Chapter 3: Rivalries and Humiliation

2.

I mumbled an awkward apology and hung up, cheeks burning from the misunderstanding. So flustered, I even forgot to call Rohan again.

The next day, when Rohan came back, his face was especially dark. I offered breakfast. He ignored me, treating me like I was invisible.

That cold war dragged on until a week later, at a college get-together. Rohan and I sat at opposite ends of the table, as distant as strangers when we’d once been inseparable.

Priya leaned in toward Rohan, her laughter hidden behind her hand:

"Arrey Rohan, why are you fighting with your girlfriend again? You’re a grown man, why bother with a woman?"

Priya—his childhood sweetheart and ex-girlfriend, now apparently just a friend. We’d quarreled about her before, but Rohan always brushed it off:

"It’s not like we never dated. If I could’ve really been with her, would you even have had a chance?"

His friends used to laugh at me for being jealous:

"You’re the first girl Rohan ever wanted to marry. For him to settle down for you, he must really love you."

Watching them banter, I took a deep breath, forcing myself to believe this was just normal friendship. I looked away, chewing on my dupatta’s edge, determined not to show how much it hurt. My heart pounded, but I made myself smile and fussed with my spoon and fork, pretending not to notice their laughter. The fan overhead stirred the rich smell of fried onions and ghee. Sometimes, pretending not to care is the hardest thing in the world.

When the food arrived, the main dish in front of me was pineapple raita. Priya acted surprised:

"Oh, I forgot your girlfriend is allergic to pineapple, Rohan. Why didn’t you remind me?"

She glanced at Rohan with a half-smirk, then offered to swap her paneer biryani, her tone just a little too casual:

"The waiter said that was the last one. Oh well, since your girlfriend likes it, let her have it."

I caught the look—this was more than generosity. It felt like a territory war, every little gesture a competition. I was about to refuse, but Rohan snapped:

"Eat your own. No need to give it to her. Who does she think she is?"

The room fell silent. I pressed my fingers into the table, feeling the rough wood grain beneath my skin. My breath caught, so I stifled a cough, trying to steady myself. The distant honking outside and the muted TV seemed to fade. My cheeks burned with humiliation, but I refused to let tears fall.

Priya tugged Rohan’s sleeve, frowning:

"Why fight with your girlfriend? Let her have it, I don’t mind. I’ll eat pineapple raita."

But Rohan just raised his voice:

"Girlfriend? We’re not even engaged. Even if we were, people get divorced. We’re just dating."

A friend half-joked:

"What, Rohan? Planning to break up?"

Rohan bristled, "No."

The friend smirked:

"I knew it. You’re so tightly managed by Sneha, even need to report before drinking. At most you’ll have a cold war or throw a tantrum, but you wouldn’t dare mention breaking up, right?"

Rohan snapped, "Who says I wouldn’t dare? I’ll just—"

He caught himself, changed tone:

"But I won’t stoop to a woman’s level. Sneha is petty, but since we’ve dated so long, I’ll give her one last chance to apologise."

The friend’s eyes flashed with disappointment, but Rohan didn’t see.

Priya hooked Rohan’s arm and teased:

"Then if you really break up, date me again. Don’t let outsiders take advantage."

Rohan grinned, ruffling Priya’s hair, then glanced at me, voice cold:

"Of course, some people are just too good at creating drama. You’re still the most obedient."

Under the table, my nails dug into my palm. I heard someone tsk, but nobody spoke up. The sharp scent of pineapple made my stomach churn. I wished I could just vanish into the noisy crowd of college students, who now avoided my eyes.