Come What May

7. play pretend

CHAPTER SEVEN

PLAY PRETEND

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• thursday, march 18th •

"Wait— Asif! You prick, you're not supposed to see that!"

Grinning, I flip through Radhika's book of sketches, different types of dresses that are carefully filled in with glitter pens and sequins, raising my head to look back up at her.

"These are so good," I mutter, going back to flipping through the pages, my eyes settling on a purple dress that she's drawn, one that takes up the whole page with the size of its skirt. "I know that you say that this is just a hobby, but you're genuinely really good at this. Like, incredibly good."

Radhika shrugs, her eyes shifting from my face to the drink in front of her, and at once, I know that she doesn't believe it. Not even for a second.

"Hey," I urge softly, kicking her foot under the table, almost causing my own water to spill off the tabel. "I'm serious. You're so good. Whether or not it's a hobby, it's something that you're good at. Accept it."

This happens every time, both a curse and a blessing.

A curse because the only thing that I want is for Radhika to appreciate her art and to stop failing to acknowledge the talent that practically spills out of her.

A blessing because I'm accustomed to this happening, meaning that I can always help when it does.

"I don't know," she mumbles, slurping up her juice and giving me a toothy grin as she chews on her paper straw. "It's whatever, I guess. I like doing it, but it's not that great. I mean, shit, I can barely sew," she points out, as if the clothes that she's wearing right now aren't handmade by her, as if the scrunchie that encircles her wrist wasn't made at two a.m. today, as if she wasn't the one who made the bag that she's carrying around.

"Your talent is so wild. You're good at English, you're good at sewing, you're good at modelling. What aren't you good at?" I try once more, and while she waves me off with her hand and gives me another grin, I know that she doesn't believe it just yet.

So, I try the oldest trick in the book, the one that always, always gets her to cave.

I just smile, and softer than I usually speak to her, I say, "Radhika."

It works like a charm, her entire posture relaxing, like she had been holding in a week's worth of tension inside her system, as she huffs and says, "Fine. I'm talented as fuck, hot as fuck, I make clothes that look so fucking cool, the agency should hire me to make outfits for our shoots, and I'm a really fucking hot model."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," I begin with a lilt to my voice, cursing myself in my head when it involuntarily raises, switching to a higher pitch.

Radhika just reaches forward and flicks me on my forehead, her eyes twinkling as she throws her head back and laughs, gaining a few stares from the people around us.

My first instinct is to hide my face so that people don't see me, but as soon as the chatter around the restaurant picks up once more, I'm hit with the realisation that I'm in a completely new place.

I'm in a completely new place with completely new people who have no idea who I am, who haven't seen me on magazine covers yet, who don't even know my name.

So, I just push my hair out of my face and give her a small smile and a shrug. "Kidding. You're—"

Hot, I want to say, but the words get caught somewhere in between my throat and my tongue. And I can't get them out.