Entangled Hope to Love

Chapter 4 - Elmore Boys!

Abhimanyu

I manage to survive the torturous week. Neither the food was poisoned nor the Mogambo was lethal. I can't say the same about my mental health.

At least now I'm physically free from the grounding.

I fire a text in a group chat 'Devils in disguise!'—a moniker perfect for the closest people in my life.

Me: I'm going for admission. Anyone coming?

Chirag: I'm always ready.

Of course, you are. Finally, I'll get to have a word with the jerk.

Nirvaan: Can't come. Have to go with papa.

Nakul: Working. But tell me when the F.Y.J.C admissions begin.

Of course, he wants to know about first year's admission.

Chirag: You work too much dude. Relax and chill a bit. Join me and Abby sometimes.

Me: You relaxing too much has got you three fails. Maybe it's time you take some advice from Nakul and work.

Chirag: My life works for me as long as my parents doesn't have any problem with it.

Nakul: Spoiled brats do resemble you.

Me: Like people are dying to hire you. No one's gonna hire a person who's still struggling to pass his SSC.

Nirvaan: If it weren't for Ishaani, Nakul would probably not hang out with us.

Me: Your brain is too dumb to understand that Chirag. You relax and try to pass the SSC at nineteen.

Nakul: Grow up. She is old news.

Rudra: No.

Me: What exactly are you denying?

Rudra: Both.

I'm baffled by this guy's practically monosyllabic responses. Before I can ask to elaborate, there's a ping.

Nirvaan: No, Ishaani is not old news; she never would be. Also, no, he won't be coming to college.

Rudra: Bingo.

Nakul: Fuck off.

Me: Truth is always a bummer, darling.

Me: Anyway, I'll be leaving in ten minutes. Chirag, don't be late. Meet me at Boba Park.

I shower and change into jeans and a t-shirt, then throw a flannel shirt over it, not bothering with the buttons.

I grab my document file and shove it into my backpack along with the essential stationery. Unplugging my phone from the charger, I pocket it before heading downstairs.

Mother is sitting on the couch, sipping her tea, and watching a daily soap. She's definitely picked up some of her Mogambo traits from these shows, not that she needs any encouragement. They should, in fact, take some tips from her.

While wearing my shoes, I inform her, "I'm going to college."

Her attention snaps to me, taking in my casual disregard for her presence. Here we go.

"Why?" She yells, "And what's with the attitude? Are you so mature that you'll tell me rather than ask me? Is this how you talk to your mother? Is this what I've taught you?" Her voice rises with every question of hers.