The Six Types of Love

SILAS

Ayush is so different. Seeing him is like walking into a house and still knowing exactly where every room is, but not knowing what is in those rooms anymore. I had never realized how famous he was. No one ever came up to me to ask for my signature. Then again, why would they? While Ayush was signing the book, I analyzed what he was wearing, a dark blue Kurta that is cut off to look like a t-shirt with the same style of black jeans he always wears. He wore short kurtas like that a few times while we were younger, but when I pull up his Instagram, I see a lot more ethnic wear now.

Ayush is as at ease in a t-shirt and shorts as he is in a kurta. It is awe-inspiring to see the person who had come to me countless times to complain about how he felt he would never reconcile the various parts of his identity and finally be at peace with himself. However, what surprises me most is that he has made peace with his parents.

I still remember that night in Harbay Park, sitting on the ledge right by the outdoor stage, both of us eating ice cream, when Ayush cried about how he wished he was straight because if he was, he could have been the perfect Indian son, and how his parents only favored his younger brother, Armaan, because he was, in their eyes, normal.

"How is Armaan?" I ask going off that train of thought. The waiter comes to give Ayush his coffee.

"Amazing. We called this morning," Ayush replies, taking a sip of his drink and sighing, "He's actually in Brazil right now. He's trying to figure out franchise locations for Rang."

"What do you mean?" I caution.

"What do you mean what do I mean?" He asks confusedly.

"What is Rang?"

"My parent's restaurant..." Ayush hesitates as if he is the one asking me a question.

"That's you?" I ask incredulously.

"Si you knew my parents owned a restaurant. What are you talking about?" He looks at me as if I just asked if the sky is still blue.

I am in shock. I never connected the dots before. Of course that had been his parents' restaurant. There are chains all over the country. I had never stopped to wonder why the food tasted so familiar the first time I had it with Joel. It had been years since I had spoken to Ayush by then.

It had been our first date. He had wanted to go there, claiming he loved Indian food. We had gone and he knew everything about it, was even on a first-name basis with the staff. That was the first time I noticed how gorgeous his curly, strawberry-blonde hair and brown eyes were. They were full of mirth. That memory brings back a rush of other memories and regrets that I push away by re-engaging in the conversation at hand.

"I just never realized it was your parents," I confess.

"Yeah, we changed the name to Rang when we expanded," Ayush laughs, then brings up the next topic, "How often do you go home?"

"Not that often. There's nothing to really go back to," I try to say nonchalantly.

I haven't kept in touch with anyone from high school or before. The first few times I went back felt like I was grasping at straws, and half of those straws related to Ayush. After I got the seed money for my company in San Francisco, I just stayed there. Nothing is holding me there other than my company anymore either.

"What about your parents and your dream of becoming the president of St. Edmund one day?" Ayush asks. Thankfully, I am saved from having to answer because my eggs, placed on a gorgeous green China plate that matches the décor of the restaurant, arrive on a long piece of sourdough, with a slice of avocado and some cheese. As I pick up my fork and knife, I realize that Ayush is looking at me expectantly. I think about telling him the real reason but then decide against it.

Taking my first bite of breakfast, the flavors explode in my mouth. Maybe Lorrie could keep on booking the Ritz, but only in New York.