Watching Vikram across the table, after Saahil is gone, it hits me. We are alone at home. Jyoti left at six p.m. Mom has gone to the club. She is a yoga instructor. Usually, I go with her because, according to her, working out is as important as breathing. Today, she spared me for school work. She won’t be back before seven-thirty. And it’s six-fifteen now.
Earlier, I was thankful for Vikram’s chatty presence after the awkwardness of the situation. Soon, it became a fun-fest, except for the part when Vikram forgot to place his hands on the jar lid while blending the cold coffee, and we were all splashed with creamy Vikram special, or when I burned my hand while placing the sandwich in the toaster. I am learning that doing things with friends is hilarious and catastrophic at the same time.
