Page 80 - The World's Best Boyfriend

20

Dhruv was still shirtless in the guys’ washroom having lost it in the scuffle with

the bouncers. Sanchit had offered him a metaphorical blowjob whenever he was
in need of one and a spare T-shirt.
‘THAT. WAS. EPIC.’ Sanchit gushed.
Dhruv inspected the bruises on his stomach. Any other day he would have

taken them, but they came from behind, and he was distracted by the white-faced
Aranya.

‘I should have done abs this morning.’
‘You’re ripped, dude. I think I heard women come in the crowd.’
Dhruv played it cool like he didn’t give a fuck. ‘Whatever. Did you see that
girl’s face?’ he asked.

‘Which girl? Oh her! I think she passed out or something,’ said Sanchit.
‘Serves her right for whatever she was trying to do. It’s karma and you were

God-sent to kick her ass.’
‘She passed out?’ asked Dhruv, not sure whether to feel guilty or victorious so
he did a mental toss and settled on victorious.
The thumps of bass from the speakers started to filter through to the

washroom. The Freshers’ party had started. ‘Come. Get drunk today because
tomorrow Mitra is going to screw your happiness,’ said Sanchit.

They left the washroom and walked towards the amphitheatre where the DJ
was playing pirated CDs of bygone hits. Most of the students were sitting on the
topmost stairs of the amphitheatre. As Dhruv trained his eyes he saw a handful

of students dancing out of tune.
‘Dhruv, you will die a good, honest man for saving our college’s heritage.
And to celebrate it, we have to get drunk,’ said Sanchit and dived into his little

black polythene bag of clanging bottles.
They got drunk on a mix of Romanov, Royal Stag and Old Monk. Sanchit was
a masterful bartender but a lousy drunk.

They walked back, their feet unsteady, Sanchit struggling to light his cigarette,
the lights of the auditorium piercing their pupils.
‘They look like they are being tortured,’ Dhruv said, pointing towards the

dance floor.