Page 69 - The World's Best Boyfriend

dance routines, lights falling on people’s heads, girls tripping over heels, comics
being booed off stage, music performances going awry, professors losing their
shit! Who likes perfect people? We shouldn’t stand for this. This is not IIT. We

are the fucking upholders of average!’ exhorted Sanchit.
‘As much as I would like to help you to run this institution to the ground,
Sanchit, I have no reason to.’

‘You have no reason to? It’s that girl, Aranya, who’s running this place like
fucking Fort Knox. I thought you hated that girl. Grow some balls and help me
screw this up!’

‘I hate you too. So what do I do about it?’
‘You love me, man. You man-love me,’ said Sanchit and wrapped his arm
around Dhruv’s shoulder.

‘Take your arms away before I rip them off and shove them up your ass.
That’s the only man-love you will get from me.’
At a distance, Dhruv saw Aranya with her little black transponder hanging

from her back pocket, a headset wrapped around her dopey little face, going
about business like she was born for it; a little too self-assured for Dhruv’s
liking. As if that incident which scarred him for life had no bearing on hers.

She had grown up to be just the kind of girl who would ignore calls when
she’s working or out with her own heterosexual group, the girl who puts her

happiness before her boyfriend’s, who would harp on and on about feminism,
the kind of girl who would lie without blinking, the girl who would break your
heart and be absolutely alright eight years later while the boy’s heart still
trembles with the thought of holding her hand.

Dhruv had every reason to see her crumble to ash.
They were now sitting at the windowsill, looking inside.

‘For heaven’s sake! They have hired a choreographer this time. Just imagine
everyone in sync. Disgusting,’ exclaimed Sanchit.
The choreographer, along with his girl partner, pirouetted effortlessly on the
dance floor and expected the students to follow suit. Aranya wasn’t a part of the

dance troupe but she stood in a corner with a writing board and spat instructions
to the dancers. No one was spared from her caustic tongue.

‘Stop acting like you have elephantiasis! Move those feet! Do it like he does!’
‘Namita? Are you pregnant? Then why are you so scared in the lift? The boy
will not drop you and kill your unborn child!’