Page 200 - The World's Best Boyfriend
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               When they had started out from college, their reasons to be together were rather

               clear. Dhruv didn’t want to feel guilty any more and Aranya wanted her success
               to be free of Dhruv’s benevolence. As the night progressed, their reasons became
               increasingly ambiguous.
                  Dhruv, the guy who appraised people in body fat percentages, had just talked

               like a feminist. And sometimes when he drove too fast, Aranya held him tight
               without feeling the need to wash her arms with acid.

                  To cut the awkwardness of the conversation, Dhruv asked. ‘So why is
               Raghuvir that important?’
                  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Aranya.
                  ‘You clearly lost your shit once he left.’

                  Aranya didn’t answer. It wasn’t as if Aranya hadn’t thought of what was there
               between Raghuvir and her. But the thought was so flawed that she didn’t dwell

               on it. Raghuvir had dated models. And she was . . .
                  Raghuvir had never acknowledged Aranya as anything more than an
               infatuated student. Which he had proved by running away.
                  They reached Noida at three in the night. They spent the next hour trying to

               find their way to Raghuvir’s house.
                  Dhruv parked his motorcycle fifty yards away from the steel gate of

               Raghuvir’s modest one-storey house and said, ‘I will wait here.’
                  Aranya had been thinking of what she could say to Raghuvir and she had zilch
               right now. She rang the bell thrice before there was any movement inside the

               house. A couple of minutes later, Raghuvir emerged in his A&F trackpants and
               an ill-fitting T-shirt.
                  Pleasantries were exchanged after Raghuvir expressed suitable shock. He

               invited her inside, still trying to get over her uninvited, creepy presence.
                  ‘How did you get here?’
                  Raghuvir closed the door behind her. Through the steel gauze of the gate,

               Aranya could see Dhruv bent over his motorcycle, frowning.
                  ‘Sit,’ said Raghuvir, collecting the stray papers on the couch into a bundle.
               Raghuvir switched on all the lights but they weren’t enough for the large living

               room. The house was dying. The walls were lined with bookshelves bent with
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