Page 231 - The World's Best Boyfriend

‘Well, it’s already working, Dhruv. No matter how badass you are, right now,
you’re thinking what if he doesn’t see you for the next two years and dies taking
your name over and over again. What if he spends every waking second of

whatever is left of his life staring at the door, waiting for you? What if he spends
every shred of his life crying? And when all he needed was one chance to
apologize.’

Dhruv breathed deeply. ‘You’re manipulating me. I can’t fucking believe
you.’
‘Neither can I. Your father is dying and you’re here talking to me.’

Dhruv slumped on the bed, face down, wanting to cry but the tears had dried
out years before and said, ‘I’m not going.’
Yet six hours later, he was running through the corridors of Eight Hills

Hospital looking for room no. 324. When he reached the door, he calmed
himself down, pushed the door open and entered the room. His father lay on an
uncomfortable bed reading a magazine. There lay a set of machines by his side,

not yet plugged in.
‘Dad,’ Dhruv said. He sat on the seat meant for distraught relatives—crying
brothers and wailing sons, daughters and wives. Dad looked just fine. ‘You don’t

look sick.’
‘It’s something with my liver. Too much drinking, they said. And I told them

if it had been too much drinking I wouldn’t be here.’ Dad laughed and Dhruv
failed to see the joke in it.
The words dried up and quite some time passed by before Dad said, ‘I’m
sorry.’ Dhruv had already started to regret his decision to be there. He felt angry

if anything at all.
‘You kind of should be. For all the shit that you have done and made all of us

go through. I just came here because my friends told me I should give you a
chance to apologize. And quite frankly, it doesn’t feel any different. Seeing you
trapped in this bed doesn’t make me cry. If anything it makes me fucking
happy.’

‘Don’t swear, Dhruv.’
‘You don’t have any power over me.’

‘I’m your father.’
‘Yeah, you fucking were!’
‘Don’t do that.’