Aunty V looked conflicted, but I found myself speaking. ‘No, it’s okay. If this is what Ma wants, then we’ll do it.’

Papa looked at me contemplatively, probably wondering how I was being so calm. He didn’t have to know about my ulterior motives and I actually didn’t know what they were either.

‘Fine, then find me the apprenticeship soon. I don’t want to be sitting around at home all day,’ Raghu said, getting up from the dining table with his plate.

‘I don’t know if this generation is lazy or entitled, Chitra,’ Aunty V was saying as I got up too and followed him to the kitchen.

Maybe Raghu and I did need to talk after all. Maybe talking about the past would ease the hurt and pain and we could be friends again. And he needn’t ever know about my crush.

‘Can we talk?’ I asked him.

He looked at me as he washed his plate, eyebrows raised. ‘Now you want to talk?’

I nodded. It was hot and stuffy inside the house.

‘Let’s go to the garden,’ I suggested and opened the kitchen back door that led outside. Wordlessly, he followed me.

The starless night surrounded us and I could smell raat ki rani blossoms. Papa had kept a bench in the garden, where he planned to read the newspaper on weekend mornings. He never did, but sometimes, I came out here to read.

I didn’t know how to begin. This was awkward, but I really wanted to put it past us and move ahead.

I took a deep breath. ‘So, Esha’s birthday five years ago . . .’ I said and looked at him sideways. He looked at me steadily, but I could sense him tensing.

‘You remember what happened, right?’ I asked, looking down at my knuckles.

‘Yeah, I do,’ he said softly.

I winced the slightest bit. ‘I was mortified, Raghu. I wanted to die. I was that embarrassed.’ I spoke softly.

He exhaled loudly. ‘Yes, but . . . I was your friend. I came to ask you why you ran away from there and wanted both of us to confront Esha and ask her how she could talk like that. But you didn’t even open the door,’ he said.

What? I looked at him in surprise.

‘Don’t lie,’ I snapped.

He flinched as though I’d slapped him. ‘Why would I lie?’ he asked.

‘Because . . . because she . . . wasn’t she your girlfriend later on?’ I asked, my nostrils flaring.

‘How did you know about that?’ he asked, looking embarrassed.

‘I heard her talking about it with a friend. So if she was your girlfriend,’ I continued angrily but he put his hand over mine and I stopped talking briefly, as his touch ignited something on the surface of my skin. I was scared too figure out what that was and I pulled out my hand from under his.

‘Wait,’ he said.