‘Selfie?’ they asked, and then, not waiting for an answer, they draped their sweaty arms heavily across my shoulders.

‘Sure,’ I muttered, although I knew that my answer was unheard.

‘You are quite beautiful,’ one man leaned into me and shouted over the music. This time I couldn’t respond with anything other than a smile. The weight of their arms on me seemed only to amplify the weight that was pressing against my chest.

The ladies’ room was full of chattering girls applying lipstick and posing for photos next to the stylish chaise longue. I found a free stall and escaped inside. Once the stall door closed, a flood of tears erupted. In my mind, I formulated a plan of how I could deny yet another cheating boyfriend online. Hopefully, no one had taken photos of Puneet’s make-out session. But I had to be honest with myself—it was doubtful.

‘Get yourself together, Jhanvi,’ I whispered, opening my bag. I removed my compact and re-applied my makeup. Dark brown eyes, almost black, looked back at me as I touched up the thick kohl around my eyes. Exiting the stall, I saw a group of young women milling by the bathroom mirror, talking excitedly about the evening.

‘Excuse me,’ I said as I politely pushed through to wash my hands.

‘You’re Jhanvi!’ one of the girls said. ‘Please! You must take a picture with us!’ She thrust her cell phone forward as the other girls gathered around. I nodded my head, not quite ready to commit myself to words for fear of tears pushing through again.

‘You can do this, Jhanvi,’ I told myself as I left the ladies’ room. For the remainder of the night, I busied myself down in the crowd, eventually making my way back up to Puneet, who was looking sorry for himself.

‘This music is hurting my head,’ he muttered like a belligerent toddler. The coffee and water had begun to take effect; I could see that a hangover was beginning to set in.

‘The music is no different to what it was when you were drunk and sticking your tongue into another woman’s mouth,’ I shot back. I had already told the club manager that we were leaving. ‘Get up, let’s go,’ I hissed at him. He pulled himself off the couch, steadier on his feet this time. The taxi drive back to his apartment was silent; I was not ready to talk to him about what had transpired on our first big night out together. Climbing the stairs to his one-bedroom apartment, we remained silent. It was only once we were inside that either one of us decided to speak.

‘You know my history,’ I began the conversation I could see he was trying to avoid. ‘What Gaurav did to me almost broke me, and now you, Puneet.’

‘I’m drunk, Jhanvi, and was even more drunk then,’ he whined. His eyes were bloodshot, and I thought I saw regret somewhere behind the raging hangover that was taking control of him. I let it slide, not interested in a rehash of the drama caused by Gaurav’s infidelity.