He Hates Me Or Does He?

PART 2: NOT SO SOFT MAN, NOT SO SOFT

All my girls scatter off toward the food stalls—munching on mouthwatering golgappas, chaat, dosa, faluda, jalebi, pizza, pasta, and basically anything that could make a foodie lose their mind. I had stayed empty-stomached all day to truly devour everything—but this heavy yellow lehenga had other plans. I ate as much as I could without fainting or popping a seam, and then we were back to our endless chatter—laughing, teasing, gossiping, and doing every girly thing we possibly could.

And then it started.

People came up to my parents, asking if I would finally clear my UPSC prelims this year. Their tone wasn’t even rude—just casually intrusive. But it got to me. Can I not breathe for one day without being reminded of my failure? It was my second attempt. I didn’t clear it. The disappointment still sits inside me, heavy like a stone. And every time someone talks about it, the optimism fades a little more. Maybe my parents shouldn’t have mentioned it at all.

Then there are my cousins. I know they’re not gods—they’ve got their own opinions, too. Probably wondering why on earth I chose to work with an NGO and take up a low-paying internship. Like I’m some naïve 22-year-old wasting her life. But I’ve read enough quotes, enough books to know: You have to live for your own truth, not the world’s judgment. I believe in that. Most days.

Just then, Kabir bhaiya calls out to us. He and a group of guys are sitting around a table, laughing.

“So hello sisters,” he announces with his usual drama, “meet Vihaan. He’s a friend of mine—and the son of Vikram uncle, as you all probably know.”

Oh, we know.

Everyone in Agra knows who Vikram uncle is. Orphaned at five, built his empire from scratch, now a billionaire—the owner of “The Grand Regalia,” with luxury hotel branches in almost every metro city in India and abroad. Hearing his name alone turns heads.

I could practically feel the energy shift. The girls suddenly changed their hair partings and softened their voices. The boys straightened up, trying to look mature and manly. I had to press my lips together to keep from bursting out laughing. We small-towners can’t help but calculate the wealth of someone like him—it’s almost like a hobby we’re born with.

Vihaan? He looks like someone straight out of an urban fashion magazine—black shirt, fitted trousers, charming smile. He speaks gently, maturely. Okay, yes, he’s attractive. But so are we. Thank you very much.

"Chalo chalo, introduce yourselves, girls!" says Saksham bhaiya, clearly enjoying the buzz.

Vartika starts. “Hi, I’m Vartika. Anjali di’s sister.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Vihaan nods. “I’d love to know more about you all—I’m planning a few ventures in this city, and I’d really like to collaborate with bright minds. Please tell me what you’re currently doing as well.”

Great. Now we’re giving job interviews at a wedding function.

Sanjana goes next. “I’m 24 and in my third year of MBBS. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Vihaan replies, visibly impressed.

Vaidehi, with all her cuteness, steps up. “I’m in 5th grade. I love dancing, acting, makeup, reading—and I got ready all by myself today! My favorite colors are pink and black, which is why I love Blackpink!”

Vihaan laughs warmly. “That was the best conversation I’ve had all day. I’d love to have a one-on-one with you, young lady.”

Rishita, shyly: “I’m in class 9. I’m an introvert.”

Vihaan: “Oh, I get you, girl.”

Aashna di beams, “Fifth year MBBS. I’m 25. I also love dancing—just like Vaidehi!”

“Beautiful name, Aashna. So glad to see so many of you pursuing medicine. That’s true passion.”

Aashna blushed like a teenager.

Kavya says she’s in 12th grade, “board year,” not much else to share.

Kalpana di, calm and confident: “First year, IIT Kanpur, Computer Science.”

Vihaan’s eyebrows rise. “Wow, I’m impressed. Truly proud of you. Didn’t expect to meet such brilliant people here.”

Then Anshika bhabhi steps in: “I’m 26. Married to Krishant ji. Nice to meet you.”

“Krishant, my man, what a beautiful wife! Very happy to meet you, bhabhi ji.”

And then… it’s my turn.

What do I say? My voice is dry.

“Urm… hey, I’m Anika, 21. I really like to read. Nice to meet you, Vihaan.”

He smiles slightly. “Hey Anika, how are you? What are you currently doing?”

Why is he so curious about everyone’s path?

“I’m currently pursuing my masters in Economics. Also preparing for national-level exams.”

He tilts his head. “National exams… you mean UPSC, right?”

“Yes. And others as well.”

“Oh come on, who are you kidding? What other exams are you implying?” he says, with an annoying smirk.

I stare at him. Excuse me?

“There are many,” I reply evenly. “I’d be happy to elaborate some other time.”

He shrugs, “Alright. Nice to meet you, Anika.”

Then Geeta, chirpy and sweet, introduces herself as an aspiring businesswoman in Class 8.

Vihaan nods appreciatively. “Kapil, I’m honestly impressed. This circle is full of ambition and hope. In today’s world, there are opportunities in every field even in arts for that matter. Well.."

Arts. He really had to go there.

“What do you mean arts ‘for that matter’?” I ask, unable to hold it in.

“You know what I mean,” he replies, plainly.

Krishant bhaiya jumps in, laughing awkwardly, “Arts doesn’t have much scope, but Anika is intelligent. She can bring value to it.”

That. Did. Not. Help.

I raise my voice just a bit. “Well, one must not offer opinions on things they haven’t studied properly. It’s ironic—trying to look noble while demoralizing a stream that literally keeps the humanity in ‘humanity’ alive.”

Everyone goes silent.

Why do I feel so angry? Why can’t I just stay composed? Why does this guy—this rich boy who knows nothing about the struggle of being me—get to say things that shake me?

I excuse myself and head for the washroom. Not to cry—just to breathe.

But I end up crying anyway.

He’s not the Greek god I imagined ten minutes ago. He’s just a spoiled, arrogant brat. Period.