Chapter 2: Insults and Accusations

"Ananya, you know how I usually treat you. Do you really think I’m a kanjoos makhi choos?"

My voice trembled slightly, but I looked at her, hoping she’d remember the little things—the midnight drives, the surprise pani puri dates, the times I fixed her broken sandal at the mall. I remembered the night I ran to buy her jalebi at midnight, just because she was craving it.

Ever since we got together, I’ve paid for everything and given her countless expensive gifts.

She knew this. Our photos from Goa, her new iPhone, even the little gold jhumkas—had she forgotten?

But Ananya was still furious: "But today is my birthday, and you give me something like this? And in front of my friends? Have you even thought about my feelings?"

She sounded almost betrayed, as if I’d missed her shaadi instead of just giving a simple gift.

"Don’t think I don’t know. The birthday gifts you gave your ex were a Louis Vuitton bag, a Cartier bracelet, and 999 red roses."

Her voice cracked, and for a second, I saw the hurt beneath her anger. Maybe someone had shown her old pictures, or maybe she’d just stalked my ex’s Insta.

"But what about me? Am I only worth this worthless stuff?"

She fidgeted with her ring, her voice dropping. The air around her was thick with expectation.

"Am I some kind of cheap girl to you?"

The accusation hung heavy, as if she was daring me to deny it. The girls leaned closer, eager for more drama.

The more she spoke, the more aggrieved she sounded, her voice gradually turning to sobs.

Her shoulders shook, and she wiped her nose with a tissue. Someone handed her water, but she ignored it. Even the waiters exchanged worried glances. I felt every pair of eyes in the restaurant burning into me.

Seeing Ananya cry, her friends all glared at me like they wanted to kill me.

It was as if I’d run over a puppy. Priya’s nostrils flared, Sneha started muttering under her breath, and Ritika’s fists clenched.

Priya snorted: "Rohan, are you even a man? What normal guy gives his girlfriend something like this? Only Ananya is soft-hearted. If it were me, I’d have slapped you already."

Her voice was loud enough to echo. The old couple at the next table looked scandalized. I stared at my hands, afraid to meet anyone’s eyes.

The other girlfriends were just as indignant.

Their voices rose, blending into a chorus of outrage, drowning out even the kitchen sounds.

"Ananya is so pretty—how is she not as good as your ex?"

Ritika waved her fork, gesturing like a TV host presenting a case.

"Are you still hung up on your ex or what?"

Sneha’s words were sharp, as if she’d uncovered some terrible secret. I could almost hear the dramatic background music playing in her head.

I was speechless.

I sat there, mouth dry, unable to say anything. A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.

I was generous with my ex, but I’m just as generous with Ananya. I don’t see what’s wrong with that.

It wasn’t as if I’d given her anything less. Maybe just not the same brand names or the Insta-worthy displays.

"Ananya, I never meant to compare you to my ex, and I don’t think you’re worse than her. Besides..."

My voice wavered, but before I could finish, Sneha interrupted, rolling her eyes and clicking her tongue.

Sneha cut me off: "Bas, abhi ke abhi, ek UPI karo na! 52 hazaar, minimum."

She waved her phone in my face, the QR code glowing on the screen. Even the birthday girl blinked, surprised at the number.

"52,000 isn’t enough," Priya shot back. "I say it has to be 5,20,000. What do you all think?"

Priya always had a flair for drama—now she was quoting numbers like she was at a big fat Indian wedding. The others cheered her on, eyes gleaming.

The rest chimed in together.

"Right, 5,20,000!"

Ritika let out a whistle, and the others banged on the table like cricket fans celebrating a six.

"It’s not like you can’t afford it."

Sneha added with a sly smile, winking at the others. I wondered if the whole thing was rehearsed.

"Come on, don’t say we didn’t give you a chance."

Meera’s voice was almost sweet, but her words were anything but. My ears rang, and I felt the pressure of a thousand judgments.

My face turned ugly.

I could feel my cheeks heating up, my jaw setting like stone. I looked down, fiddling with the edge of my plate.

I could afford 5,20,000, and I wouldn’t mind spending it on my girlfriend.

It wasn’t about the money. If she’d just asked, I’d have done it gladly. But not like this, in front of her friends, as if I was being tested on live TV.

But absolutely not like this, with them forcing me.

No way. I wasn’t a money machine, to be switched on with a few nasty words.

Even if today’s gift really was just a bottle of paper stars, that’s no reason for them to treat me like this.

The words hung inside me, heavy and bitter, like the aftertaste of strong filter coffee.

My face darkened: "Can’t we just have a nice meal together? Do you have to do this?"

My voice was low, but there was an edge to it. My hands trembled as I gripped the water glass. The others went silent for a second, surprised by the change.

"Don’t change the subject. We’ve already told you, it’s not about the money. What girls want is your attitude."

Priya’s words were sharp, as if she was reading from a script. I heard a tsk from Meera, and Sneha rolled her eyes, almost bored by my resistance.

I don’t get it.

What kind of attitude were they talking about? Was there some rulebook I hadn’t read?

They keep saying it’s not about the money, but every word out of their mouths is about how the gift isn’t valuable enough.

The contradiction made my head spin. I tried to remember what Amma had told me: "Beta, logon ki baat kabhi khatam nahi hoti."

