Sitara Khanna, a twenty eight year old librarian, is an acid attack survivor. With a half burnt face but a heart full of determination and calibers to survive in the world, she missed a certain element in her life. Love.
Yash Chaudhary, a twenty ni...
Ups! Ten obraz nie jest zgodny z naszymi wytycznymi. Aby kontynuować, spróbuj go usunąć lub użyć innego.
The second I get home, I make a beeline for the kitchen. My parents always kept their alcohol in the cabinet over the fridge. I get it open and start feeling around inside, the old wood threatening to poke splinters into my fingertips.
"Yash, what are you doing?" My mother's voice.
"Where do you keep the liquor?" Ma is quiet.
"Why are you looking for it?"
Is she fucking kidding me?
"Why do you think ?" I snort.
My hands aren't finding anything. It's not here. I open the next cabinet and start feeling around, finding only plates and bowls.
"We don't have any liquor in the house," she says. "I got rid of it when you were acting... well, when you first came home."
I drop my hands. Great. I need to get drunk and there's nothing to drink in this goddamn house except milk and orange juice and a flat bottle of coca cola. Figures.
I pull my phone out of my pants pocket. I compose a text to Dev: "Can you come over here now? I need to get drunk."
My mother inhales sharply when she hears the text I just dictated. That's the problem with voice texting-everyone gets to hear the contents of my messages.
But I don't care if she hears. This is partially her fault too.
"Yash, you don't need to drink," she says.
"Maybe I wouldn't have to," I snap at her, "if you'd told me about Sitara before I was supposed to go out with her."
"You just seemed so happy..."
"Oh yeah? Do I seem happy now?"
A text pings on my phone. I instruct the phone to play it: "Dev Singh to the rescue. Will be there in fifteen."
Thank fucking God.
"Yash, why don't you stay home with us?" Ma says, unable to hide the anxiety in her voice. "We can have a nice dinner... whatever you want, sweetheart."
"Nope."
"But Yash-" I don't want to listen to her anymore, so I grab my shoulder bag and cane and go sit out on the porch. I know she meant well, but I'm pissed off at her. She knew the truth, and she never told me. Just like Sitara, she took advantage of my blindness. It's humiliating.
My shoulders sag with relief when I hear the screech of the balding tires on Dev's old Ford. I stand up, holding my cane out in front of me. I've still got my tinted glasses on to conceal my staring eyes. I remember how not that long ago, I was debating if I'd keep them on during my dinner with Sitara. Well, I'll definitely keep them on with Dev.
The great thing about going out with your best buddy is he knows not to ask me anything right away. He drives us to Bulldog's, the posh pub we practically lived in during the gaps between several of my deployments. It's a relief to be here. I know Bulldog's- I can see it in my head. I know the tables are plastic and circular, the bar is on the left, and the bathroom is in the back on the right. I need that comfort right now.
