You Were My Crush: Till You Said You Love Me! Read online

  ‘I am okay with it,’ I said. ‘I have never seen a French movie. I have heard they have, like, naked scenes and stuff?’

  ‘Oh! Lots of them. Let’s please go,’ Shaina pleaded. ‘I will translate whatever you don’t get.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Diya said.

  ‘You can understand French?’ I asked, shocked and impressed.

  ‘And Spanish,’ Diya added. ‘She is such a pretentious show off.’

  ‘I don’t say that when you talk about fiscal policies, do I?’ Shaina quipped.

  Shaina pushed me to drive faster because she did not want to miss the first scene of the movie, while Diya sulked, hoping we would.

  They bought the tickets and I parked the car. Diya made sure she sat between the two of us during the movie. The movie was about a woman stuck in an arranged marriage during a period of religious war, and she hoped to flee with a new lover. Periodically, Shaina would make us understand the nuances of the story, and while Diya would shrug, I found myself staring at her, listening to her as she described in great detail the anguish and the pain of the woman in the movie.

  I felt inadequate.

  Finally, during the interval, while Shaina and I waited in line to buy popcorn because Diya said she would rather eat than watch the movie, Diya visited the washroom.

  ‘So? Miranda House?’

  ‘Benoy, that’s a bad conversation starter,’ she said.

  ‘Let’s see if you do better,’ I said.

  ‘I am equally bad at first sentences. But I really thought you would be arrogant and haughty. And yes, a lot uglier.’

  ‘Uglier? Which means right now I am just ugly, not UGLIER?’

  ‘No, no! I mean, you are cute. I thought you would be ugly,’ she corrected.

  ‘That’s just damage control. But why did you think I would be even uglier?’

  ‘Diya always said so! Don’t tell her I told you this. She’s a little possessive about me, so for her every guy is ugly and irresponsible. She’s very protective.’

  ‘I can see that,’ I said and wondered what proportion of her face were just her immense, beautiful eyes.

  Diya came back and asked us why we were smiling. We said nothing.

  That little stolen moment between Shaina and me made my day. The movie ends with the beheading of the lover, and the woman, Queen Margot, lived on, carrying with her the embalmed head of her lover wherever she went.

  We did not get to talk any more that day because they had to rush home as soon as the movie was over, but there were times that Shaina and I had longer-than-usual eye contact and we smiled at each other.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It had been exactly three days and I had not been able to push the thought of her out of my mind. I kept daydreaming about her, constructed fake dates with her, where I would just sit there and she would recite her poems, and tell me about her favourite movies.

  My calls to Diya had tripled over the last three days because I wanted to hear Shaina’s voice in the background somewhere. It just kept ringing in my head since that day and no matter what I did, it stayed there. It didn’t take long for Diya to put two and two together.

  ‘Benoy, one word about her and we will never talk again,’ she said.

  It was the millionth time that day that I had picked her name up in a conversation.

  ‘I don’t want you near her again. Do you get me, Benoy?’ she said.

  ‘But why? It’s not as if I am hitting on her.’

  ‘No, but you were staring at her! I don’t want a guy like you hovering near her,’ she said.

  ‘Did she notice? That I was staring?’

  ‘I didn’t ask her,’ she said.

  ‘Did she say anything about me?’

  ‘I didn’t ask her that either,’ she said. ‘She is too simple for all your games, Benoy. And you know my parents. Please stay away from her.’

  ‘Okay, fine. We will not talk about her.’

  ‘Better,’ she said.

  No matter how hard I tried, I could not change Diya’s perception.

  ‘And you are not adding her on Facebook!’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Just like that. I don’t want you to go about liking every picture of hers, like you have done in mine.’

  ‘You noticed?’ I asked.

  ‘Obviously, Benoy. I am not blind.’

  ‘Oh, okay. But—’

  ‘Nothing doing. No adding her on Facebook,’ she said this sternly, and we did not discuss it further.

  Like a petulant child who does exactly what he’s asked not to, I sent Shaina a friend request. The more Shaina was treated like a guarded princess, the more I was drawn to her.

