There's always that asshole at every party who comes solely for the food. And once he's done raiding the buffet, his belly protruding shamelessly, he stands in the corner waiting for the opportunity for it to be appropriate to take his leave.

"What are you doing in a corner all by yourself?" some Bollywood nepo baby yells over the loud music causing a separate sort of pounding in my head. He yells some more, but I don't pay attention. My eyes are laser-focused on the obscene six-pack he's sporting underneath the almost unbuttoned shirt and totally unbuttoned vest. Dude brought a whole new meaning to washboard.

A little above those washerwoman's wet dreams is a nice, bright red love bite on his collarbone. Bites.

"I'm meditating," I yell back.

He nods as though what I said made sense. With his thumb, he points to the dance floor behind him. "Meditate there. I'll join you."

He's handsome in that Bollywood sense. Brown hair, light brown eyes, high cheek bones, full lips, fair skin. The usual. And I'm not too opposed to what I'm seeing. He's interested if the hand that's tugging my wrist is any indication. Maybe, I am too. But I'm not that dumb to not know what he's interested in.

We'll dance a little. Maybe get a little handsy. The privileged baby will pop out his phone, take a couple of pictures. On social media, they'll go. He'll publicly apologise for those intimate photographs. I'll have no choice but to ignore. His popularity will soar. My career will be shone the door.

Yeah. No, thank you. So, cute boy can take his hands and fuck off to elsewhere.

My gaze drifts to above silver spoon baby's shoulder and snags on Pa. Finally.

The man was roped into so many conversations one would think he was the one throwing this party. I pick up my pace so I can reach him before anyone else can, and I almost succeed when Rishabh comes running and stops right in front of Pa. Aaand I no longer want to hide behind my dad. I swiftly twirl on my feet and go back the way I came from.

"Eshwar, have you seen—There he is."

Fuck me with a ten inch.

I almost start into a jog, but Rishabh is faster. His fingers grip into my elbow before I can even pray to Zeus to smite me.

"I told you to not wander away," he yells, pulling me closer to him.

I want to yell back that I wasn't the one who wandered away, these two abandoned me to chit-chat, leaving me to fend for myself. Also, if he knew me as well as he claimed to, he could've just waltzed to the buffet and found me stuffing five piping hot jalapeno poppers into my mouth.

"Rita Dhaave wants to meet you, like I said, I have a feeling she's..."

I lose track of what Rishabh is yelling as I stumble, fumble, and bumble my way while he strolls on with people parting way like he's Moses. I throw my head back and allow him to drag me by the wrist as though I'm some petulant child in need of disciplining.

I don't know why I'm not enjoying myself more. It usually doesn't take much for me to focus and put on my happy-go-lucky charm. This party is thrown in our honour. For our win. Finally, we get to take the trophy home. I'm not sure what's wrong with me tonight. I should be out there dancing, drinking, having fun, living life. Instead, I'm being dragged around by my agent who can't locate the person he wants to parade me in front of.

I should look for Liam and see if he's given my offer any more thought. Perhaps, nudge him till he gives, but when I look around, all the faces blur into one. I don't see him anywhere, and it seems like too much effort to go looking for him now.

So, I just go wherever Rishabh is pulling me towards.

"Ah, there she is," Rishabh mutters.

We're in a far off corner in this humongous banquet hall. Decorated chairs and tables are spread out, with some people just milling around. The music isn't too loud here, and it's easier to make conversation without yelling your heads off.

Rishabh loops an arm around mine, and whispers, "Remember what I said? Just play it off cool, don't look too surprised or alarmed or impressed. And don't decline it! It's an honour they've chosen you, so just be humble about it. Okay?" He doesn't let me answer. "Good. C'mon. Show time."

He strides up to one of the tables and a woman with a salt and pepper long bob dressed in a heavily embroidered black silk saree stands up to do that kiss on each cheek greeting thing with him.

I slap on a pleasant smile, tuck in my uneasiness and follow.

~

My feet carry me far, far away from that silent hell-storm. I scurry to where the music grows steadily louder. A slight prickle that started in my toes now moves up my right leg, and I am officially restless. And it just grows the more I think about what just happened. How could he fucking do that to me? The least Rishabh could've done was give me a heads-up. I'd have shot him down straight away, but no, he wanted to spring it up in front of Rita fucking Dhaave, whose friendly gaze is a look of disdain on her best days.

Fucking hell, I don't want this. Why can't he get that?

My leg vibrates, and I can feel the insects creep up my shins. Higher and higher. They move under my skin, with my veins and arteries, fucking up all the calmness in there. I shake my leg, flex my calf, and hold my breath. Nothing works. I'm not even moving that fast, but I'm panting. Beads of sweat form on my forehead.

Fuck it.

I'm done for the night.

I head to the makeshift bar near the exit slash entry and try to flag down a bartender. No one notices, so I just stretch across the bartop and grab whatever I can reach. I take one final cursory glance, trying desperately to find a reason to stay back. I don't.

