Page 254 - The World's Best Boyfriend

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Aranya tried out three hairstyles; it was the longest time she had ever given to

her hair. She looked good now, she thought, at least presentable. She thought of
applying make-up but got into an internal debate—whether she was doing it for
herself or the people around her. A quick Google search and YouTube video of
John Green told her she was doing it for herself and she found the courage to

apply a faint lipstick. Goddamn it. Her lips were chapped. Why did she even try?
She locked the room behind her and joined the minions whom she would

mercilessly crush today in the training and placement room. Two sprightly
young men walked into the room dressed in polo-neck T-shirts and distressed
denims, quite a contrast to the applicants, all of whom were in crisp, suffocating
white and black suits.

The two men, Indians but with accents, showed them slides of the offices they
were supposed to work in, the cafeteria, the women, the men, and left everyone

salivating in the room.
Aranya saw Dhruv walk in and sit in the last row. He was gorgeous in his suit
that strained against his arms and chest, yet he looked like shit. While the others
in the room were like lambs to slaughter for her, and she would do that with the

stoic face of a butcher, she felt sorry for Dhruv.
She would be sad when she defeated him.

She wanted to cuddle him, tell him it was going to be okay, cradle his head in
her arms, tell him she loved him, and then bring the knife to his throat and slice
it open and cry when he bled dry. She was sure she loved him, for now he didn’t

look like Superman’s Luther, or Batman’s Joker, and even with a mean suit on,
he was more like a furball, a little pug, harmless and lovable.
The two men left the room and the question papers were distributed.

Nervously, she looked around to see if the questions befuddled the applicants,
and on seeing people struggle a smile broke across her face and she bulldozed
through the question paper. While leaving the room she saw Dhruv vigorously

chewing the back of his pencil, sweating, but unlike others, not looking for help
from the adjacent table.
The crowd filtered out and the question papers were collected for evaluation.

Students milled about near the foyer, nervously and passionately discussing how