  My eyes grew weary and tired waiting for the friend request to get accepted, but I couldn’t make myself give up on the hope.

  And then, a message came.

  Shaina Gupta: Are you sure? ☺ Didn’t Diya ask you not to add me?

  Chapter Eighteen

  That day, Deb came over, and as if I was not already having a bad day, he had decided that he would add to my list of worries. I had spent an hour, and I had not yet drafted a reply. Why the fuck can’t she just accept the friend request?

  ‘Hey,’ Deb said. ‘Guess what?’

  ‘That you’re not getting engaged?’

  ‘No, asshole. I got the ring!’

  ‘This is the worst day of my entire life. The only brother I had is now someone else’s. I don’t have any reason to live.’

  ‘Oh, cut it out and be happy for me, man.’

  ‘Okay, fine. But have you thought this through, Deb? Being engaged? It is a big decision. No more sleeping around? No more night-outs or dates with other girls.’

  ‘It’s the easiest decision I have ever made. The only girl I want to be around is her,’ he explained.

  ‘That’s sweet.’

  ‘Yeah, anyway, you should be doing all that. Not me. It’s your time now! I will just be the boring elder brother!’ He smiled.

  ‘I don’t do that either.’

  ‘Oh, c’mon. Don’t be that boring, Benoy. I am getting engaged, and you seem depressed!’

  ‘Okay, whatever,’ I said.

  We talked for a little while, and it didn’t take long for him to notice that I was distracted. I kept checking the phone for a notification that would say that she had accepted the friend request. Maybe, she was waiting for me to reply to her message.

  ‘I think I like someone,’ I finally told Deb.

  ‘Ohh, sure you do! Diya, isn’t it? I always felt that. Even my mom told me that the way she looked at you at our place, she just knew something is going on. So?’ Deb said excitedly.

  ‘Diya? No. Are you out of your mind? I was talking about Shaina.’

  ‘Shaina?’

  ‘Diya’s sister.’

  ‘Diya’s sister? As in, real sister?’

  ‘Yes, real sister. What else?’

  ‘Oh, that’s just fucked up. Does Diya know?’ he asked.

  ‘I mean, she has an idea. And she doesn’t like it.’

  ‘Just tread carefully, Benoy. For now, can we stop talking about your girl? Okay, I will show you the ring, and even if you hate it, you have to lie. Get it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Deb sir.’

  He showed me the ring. There was no way any girl would say no to a ring like that.

  ‘It’s brilliant,’ I said and congratulated him again. I wished him luck and he left me to my misery. After he left, I went back to my message screen.

  Benoy Roy: We don’t have to tell her! ☺

  It wasn’t witty, it wasn’t smart, but I had to reply.

  Shaina Gupta: You don’t but I have to. She is my sister! And she doesn’t have nice things to say about you. ☺ I don’t trust men with big cars.

  Benoy Roy: She is just possessive! Will you add me already! ☺

  Shaina Gupta: *Runs to ask Diya if she should*

  Benoy Roy: Nooo! *Dies*

  Shaina Gupta: *Jerk*

/>   A little later, I got the notification that I had been waiting for.

  Shaina Gupta accepted your friend request.

  Within seconds, Diya called. Crap.

  ‘Benoy!’ she almost screamed on the phone.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe what just happened,’ I said.

  ‘What!’ she still screamed.

  ‘Deb is getting engaged! He had this huge ring and he is proposing to Avantika … right NOW. Can you believe that? It’s CRAZY!’

  ‘What? Really?’

  ‘Yes, he showed me the ring. It’s huge.’

  ‘You seem so excited,’ she said. ‘I’m so happy for him!’

  ‘So am I!’

  She was sufficiently distracted. We talked about Deb and his engagement and what it would mean to me; she forgot she had to blast me for adding Shaina.

  ‘But I had asked you not to send her a request,’ she said, not as angry any more.

  ‘When have I ever done what you have asked me to, Diya?’

