained myself from giving him a hug. Patience, I told myself.

I rehearsed the plan in my mind. When the lights were off in the theatre, I could put my hand over his, he would stare at me, and I would say, “I love you.” The idea thrilled me. I spent an hour dressing up, carefully coordinating my accessories with my new blue skirt and bell-sleeved top, sneaking into my mom’s room and spraying her perfume on my wrists and over my dress. I reached there ten minutes earlier, and tried not to dance on my toes, looking around for him. He sauntered into the theatre, wearing a black shirt, his hair rumpled, with a goofy smile on his face. Funny how I’d never felt the urge to run my fingers through his hair before.

“Where’s the popcorn?” he asked, his single most important concern.

I gritted my teeth. He hadn’t even noticed my new dress. I shoved the popcorn into his hands. He sniffed the air, and frowned.

“What’s that smell?”

“Perfume,” I said.

“Perfume?” he laughed. “Since when did you start wearing perfume?”

I shut my eyes and willed myself not to swear in public. It will be better when the movie starts, I told myself.

On screen, Shah Rukh Khan looked fabulous as he danced with Kajol, but for once, I didn’t notice. I was too wound up, planning when and how to start. I never once looked in Nikhil’s direction, fearing I might blabber something.

You can do this, I told myself. Just tell him.

What if he said no? Another voice spoke in my head. Or worse, what if he laughed?

You won’t know unless you say it, the first voice replied.

Caught up in this tug-of-war in my head, I suddenly heard a low, rumbling sound. I looked around, and to my disgust, saw that he’d fallen asleep, snoring. I slapped my hand against my forehead, and fell back on my chair, depressed. So much for my plan B.

My anger lasted two days. I’d never been able to hold out against him more than that. He was so sincerely apologetic, I forgave him. But I was far from done with him. I fell back on the old ploy of reaching a man’s heart through his stomach. I planned all his favourite dishes, jotted down the recipes, bought candles, and invited him to dinner when my parents had gone for an evening show. I set the table and candles, and waited for him to come.

When the knock sounded on the door at seven o’ clock, I skipped all the way to the door. My bright smile faded when I opened the door and found Arjun along with him. Arjun was his guy friend, and they usually hung out together at the beach, playing football. I liked him, but at that moment I could have easily strangled him. I looked at Nikhil and he shrugged apologetically. “He was feeling bored so I brought him along. Hope you don’t mind.” I swallowed the disappointment and took them both inside.

“Wow, this looks great,” Arjun commented, as we went into the dining room. “Thank you,” I replied, trying not to sound as if I had a toothache.

They pounced on the food like street dogs, spilling food on the tablecloth, wiping their mouths carelessly with the napkins I’d carefully folded, and making guy jokes.

I smiled through gritted teeth and watched them discuss cricket. I couldn’t eat anything. I interrupted Arjun in the middle of a running commentary about some stupid cricket match and said sweetly, “Have you ever heard of the expression ‘three’s a crowd?’” He looked confused for a second, and then smiled and said, “That’s okay. We don’t mind you being with us.”

It was all I could do to stop myself from throwing the water in the jug all over him. Nikhil smiled, but sobered at once, seeing the expression on my face. I couldn’t wait for the evening to get over. Strike three.

I decided to give it one last shot. This time I went to the expert. My mom.

“Mom, my friend likes a guy. She wants him to pay more attention to her. What do you suppose she should do?”

My mom smiled and said, “Jealousy. Ask her to try making him jealous. Works all the time.”

“Thanks,” I said, turning to go. My mom waited for a second, and then asked, “So, who’s the guy you like?”

She never missed a trick. I laughed and ran away. I could always tell her later.

I decided to follow my mom’s advice. It was Valentine’s Day. One of my cousins had come home for the weekend, and I enlisted his help. Nikhil, me and a few of our other classmates usually met up on Saturdays and went to the beach. This time, I decided not to go.

“Why?” Nikhil asked, when I told him over the phone.

“I have a date,” I said, dramatically.

“Don’t be silly, you don’t date,” he said.

I pretended to be angry. “FYI, someone has asked me out, and I have said yes. I am going to the mall with him.”

“But you can’t just go traipsing off with someone you don’t know. It’s dangerous.” I was delighted to hear the angry edge to his voice.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, he’s Smita’s cousin, and I know he’s a decent guy. I’m entitled to do what I want, aren’t I?”

For a long time there was silence. I wanted him to say, ‘No, I won’t let you go out with anyone.’ I willed him to be angry enough with me to stop me from going. “Fine! Do whatever you want to do,” he said, and cut the call. I kept the phone down and left.

I was restless throughout the trip to mall. I kept looking behind my shoulder for Nikhil, much to my cousin’s exasperation, but he never turned up. After two hours, I sighed and gave up. What had I expected? To have him marching up to us and dragging me out? I blinked back the tears that came to my eyes.

My cousin must have noticed something for his expression softened, and he made me sit down at a café, and got me a cup of coffee.

“You’re in love with him?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “the jerk.”

He laughed and said, “Well, being a guy, I can give you a piece of advice.” I looked up at him.

He said, “First, stop trying to impress him. It works for a while, yeah, but if you really care about him, just let go. If he’s meant, he’ll come to you. If he isn’t, then there’s always someone else. But don’t spoil the friendship you have by trying to be someone you are not.” 

I hadn’t heard this kind of advice from anyone. And it made so much sense. I hugged my cousin, and thanked him. I went home feeling a weight had lifted from my chest. I went up to my room, and found a note on my bed.

It said, ‘I’m sorry. Will you be my Valentine? I love you.’ Below it was signed, ‘your best pal, Nikhil. P.S: you looked great that day at the theatre.’

I stood there, clutching the note in my hand, laughing and crying at the same time.