Page 88 - The World's Best Boyfriend

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‘This is the last song for the night! Hope you had a good night. As per directions

from the dean, girls are supposed to go back to their hostels and sign the
register!’ the DJ announced. Everyone swore and threw empty plastic cups at
him.
The students had made the most of the time left—some danced, boys

emboldened by alcohol asked for the numbers of the girls they’d liked and got
turned down, still others looked for their lost cellphones and ID cards.

Dhruv’s buzz had faded by now. He found Sanchit bent over a hedge at a
distance, throwing up his intestines, rubbing his mouth clean and repeating.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Tell my parents I love them. I won’t survive this,’ said Sanchit and barfed

again.
‘You seem to be in control,’ Dhruv said and walked away wanting none of the

responsibility.
The music stopped, the lights went out, the party dispersed and students
walked back to their hostels, their shirts and dresses drenched in sweat, smelling
like horse pee. Facebook posts went up immediately, grammatically incorrect

sentences suffixed with emoticons were tweeted, pictures were Instagrammed
with sepia tones and hashtags: #collegedays #partaayyyy #bestdayofmylife

#bitches #fuckyeah #drunk.
The roads of the college were deserted. The students were in their beds,
sweating under creaky fans, checking the likes and hearts on their photos. Dhruv

walked around, his hands deep in his pockets, kicking an empty Budweiser
bottle.
He had just turned a corner when he heard someone vomiting behind a parked

car.
‘You’re still here, Sanchit?’ asked Dhruv.
On the other side of an old Honda City he saw a girl, dressed in a little yellow

floral dress held in place by thin straps, her knees scraped and muddy, her hair in
tangles and her make-up all smudged.
‘Shouldn’t you be in the hostel? It’s late,’ asked Dhruv.

‘Huh?’