  We both laughed at it, and I mailed her the picture of the ring that I had clicked. She got busy with that. As soon as we disconnected the call, Shaina messaged me again.

  Shaina Gupta: That was well handled! ☺

  Benoy Roy: Anything to be in your friend list.

  Shaina Gupta: That was creepy!!

  Benoy Roy: The pressure to be smart and funny is getting too much to handle for me. What do you call creepy in French?

  Shaina Gupta: Now that was sweet! ☺ Creepy in French is ‘rampé’.

  Benoy Roy: But you know what would be really sweet?

  Shaina Gupta: I am thinking chocolate cake? What’s on your mind?

  Benoy Roy: Yeah. Chocolate cake. But yes, exchanging numbers!

  Shaina Gupta: Why don’t you call my sister and ask for it?

  Benoy Roy: I think we should stick to chocolate then! ☺

  Shaina Gupta: Aw! 9999993489!

  Benoy Roy: So much better. ☺ Vous êtes un grand!

  Shaina Gupta: Your Google Translate skills don’t impress me.

  And our conversation shifted from Facebook messages to text messages and when she had exhausted her free messages, I called her. She asked me to wait until her sister had drifted off to sleep.

  ‘Hey,’ I said.

  ‘Hey, do you want to talk to Diya? She is right here,’ she said.

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Why not! You’re best friends after all,’ she joked.

  ‘Shaina, you are the girl here. I am the guy. I am supposed to be funny! And you are supposed to laugh at my jokes. Not the other way around.’

  She faked a giggle and said, ‘Does that work fine with you?’

  ‘You need to work on making that giggle a little more realistic!’

  We both giggled at this. This time, her giggle was more realistic. We didn’t talk for long since she had an assignment to complete. Just before sleeping, I visited her profile and saw all the pictures again. I resisted the temptation to like all her pictures. I did not want Diya to notice that. And secondly, Manoj Nagpal, a guy from her list, had already done that. He had liked every picture of hers!

  Manoj Nagpal likes this.

  I checked him out, and he was a ‘rampé’-looking guy.

  Manoj Nagpal. Studied at Delhi University. Lives in Delhi. Knows English, Hindi and Punjabi. Born on September 12, 1986.

  1986? Creepy OLD bastard!

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Has anybody replied yet?’

  It had been quite some time since Diya had applied to a few places for a summer internship but she was getting nowhere with it. Unlike me, she was only sending applications to the top-notch organizations.

  I had already given up and decided that I would work at my father’s company. Despite fervent requests, she had refused help of any kind whatsoever.

  ‘Nothing as of now,’ she said.

  ‘Do you want me to talk to my dad?’

  ‘No!’ she said.

  ‘What if—’

  ‘Eshaan called yesterday,’ she interrupted.

  ‘Aha! Eshaan? I didn’t know you guys were calling each other and stuff.’ I nudged her.

  ‘He had called once to thank me for that day. I told you about that! He said he was contacting a few companies and asked me if I wanted to apply.’

  ‘I think he likes you.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t. He’s just sweet and you know that.’

  ‘I know he does. The question is whether you like him or not?’

  ‘Like him? I hardly know that guy! And please, I cannot get into relationships like you do.’

  ‘Why do you always say that? Have you in the last few months ever seen me talk about anyone? Or being with someone? This is unfair.’

  ‘Fine. Fine!’ she said.

  ‘Seems like there are still a few things you have to know about me,’ I grumbled. First thing amongst them was that I was in love with her sister.

  ‘Oh. I totally forgot. I saw your dad’s video on YouTube. He was invited to a conclave organized by the Chambers of Commerce,’ she told me.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘He sounds good! He has an accent and you don’t. I am afraid but he’s cooler than you are, Benoy. You’re a step down in evolution. He’s good-looking too. What happened with you? Are you adopted, Benoy?’ she asked, smirking.

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘I think you can learn a thing or two from him. He’s quite the rock star,’ she said. ‘He’s like the good parts of Richard Branson and Gerard Butler, and you’re like the bad parts of Johnny Lever and the guy from Frankenstein.’