I slip out of the banquet hall and make a beeline for the elevators. My finger presses the up button at least twenty times before the doors open, and I tumble in. My fingers tremble beside me, aching to pull something. I hold on with both hands to the bottle of—I turn it to read the label and fuck me—Bombay Sapphire. Gin. Great going dick for brains.

So, it's just me and a one-night stand with an expensive bottle of clear Harpic for the night. Lovely.

The elevator doors ding open, and I step out just to find the reception. Idiot. I facepalm and step back inside, this time pressing the button to my floor. I stare at the changing numbers, and a sudden chill runs down my spine. I can't be alone. Not now, when I'm so on edge, I might just rip out my own hair strand by strand. The bottle in my hands is of no use, and I'm sure those mini shots of whiskey in my room won't get me drunk. I can just go and swipe it for something else, but I really don't want to risk going down there again. I'm already shaking in my shoes, last thing I need is for someone to ask me if I'm okay.

Without thinking too hard, I press the button for the rooftop and pray that it's open.

I'm in luck. Seems like our rave isn't the only party around here. Another event is going on, and going by the way everyone is dressed, it's probably a gala or some other high-end gathering. String lights dangle from pole to pole, soft music plays in the background, servers carry champagne glasses on large trays over their shoulders, and I stand like a crasher taking it all in. My eyes immediately search for the buffet, but deep down I know my Pa raised a decent dude, so I press pause on my assholishness for the night and head towards the opposite end where the pool is.

The pool glimmers under the moonlight and looks more than inviting. Inviting to do what? I really don't know. Drown, perhaps. Because I don't know how to swim.

One side of the pool ends with large glass barriers that overlook the view below, and the other side are lounges, beyond which are rows of shrubs. That's where I go. With my trusty toiler cleaner substitute sidekick, I bustle through the shrubs, successfully scuffing my dress shoes against the mud, stuff the Gin bottle in one of my jacket pockets, and jump to get ahold of the ledge. I pull myself up or more like try to. My fingers slip against the chipping paint and scruff my shoes more, trying to get a better grip. I pull myself up a little and manage to get an elbow on the flat surface. Wiggling and jiggling, I swing a leg up, too and roll over like a panda.

I'm panting. Tongue out, heaving chest, drenched back level panting. Fuck. And I'm supposed to be an athlete. Smite me now, cricket gods, I promise I won't complain.

I dust my palms, try to dust the chipping off my pants and jacket but fail, and stand up. Even with all the man-handling, the stupidly expensive detergent remained intact. For real. Like, not even a scratch. I toss it from hand to hand and inch closer to the edge.

Thirty-one floors up. Just two more steps, and it's a one-way ticket to upstairs. The insects running up and down my legs settle a bit, my heart slows to a steady thump, and I take a deep breath to relax and empty my thoughts. The height helps me focus, it helps grounding me to this plane instead of losing myself to the what-ifs of the world.

Gusts of wind ruffle my jacket and hair, but it's not too cold. The stars are hidden by dark clouds, and a storm seems to loom right beyond. The air has an electric current that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

I toy with the seal of the gin, and manage to break it. Unscrewing the lid, I take a long swig, and regret is quick to follow. I scrunch my face and drop the bottle beside. Yep, tastes exactly like Lysol. I would know.

I tip my head back and close my eyes. What am I doing? I should just head down to my room and get some sleep. This isn't working. I'm losing interest and focus, and everything just seems overdone or pointless. But it's peaceful here, with the slow music and soft winds. It's nice. Quiet. Pleasant.

So, I take out my phone and open the messaging app. My thumbs are quick to type the words my brain would never approve.

Hey you!
I know it's been a while since the last message.
Hope you don't mind.
I'm not sure if you're following cricket anymore
but if you aren't, then guess what?
We're bringing the T20 cup home
Been a long time coming
I met your mom before you guys moved
She gave me your number
Can't believe it's almost been a year
It's weird walking across that street and knowing
none of you are there anymore
I keep forgetting the shadows behind those windows
are not yours.
Anyway, how's Vancouver?
It rains like a bitch, doesn't it?
It's the opposite here in Sydney
Really fucking hot
Hyderabad is not bad.
Gramps said there was a hailstorm the other day
and Pa had to spend the night in the office
Now, he's set up a pull out couch right in front of his desk
Gives him more reason to not come home

My fingers pause, the tremors return, and I'm highly tempted to fling my phone off the ledge. But I shake my head and shut down my thoughts for the next few seconds.

I miss you
A lot
It doesn't feel like a win without you
To be really honest, it doesn't feel like
anything without you
Sometimes, I have to distract myself to force some feelings
I have to overwhelm myself just so I don't keep thinking about you
Some days it works, most days, it's useless
Whatever
When are you coming back to India?
I want to see you
You are coming back, right?
We have so much to catch up on
I have so much to tell you
We'll talk more when we meet
I still love you, Neil
I never stopped
I don't think I can
I don't think I want to

"You realise there's no point, right?" a sudden voice interrupts my texting, and I jerk, stepping back. A sharp rattle pierces through the air as my arms flail, grasping at nothing.

And just like that, I'm falling.