Page 103 - The World's Best Boyfriend
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class story. If your father was a rich businessman with a few gold teeth, it’s
               digestible. Or a kid of a wayward celebrity,’ remarked Sanchit.
                  ‘But what if it is a very middle-class thing, and we only don’t look out for it?

               What if? Think about it, Sanchit. The belief that the middle class can’t put a foot
               wrong morally is so deep that you wouldn’t even begin to think about those
               overtimes in the office, those short office tours to Jaipur or Agra or Bombay

               were not office trips but moments of weakness spent in the arms of the women
               they bought, little fragments of happiness in the lives of husbands and fathers
               battling with car and house loans. It sounds ridiculous if you imagine your father

               doing the same, but ask yourself, how difficult is it? Check his browser history.
               Check his phone. Check what he watches late at night on television. Is it always
               news? Why wouldn’t you check? Because you believe in him. Just like I used

               to.’
                  ‘Frankly, I’m disappointed,’ said Sanchit.
                  ‘Did you just hear what I said?’

                  ‘Stop being such an attention whore. Yes, you said something about
               happiness. But look, we are already here,’ said Sanchit pointing to Raghuvir’s
               nameplate on the door. ‘This was too easy. There was no challenge.’ The guards

               were sleeping, drunk, or busy masturbating to Grihashobha. An army tank could
               have rolled past them unnoticed.
                  ‘Here’s the challenge.’ Dhruv pointed to the lock.

                  ‘What are we trying to achieve here?’
                  Dhruv showed him a corrected copy of Aranya’s assignment, and explained
               that they had to break in cleanly, copy it on Ritika’s assignment and leave.

                  ‘I have seen that girl look at Raghuvir like he was red velvet cake.’
                  ‘How do we break in?’
                  ‘Why are you asking me?’ asked Sanchit. The lock on Raghuvir’s room was

               one of those six-lever ones.
                  ‘What? You look like the kind of person who could pick a lock,’ said Dhruv,
               exasperated.

                  ‘And you deduced that because you’re the last product of the Sherlock
               Holmes sperm strain? Talking of which, did you also know that my father works
               in the Public Works Department and my mother is a housewife? That my

               cumulative percentage from seven semesters is 83 and my department rank is 4
               and that I’m placed with Microsoft which essentially makes me the King Nerd?’
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