  I stayed quiet; it was because I was happy and confused.

  Chapter Twenty

  The only time I didn’t miss Shaina was when I was reading her blog and staring endlessly at her sketches. Calling her always daunted me because I felt like an illiterate homeless guy while talking to her. She was educated in French and Spanish, wrote poems and drew like a dream, and sometimes she would talk about poets and their lives and their best works, their techniques of writing and what not; I just drove around in my dad’s stupid big car like it was mine.

  ‘Weren’t you with my sister all morning?’ Shaina asked the first thing after answering my call.

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘That’s creepy, Benoy. You spend all your day with my sister and then you hit on me. That’s not done.’ She chuckled.

  ‘If I were hitting on you, I would have liked all your pictures … like someone has.’

  ‘Someone?’

  ‘Some guy. Manoj somebody in your list. He has liked all your pictures. Who does that?’ I said irritably.

  ‘Oh, c’mon. He’s a nice guy.’

  ‘And he is as old as your dad,’ I snapped. ‘He’s twenty-six, Shaina. You are young enough to be his daughter.’

  ‘Love knows no age!’ she countered.

  ‘You can like him as much as you can right now, but let me tell you, he’s not going to last. A natural-cause death is fast approaching.’

  ‘That’s just mean. He isn’t that old!’ she countered.

  ‘He is twenty-six! Imagine. When he was in first year, you were in the seventh standard. That’s like paedophilia, Shaina.’

  ‘Now you’re just making it sound worse! George Chapman, a poet, said, “Young men think old men are fools; but old men know young men are fools.”’

  ‘At least you agree that he’s old. Are you dating him or something?’

  ‘Could be! Could be not. Whatever be the case, I’m not looking to date you. You’re not my type,’ she professed.

  ‘What’s your type? I have already started watching all the top French movies in the IMDB list, and I am thinking of reading through all of Byron and Keats and Neruda and Frost, if that’s what your type is,’ I said.

  ‘I think I should just go and tell Diya that you have been troubling me,’ she jested.

  ‘Err …’

  ‘Aw! Look at you. You’re cute, Benoy. I’m sure you wil
l find yourself a nice girl. I am kind of surprised you aren’t seeing anyone,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘I just thought girls would be clamouring to get to you. Except your shoes, I think you’re everything a girl can ask for,’ she commented.

  ‘Is someone paying you to be sweet to me? I am really not used to it, Shaina.’

  ‘Modesty! Thy name is certainly Benoy Roy. You know what, the first time didi talked about you, I thought she would explode! She was so angry, like really pissed off. What did you do? She told me that you were an inconsiderate, rich brat.’

  ‘I am not a brat!’ I protested. ‘Oh, by the way, I loved the new poem. I don’t know how much I got, but it’s brilliant.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t read my poems, Benoy,’ she said. ‘They are horrible!’

  ‘Are you kidding me? I have cried, like, so much reading them, and I don’t even know if I understand them completely,’ I said.

  ‘You’re just being sweet. No one really likes them. Everyone dies in my poems. How can you even like them? I don’t even know why I write them in the first place. I end up depressing myself,’ she explained. ‘I want to stop writing them.’

  ‘No! Don’t stop. I love them,’ I protested.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I think I should keep down the phone. Diya would want to know who I was talking to and I really don’t like lying to my sister.’

  We disconnected the call. It was a little uncomfortable hiding it from Diya. I slept peacefully that night, imagining Shaina in a quaint old town cottage, working on a poem in her study, while I looked on, thanking my stars for having met her.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I sat there in my car and waited for her outside her college; I didn’t think she would agree to see me without her sister but she did. I was ecstatic and nervous. The wait was long, painful and nerve-racking. She exited her college campus and our eyes locked. As she walked and smiled shyly, as she looked at me, I had to remind myself to keep breathing. I wish I had learned a few lines written by any French poet to describe to her how pretty she was, and probably impress her, but she knew I was an illiterate buffoon.