Chapter 1: The Gift and the WhatsApp Aunties
I gave the cold and aloof roommate I secretly liked a mouse.
I wiped my sweaty palm on my jeans, hoping he wouldn't notice how nervous I was. The moment the mouse left my hands, a flood of WhatsApp forwards—the kind Auntyji from our colony would send at 3 am—flashed through my mind’s eye. As if someone’s chachi or bua was narrating my every move in a running commentary:
[Arey, this clueless baccha doesn’t even realise that the mouse is now joined to his most sensitive spot.]
[He just surrendered himself, such a sweet, innocent fool.]
[Isn’t this silly baby intersex? Wah, masala hi masala!]
[Now, when his roommate spins the mouse wheel with his middle finger, won’t this silly baby get so worked up he’ll grab the bedsheet and stick out his tongue like a jalebi?]
[Beta, don’t give gifts on birthdays—bad luck for love!]
I tried to ignore these dramatic WhatsApp forwards, just like we all ignore warnings about eating mangoes at night or not forwarding that one Hanuman Chalisa for good luck.
That is, until Arjun touched the mouse—and, to my horror, I let out a muffled moan.