Imagine this: a large, bustling dining hall packed with hundreds of vegetarians quietly savoring their simple, plant-based meals. The clinking of spoons and murmured conversations create a symphony of serenity, a scene straight out of a yoga retreat. Now picture me in the middle of this harmonious gathering, unapologetically devouring a steaming plate of chicken biriyani—the love of my life, the very reason my soul finds purpose. Even if you convince yourself, I don't care what anyone thinks, trust me, when a hundred pairs of horrified eyes turn toward you, radiating judgment so intense it could burn through walls, you will care.
That's exactly how I felt yesterday when I, for the first time in my life, spoke to Aadav. It was the epitome of awkwardness. My brain? Empty. My words? Nonsensical. My face? A kaleidoscope of weird expressions. I thought nothing could top that level of discomfort. Oh, how wrong I was.
Today decided to redefine awkward. It all started innocently enough—Amma asked me to help at Professor Aasha's house because her daughter's family was visiting from Bangalore. Apparently, they needed extra help with the preparations. Being the dutiful daughter I am, and honestly thinking I had no excuse to say no, I agreed. After all, what harm could it do? I still had Sunday to laze around and recover.
Little did I know, chaos was waiting for me in the form of Kaarthi—Professor Aasha's grandson.
The day began like any other. I reached their house early, ready to assist with setting the table, chopping vegetables, and anything else they needed. But from the moment Kaarthi entered the scene, it was clear the day would not go as planned.
His mother started it all. Out of nowhere, she joked—yes, joked—about taking me as her daughter-in-law. I froze. My brain short-circuited as I stared at her in disbelief. Daughter-in-law? Me? All because I "knew how to manage a household." I was 14 years old! Fourteen! Managing a household? I was barely managing myself!
I wanted to scream, Aunty, I still struggle to braid my hair evenly! What household are you talking about?!
But instead, I stood there, dumbfounded, as the room erupted into laughter. And then—then—Kaarthi turned to me, all casual, and said, "So, will you go out on a date with me?"
A date. A date. I felt like someone had dropped a bucket of cold water over my head. Are we in an American rom-com? What date? What wtf date?
And then, proving that I am, in fact, the queen—no, the god—of stupidity, I said, "I don't know."
Yes, you read that right. I don't know. I could have said no. I should have said no. But my stupid mouth has this horrible habit of blurting out "I don't know" whenever I'm nervous or talking to strangers. Why, God, why?
As if that wasn't bad enough, I followed it up with an awkward, "Sorry."
The entire room burst into laughter again. My face felt like it was on fire. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I can punch through a fight with a hundred people, but when it comes to saying the right words in moments like these? Hopeless.
Desperate to escape, I mumbled, "I—I still have work to finish," and practically sprinted out of the room. My heart was pounding as I slammed the door shut behind me. I pressed my back against it, closing my eyes and willing my embarrassment to disappear.
The rest of the day was an endless string of awkward encounters. Every time I walked into a room, I felt his eyes on me, and every time someone laughed, I was convinced they were laughing at me. Finally, at 3 p.m., I escaped home.
Amma wasn't there—she'd told me she'd be back by 9. I lingered outside for a bit, watching my brothers play cricket in the yard. The sound of the ball hitting the bat, the shouts of "Catch it!" and "Run!" were oddly soothing. For a brief moment, I felt like I could forget the disaster that was my day.
But the universe wasn't done with me yet.
The moment I stepped inside, my phone buzzed with a flood of notifications. Messages. Dozens of them from Kavi and Jo. My heart sank. I knew what was coming.
I sighed, grabbed my phone, and called Kavi. The second she picked up, I said, "Guys, I'm dying. Literally dying. You have to save me."
"OMG, what now? Did you spill sambhar on Amma's saree again?" Kavi's voice was dripping with mock concern.
"Or did you trip over the cricket bat and fall into a puddle? That would be hilarious!" Jo's voice came through the speaker, her laughter already starting.
"No!" I groaned, already regretting calling them. "Worse. Way worse. Listen to this…"
I launched into the whole story—the daughter-in-law joke, the date proposal, my "I don't know" disaster, and the sorry that sealed my humiliation. By the time I was done, there was complete silence. For a moment, I thought they might actually sympathize with me.
Then Kavi burst out laughing. "Wait, wait. Stop. Rewind. Did you actually say, 'I don't know'?"
"And sorry? You said sorry? Oh my God, this is GOLD!" Jo's laughter was so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear.
"Guys, this isn't funny! I was dying in there!" I protested, but my voice was drowned out by their hysterical laughter.
"No, no, no. You're not dying," Kavi managed between gasps. "You're living the plot of a bad rom-com. What's next? He serenades you with a guitar?"
"Or maybe he shows up with a bouquet of roses and professes his love?" Jo added, her tone mocking but oddly dramatic.
"Stop it!" I shouted, my face heating up again at the thought. "He was making fun of me. I swear he was! And his mother—ugh! Who even jokes about this kind of stuff?"
"You're right," Kavi said, her voice suddenly serious. "This is serious. We need to prepare for the next phase."
"Yes," Jo agreed. "Operation Say No Without Dying. Step one: Practice in the mirror. Step two: Don't apologize for existing."
"I hate both of you," I muttered, but I couldn't stop the smile creeping onto my face.
"Aww, don't be like that," Kavi teased. "We're your best friends, remember? We're here to make sure your life stays entertaining."
"And to laugh at your expense," Jo added with a laugh. "But also, we love you. So… when's the next episode of this drama?"
"I'm blocking both of you," I said, but we all knew I didn't mean it.
After I hung up, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Kavi and Jo's teasing had done its job—I felt a little less like the world was ending. But still, I couldn't shake the thought: why does my life feel like a soap opera?