Chapter 6: Moving On (Sort Of)

5.

After really breaking up with Rohan, Insta comments exploded:

[What? Haven’t checked in for a few days—how did the guy and girl break up?]

[So annoying. Must be those friends egging him on again. They’re single and can’t stand others being in love.]

[The guy leaves his bros’ umbrella, only to find it’s not raining outside. Hilarious.]

[Keep it up—if he really breaks up with the girl, his friends will be fighting for a chance at love.]

[Girl, stand up for yourself! If the guy can mess around with his childhood sweetheart, you can find a sweet, loyal boyfriend too. Why should only men get to be unrestrained?]

It would be a lie to say I wasn’t upset. After all, years of memories don’t vanish overnight. But I couldn’t let myself fall apart. I still had my own life.

On my dresser, an old kajal pencil stood next to a framed photo of me and Rohan at Gateway of India, both of us laughing, wind in our hair. I picked up the photo, traced our smiles, and set it face-down. As I did, my gaze fell on a half-empty bottle of Parachute oil—simple, everyday comfort. I started dusting the corners of my life, clearing out the memories I’d let pile up.

I didn’t believe the comments. Rohan’s friends had always been cold to me, sometimes even warning me off him. Once, Kabir cornered me, interrogating me about my intentions. I’d teased him back, saying I only liked Rohan for his money. After that, Kabir started wearing two luxury watches at once, just to irritate me. I called him a peacock, asked if his family had gone bankrupt. The next day, the watches were gone.

But seeing those comments now, I hesitated. Tentatively, I posted on WhatsApp Status:

[Single again. Happy breakup.]

It was two in the morning. I doubted anyone would care. But instantly, my Status was flooded with likes. People who’d never noticed my posts before lined up to like it.

I blinked, counted, and realised—they were all Rohan’s friends.

I refreshed my feed, and a new Status popped up. It was from a minute ago.

Kabir: "24 years old, 6’3, 18+ (age-appropriate), IIT grad, no childhood sweetheart, no idealised first love, 10pm curfew, doesn’t like drama or cold wars, listens to his partner, currently single, available for dating."

I remembered the comment about finding a sweet, loyal boyfriend and clicked on Kabir’s profile.

I messaged: [Hello.]

He replied instantly: [Let’s date. I’ll put it on my Status right now.]

Me: [......]

[But I didn’t come to you to date.]

The previous message was quickly withdrawn.

Kabir: [Galti se WhatsApp pe bhej diya, yaar. Ignore kar.]

Me: [......]

[Is Rohan with you? Let him talk to me.]

There was a pause, then Kabir replied with a sneer:

[He’s not here. Why? Treating me like a messenger? I’m not obligated to be part of your couple drama.]

I explained: [That’s not what I meant. Rohan and I broke up. I just want to return his things.]

After all these years, Rohan had left plenty of stuff at my place—cups, towels, and some expensive things like rings and watches. I’d tried to send them by courier, but he was never home. These needed to be signed for in person, so I thought of asking Kabir for help.

[Oh, so you really broke up.]

For some reason, Kabir’s tone softened, a hint of something lighter:

"Just send it by courier. He’s here."

I shot back: "Didn’t you just say he wasn’t?"

"Did I? Arrey, I’m three years younger than Rohan—young people forget things."

Isn’t it the elderly who forget?

I didn’t have time to argue before Kabir started hurrying me:

[Remember to choose cash on delivery. Don’t pay after breaking up.]

I almost laughed—only an Indian friend would remind you to mind your money, even in the middle of heartbreak. Relationships come and go, but paisa toh paisa hai.