Raja came out wrapped in a towel and said, “I feel aerodynamic.”
Vivek threw a pillow at him
By afternoon, nervousness began replacing comedy.
They went out again.
Cold drinks.
Bottled water.
ORS sachets.
Some fruit.
Snacks.
Then Vivek stopped in the personal-care aisle.
“Condoms.”
The word produced instant silence.
Nobody looked at anyone else.
Raja picked up a box.
Then another.
Then a third.
Sanjay stared at the growing pile.
“How ambitious exactly is your evening?”
“We don’t know what’s required.”
“Apparently you’re preparing for national inventory shortage.”
Vivek took two boxes out and returned them to the shelf.
“One unopened pack is enough to bring. If more are needed, whoever we’re meeting probably has their own too.”
Raja reluctantly agreed.
Sanjay added lubricant to the basket.
This time nobody made a joke.
That surprised him.
Maybe they were finally beginning to understand that underneath all their laughing, tonight involved another human being.
Not a fantasy.
Not a video.
Not some imaginary milestone.
A person.
Vivek looked at the basket.
“Water, ORS, condoms, lubricant, toiletries.”
“Cold drinks,” Raja added.
“Essential medical equipment,” Sanjay said.
“Exactly.”
Then Raja lowered his voice.
“What about Viagra?”
Vivek stopped walking.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because none of us has erectile dysfunction.”
“It’s insurance.”
“It’s prescription medication, not confidence candy.”
“What if nerves—”
“Then nerves happen.”
Sanjay nodded.
“He’s right.”
Raja stared at both of them.
“Seriously?”
Vivek said, “We don’t randomly take medication because the internet told us it’ll turn us into superheroes.”
After several seconds, Raja returned the idea to wherever it had come from.
“Fine.”
Sanjay smiled.
“Look at us.”
“What?”
“Responsible adults.”
Vivek examined the basket containing three deodorants, two varieties of mouthwash, an absurd quantity of cold drinks and a packet of mint gum.
“Let’s not get carried away.”
They returned to the hotel around four.
Five hours remained.
That was too much time.
Raja watched television.
Changed the channel.
Changed it again.
Then again.
“Stop,” Vivek said.
“I’m bored.”
“You’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You’ve watched fourteen seconds of nine different channels.”
Raja turned the television off.
“I’m slightly nervous.”
Sanjay was lying on the other bed staring at the ceiling.
“Same.”
Vivek sat by the window.
For once he didn’t make a joke.
“Me too.”
That admission settled something between them.
Nobody had to perform anymore.
Raja looked at Sanjay.
“Do you think it’ll be weird?”
“Obviously.”
“No, afterward.”
Sanjay considered that.
“What do you mean?”
“Us.”
Vivek looked over.
Raja continued.
“We’ve known each other since school. Tomorrow morning we’re going to know something about each other that…”
He searched for the sentence.
“…that normally friends don’t know.”
Sanjay smiled faintly.
“We already know you cried when Pooja slapped you.”
“I told you. Dust.”
“Inside a classroom?”
“Extremely dusty school.”
Vivek laughed.
The tension broke.
Only slightly.
But enough.
At six thirty, all three showered again.
At seven fifteen, they ordered light food but barely ate.
