Page 55 - The World's Best Boyfriend

‘Sir, I was hoping the first class would be a sort of informal introductory
session where we would get to know each other better. So I thought it was better
I dressed up for the occasion. I picked these shorts carefully. And hi! I’m

Dhruv.’
The professor looked at him, unimpressed.
‘Do you think it’s a joke?’ asked the professor.

‘I’m hoping it is.’
The professor looked at him, blank-faced. ‘Get in,’ he grumbled.
The professor started to teach them about fusion. Dhruv sat there, looking at

the five girls in the class, calculating the number of beers he would need to find
the urge to sleep with them.
The first three were identical. Skinny, dark, spectacled, flat hair tied tightly

into a pony, four beer stuff. One of them was fair and being the racist bastard he
was, he pegged her at two beers and sufficiently dim lighting.
The last one was a little hard to place in the heirarchy. She had her back

towards him. She was furiously scribbling notes, unmindful of boys nearby, or
him, or even the professor. From where he was sitting he could see her head
strictly followed the chalk like she was controlling it, telekinesis-type strange

shit. If she turned out to be fair he would forgive her plumpness and give her a
good beer rating.

But then she turned.
Dhruv’s mouth went dry. The girl had patchy skin, white and brown at places,
and she immediately reminded him of someone . . .
She had seen him too. For the rest of the period, she kept stealing glances at

him, and he played his little game of catching her mid-glance, holding the stare .
. .

And then it struck him. It was her. The girl who’d lied and broken his heart
into a million little pieces . . .

I Love u Rachu