All Strings Attached

Chapter Five

"You know how Naanna feels about Sita and her family," Dhruv says, "they've always stuck by us."

"I know, Dhruv."

"Do you, Anna?" He asks, forcing a glass into my hand, and taking one for himself. "I know we have a good relationship with our parents, but you know they don't like the hookup culture. I was so surprised to learn of your fling with Sita. Can you imagine how dad must feel?"

I can't. I never had to, because we were so careful. So careful, every single time. "I'm clearly not in the best headspace to be having these conversations, am I?"

"Well, what did he say?"

"The same thing you said," I respond, gulping down the glass of coconut water. "And he asked if I like Sita."

"What did you say?"

"How do I answer that question?" I retort. "I tried to dodge it but he wasn't having it. He said he needs to talk to me when he's back."

"Do you like Sita?" Dhruv asks, his eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "You do, don't you? Did she actually never tie you a rakhi because she was crushing on you?"

"She never tied me a rakhi because she doesn't like me, she doesn't like that I smoke, or that I have political aspirations, and she thinks I have multiple girlfriends— she does not like me."

"Yeah, I think she's made that very clear," my brother agrees. "How does it feel to have your heart broken?"

"By Sita?" I ridicule, scoffing. "I am not interested in her, she's a know-it-all. And if she knows what's best for her anyway, why would she go and hookup with me if she harbours such high feelings of dislike for me?"

Dhruv shakes his head. "You'd think a thirty-three year old would be more mature than a kindergartener, but apparently not. You choose your suffering."

I flip Dhruv off even though I hardly take notice of what he said, gulping down another glass and lying back on the bed, staring at the TV that continues to talk about my political career and my campaigns across Andhra Pradesh recently.

When you feel like you have it all, you really have to be careful, don't you?

All of that handwork and now I'd have my reputation tarnished by some asshole who decided he had bones to pick with the ruling party.

I'm never letting someone else pour me drinks ever again.

My phone pings with a response from Sita.

I'm fine, thanks.

Thank you for the update, and for being considerate about my parents, appreciate it.

I don't respond to her texts.

~.~.~.~.~

Somehow, I seem to have gone to sleep, I wake up to my phone ringing with a call from my father.

"Come downstairs to my office," he says, and hangs up before I can say anything.

Fuck. I smell my shirt, which reeks of alcohol. I hadn't even brushed my teeth since I woke up, I'd need to take a shower before I saw my dad. He's not too happy with me as it is.

I jump out of bed, knocking over the vase on my bedside table in the process, and walk over to my half-empty wardrobe, not because I didn't have clothes to fit the entire wardrobe, but because my mother had this room built for me and her future daughter-in-law, about two years ago when we moved into this house.

I pick up a t-shirt and track pants, and go off into the shower to brush my teeth and wash myself. I spray a shit load of deodorant before I leave my room.