20. Aisha Paul

My eighteenth birthday was approaching and people around me were making it a big deal.

  I obviously didn't care about it. Like what's so different about being seventeen or eighteen? It's just another day after all. Will it make me smarter? I would have bought into the concept if it meant a ten-point hike in my IQ but of course that wouldn't happen now, would it? I was the kind of girl who didn't make much of these media-propagated important dates.

Also, I was lying.

  Inside, I hoped for balloons, cake, a huge party, a thousand guests, and maybe a little alcohol since everyone else's birthday had that. But where was the money to celebrate? So instead, I put up a brave face and kept telling people that eighteenth-birthday celebrations were for kids and that I was a grown-up. Already eighteen. Done and dusted. A celebration shouldn't make one nervous and anxious. My impending eighteenth birthday made me want to crawl into a hole and die.

  'Are you sure you don't want a party?' asked Namrata. 'Not even a small one?'

  She was turning out to be my best friend these days. Namrata had swooped in and replaced Megha in a matter of days. She was what people defined as my type. Her parents were college professors, English and Sanskrit, and so she was like a walking-talking Goodreads recommendation list, and had a library at home which could put the one at our school to shame. Also, she had little twin sisters, Dhriti and Dhisti, who were fat and cute and edible, and they called me Agha whenever I went to her house. I would curse myself regularly for losing all those years of a potentially fulfilling friendship.

  Our affair started in the library where we found out we loved the same authors and had often issued the same books in the past. Things were really awkward at first but there's nothing that fifty flavours of Baskin Robbins can't cure. We used to spend hours after school at the outlet nearby eating out of a single cup.

  Then we discussed our favourite TV shows, debated aggressively about whether Geoffrey, the chef, was more vile or Gordon Ramsay, watched episodes of Modern Family together, admitted that we liked Zayn Malik's hair and Justin Bieber's songs at one point in time, and that we masturbated every alternate night. Finally! I'd got someone to talk to about it without feeling like a complete pervert. We exchanged pointers on what turned us on. Fictional men in books > Porn.

  She was just a great person.

  She was kind and compassionate, and brought great food from her home, and I was falling in love with her.

  'No, I don't want a party. It's all a sham, really,' I lied. I so wanted a huge party.

  'Norbu has promised me that he will throw me a massive party when I turn eighteen,' she said, blushing.

  'Yes, I will,' said Norbu who walked into the library just at that moment. They made quite a pair. He was the cute boy from. . . . No, that's what I had decided, I wouldn't describe people first by how they looked.

  Norbu's parents were both IAS officers and the brain gene has carried on in their only child. He was brilliant with words. And yes, he was damn cute. His skin glowed like spring, eyes twinkled like Christmas. I could pack him up, take him home and keep him by my bedside and hug him to sleep every day but Namrata wouldn't have been too happy about it.

  It was Norbu who had kept Namrata loved and sane all these years.

  'I will make it your best day ever,' said Norbu, holding her hand, and somewhere I cried. They looked so good together. In love. Just perfect.

  Maybe that's what I needed. A boyfriend. Someone who treated me like Norbu treated Namrata, someone who would hold my hand and look into my eyes and not at my pimples, someone who wouldn't call my emotions melodrama, who would know what I needed for my eighteenth birthday was a big ass party and not a mature thought.

  I needed a boyfriend.

  *

  I reached home to find my mother cooking chicken that smelled wonderful. It was a luxury and it wasn't my birthday yet. Was my mother losing her mind again? I threw my bag on the couch and barged into the kitchen to enquire why my birthday chicken was being wasted days before the actual date.

  'Your brother's friend is coming,' said my mother. I took the chopping board from her and cut a few onions.

  'But he doesn't have any friends!' I said. My mother shot me a look. 'Not any I know of,' I added.

  Sarthak's friendlessness was legendary and we never talked about it. I remembered Googling about whether my brother was bipolar or depressed or suffered from a mental illness.

  I came up with naught.

  My brother just didn't talk to anyone. It had been years since my mother, my father or I had had a proper conversation with him. He was so shut off. At least I talked about the weather and the food and about my pimples and the hot water running out.

  He was a body.

  'Is the friend a boy?' I asked.

  'Of course, it's a boy!' snapped my mother.

  As if on cue the bell rang and I was asked to get it.

  'Hi,' said my brother as I opened the door for him and his friend. Hi? We never said Hi to each other? What was Hi? My mother walked into the living room to greet Sarthak's friend and offered him water. His friend was introduced as Vibhor.

  She pulled me into the kitchen and asked me to change out of my skirt.

  'Why? He studies in my school! He sees me like this every day.'

  'It doesn't seem right to wear a skirt in front of a boy inside the house. Go! Change!'

  Reluctantly, I changed. I had no clothes. Not like my cupboard was full and I was being a diva. I literally had no good clothes to wear so I changed into my sweatpants and my brother's T-shirt and reminded myself of how little outer appearances matter.

  I went to the living room with the tray my mother handed me. Vibhor helped me to keep the teetering tray on the table. Quite chivalrous. Now that I had a good thing to say about him, I can tell you he was gorgeous, delectable, a piece of art even. He was tall, like freakishly tall, he filled up the entire room when he walked in with his muscled biceps and his crew cut. Screw chicken. I could have had him instead!

  'So why are you here? Since when have you been friends?' I asked him.

  He looked at my brother strangely. 'Umm . . .'

  'Go to your room,' said Sarthak.

  'Hey? You're the goalkeeper, right?'

  Vibhor nodded.

  'I knew it. Girls are crazy for you!'

  He smiled. Must be totally not embarrassing for him. I felt a little sorry for him now. I needed to shut up.

  'We have work,' said Sarthak.

  'What work?' I asked him, but still looking at the chivalrous, shy Vibhor.

  'Mom!' Sarthak shouted.

  That was my cue. I ran to my room and bolted the door before Mom could say anything. I stayed put and held my pee for an hour because our bedroom didn't have an attached bathroom. Outside, they tapped furiously on the laptop and talked in hushed whispers. My brother had a nice voice. It would have been great to hear more of it. I pinned my ears to the bedroom door to hear what they were talking about.

  Later before leaving, Vibhor knocked on the bedroom door and casually asked for my number. 'If you don't mind,' he added at the end of the sentence.

  Yes, he did that.

  I blushed and stammered and managed to blurt out the entire number in the sixth attempt.

  'Are you sure you just asked for my number? Or is it in my head?'

  'I did. And I just texted you.'

  I scrambled for my phone. Hi, the text message said.

  'I will call you?' he asked. 'If it's okay with you?'

  'Of course, it is. I need to shut up, right?'

  'No, not really but I have to go,' he said and closed the door.

  I called him on his number. 'Hey?'

  'You're calling me from behind the door?'

  'Yes, I am. Does my brother know you just took my number?'

  'Don't worry about him,' he said and I could sense him smiling that devilish smile.

  Now it seemed like my birthday was approaching. The gods were listening. I might not get a huge party or presents but at least I had a real chance at getting a huge, chivalrous boyfriend. Hellboy finally might have a competitor.