Page 18 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

“It’s weed.”

She gasped. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve smoked it.”

Another gasp from her made me laugh out loud, just as our friends returned with water. I grabbed the bottle Amar tossed at me and said, “She hasn’t smoked weed.”

This time the others gasped, and I burst out laughing again.

“Have you all?” she asked.

Everyone either nodded or shrugged matter-of-factly. Even the good-boy extraordinaire Amar had smoked with me when he came home that summer.

“Then I want to try it too! You know, I read somewhere that a good artist needs to immerse herself in every experience, every emotion.”

“Yes, academic curiosity is the only reason you want to smoke weed,” Amar said with his usual dry wit, and she giggled.

After a few days of the right kind of flirting and a few nights of debauchery, I managed to locate a reliable source for the good stuff in the new city. But when I brought the information to the group, Tara said she’d have to wait until the end of the month to get the necessary cash. Any of us could have offered to loan her the money, but we didn’t. We knew she would uphold her dignity even when she was breaking the rules.

So, we waited until she got the money from her tutoring, then spent the weekend in a weed-induced daze at Amar’s apartment. That was the first time I kissed her, or she kissed me. I’m hazy on the details, but I have a distinct, vivid memory of locked lips, tangled tongues, and our bodies wedged tight for several minutes. We never spoke of it again, though, not even after we slept together, because it was an aberration between friends and best left unaddressed.

“What are you thinking?” She returned with a steaming cup and sat down across from me.

I knew it would remain untouched until it became tepid. I used to give her a lot of flak for that in college. The cutting chai—a very tiny portion served at tea stalls—was the perfect size for her. A normal-sized beverage was wasted because by the time she got to it, it would be unpalatable for almost everyone else. But Tara wasn’t like everyone else.

I smiled. “The past. We’re as much in the past as we’re here right now.”

“But not in the future.” She established without blinking.

I swatted that away too. “How are you settling in?”

She took a moment, but answered, “Alright, I think. I don’t know anyone in the city, so it’s been quiet, but I’m doing okay.”

“Well, I’m here if you need anything or want a friend to talk to.”

She looked at me pointedly. “What are you doing, Sameer? What are we doing here?”

“What do you think we’re doing?”

“Don’t mess with me,” she growled. “I’m not that tame girl anymore.”

I smiled. “Two things. I am going to mess with you, that’s just who we are, but more to the point, you were never tame.”

“I fell for you once Rehani, it’s not going to happen again. I’m not nineteen, and I’m not smitten with you anymore.”

“Wait…you were smitten with me?” A deep color rose to her cheeks. “I thought I was the only one with the raging infatuation.”

For a moment, we both gazed at each other with a look of mild shock in our eyes. Then she remembered herself. “This conversation is over,” she said and pulled out her laptop. “Get lost.”

“This isn’t over, Tara. We need to talk.”

I felt heroic, Bollywood heroic, as I strode away from the booth before she had a chance to react or retort.

Chapter 7

Sameer

My movie-perfect exit was ruined when Mihir walked in, and we literally bumped into each other at the door.

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