So what exactly is ‘attitude’ to them?

In their eyes, if the money isn’t enough, the attitude isn’t enough.

There was no winning. No amount would ever satisfy them if the whole point was just to show off.

A fire rose in my chest. I kept my expression blank and said firmly: "Sorry, I’m not sending a UPI transfer."

My voice was final. I looked each of them in the eye, refusing to back down. Ananya’s eyes widened, stunned at my sudden firmness.

That set off a bomb at the table.

It was as if someone had announced a power cut in the middle of a World Cup final. Everyone started shouting at once.

"What’s wrong with you?"

Sneha’s pitch rose, bordering on shrill. Priya slammed her fist again.

"We’re giving you a way out, and you actually refuse?"

Ritika threw her napkin on the table, glaring at me like I’d insulted her whole family.

"My girl is as pretty as a Bollywood heroine. If she asks for the stars or the moon, you have to go get them, got it?"

Meera sighed dramatically, making it sound like I’d committed some crime against womankind.

"See, girls? Just five lakh and we’ve exposed the kanjoos makhi choos."

They laughed, but there was no humour in it. I stared at the table, knuckles white.

My girlfriend was also stunned, clearly not expecting me to refuse so directly.

For a moment, her anger faded, replaced by shock. This was the first time I’d said no in front of her friends. She bit her lip, eyes flickering between me and her friends, as if weighing whose side to pick. Her fingers fidgeted with the end of her dupatta, clutching it tightly.

Ever since we started dating, I’ve almost always agreed to her every request, and I’d never embarrass her in front of so many people.

She knew I’d gone out of my way for her—those midnight cab rides, the last-minute birthday cakes, the way I’d deal with her landlord whenever there was an issue.

Seeing her red eyes and hurt expression,

Her mascara threatened to run, and I saw the little girl behind all the bluster. I almost reached for her hand, but stopped.

I couldn’t help but soften a little.

I remembered the sweet moments—the first time she blushed at my compliment, the way she’d laugh at my worst jokes. Maybe I’d been too harsh?

Though my girlfriend can be a bit spoiled, she’s not a bad person. Usually, we get along fine.

When it’s just the two of us, she’s funny, caring, always ready to share her food. But put her friends in the mix, and everything changes.

Maybe she really was disappointed not to get the gift she wanted.

Her expectations, her dreams—maybe this wasn’t the moment for logic. Sometimes, people just want to feel special, even if it’s silly.

And it’s always her friends stirring things up, so I can’t blame her entirely.

I’d seen it before: group chats blowing up, someone egging her on, everything becoming a contest. I tried to remind myself she was just hurt.

I was about to say something to ease the tension.

Maybe crack a joke, maybe promise to make it up to her. My mouth opened—

The next second, someone suddenly splashed a full glass of wine in my face.

The AC hummed overhead. I barely noticed Priya’s hand as she gripped her wine glass, the liquid catching the fairy lights just before it hit me. The chill of the restaurant made the sudden wetness even more shocking. The glass clinked sharply as it hit the table, and the sharp, sour smell of wine filled the air.

The cold liquid shocked me to my bones. I blinked, red wine dripping down my nose, as everyone gasped. For a second, time froze.

Priya had stood up at some point, holding a glass of red wine in one hand and pointing at me, cursing loudly.

She looked like a villainess from a 90s Bollywood movie, finger jabbing the air, voice ringing through the restaurant.

"Is five lakh enough to kill you?"

She yelled, the restaurant’s murmur dying to a hush. I felt every eye on me, my skin prickling with embarrassment.

"What I hate most in life is kanjoos men. If you don’t have money, why are you dating? Baniya mentality, pure and simple."

Her voice trembled with rage, her earrings shaking as she yelled. Someone nearby whispered, "Drama chal raha hai, boss."

Red wine dripped down my hair and chin, soaking my new kurta.

I could smell the sharp tang, see the crimson stains spreading like shame across the white fabric. All I could think was, ‘How will I get this dry-cleaned?’

I stood up, embarrassed, looking everywhere for napkins.

I grabbed at a tissue, hands shaking. My heart hammered, my face burned with humiliation. A waiter rushed over, concern written all over his face.

My girlfriend watched me get splashed and did nothing.

She just sat there, arms folded, eyes red but dry now. Not a word. Not a single gesture.

Everyone at the table stared at me with disgust, spitting out all kinds of nasty insults.

Their words stung worse than the wine. Each comment was a little slap, a reminder of my supposed failures.

Calling me kanjoos makhi choos.

Even the word felt heavier in Hindi: kanjoos. Like a curse.

Saying I deserved a bad end.

Priya spat the words, Sneha nodded, Ritika made a face as if I was the lowest of the low.

I was practically drowning in their spit.

My ears rang. My cheeks burned. I felt like I was back in school, getting punished in front of the whole class.

I couldn’t take it anymore and finally exploded, roaring: "Haven’t you had enough?"

My voice cracked across the restaurant, silencing the table, drawing stares from all sides. For the first time, my anger matched theirs.

Everyone was stunned.

Even the waiter froze, napkins in hand. Ananya’s friends exchanged glances, unsure how to react. I heard the AC whirring in the silence.