RROF One Shot

To Change

I was jealous. And for obvious reasons. This wasn't a part of the plan. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wanted to kick something - or someone, punch a wall, scream, yell, feel anything but this ice-cold jealousy that burned in the pit of my stomach, making me bitter, angry and so . . . I didn't know. I didn't know what to feel. My words and actions were hollow as and dry as a dead leaves. I was empty and purposeless.

I hated it. Hated myself. Hated him, most of all. Oh yes, I hated him.

Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if I had any friends. Maybe I would've moved on if I had someone to whom I could move. Unfortunately, I didn't. I was loner, had been one for years, so when Arya entered my monotonous life, bringing his aura of joy and happiness and fun with him, his bright eyes and sweet face, I fell for him faster than I could say "love". And now I wished I could stop hating him. For everything he did without his knowledge. It was a mess.

It didn't help that the "perfect" couple had arranged a get-together for Arya's return. While all I wanted to do was hide in a hole and refuse to see daylight for the rest of my life, Arya, with all the intelligence of a freaking rabbit, had decided to drag me out of my self-imposed exile and force me to meet people - specifically, his friends and her friends who couldn't stop aww-ing over how cute a couple Riya and Arya made. Thankfully, there weren't more than maybe fifteen people.

It was at one of Arya's favourite restaurants. The one which served the best south-Indian food. A classy, but reasonably priced place, with the right kind of ambience for a small party. We were seated at one of those semi-circled tables with chairs lining it, while the smell of spices of all kinds of food permeated the air, making my mouth water in spite of how upset I was with the whole thing.

For obvious reasons, I'd seated myself at the end of the semi-circle, away from Arya and Riya, away from the loudest group, away from the life of the party, and away from the whole damn thing. Arya and Riya sat beside each other, looking the part of a perfect couple in their amazing clothes and attractive faces, holding hands and laughing and joking along with their friends as though nothing else that mattered to them.

And it probably didn't. After all, I was sour-faced-jealous Shyla, whose only talent was entering data into Arya's computer as his clients came in, with lesser social-skills than a granite stone. Why should anyone care about me? And also, with my heart heavy as lead, how was I supposed to make merry and act all happy? I had the right to wallow in self-pity for at least a few months! I was heart-broken, and the love of my life ever since I was on first grade was in love with another girl.

A girl I wished I could hate.

I couldn't hate Riya. She was too nice, too kind, too friendly and too sweet to deserve my hate. I tried to hate her. I wanted to hate her. But she didn't seem to have a single flaw. It would've helped if I could've found some flaws in her - small-mindedness, meanness, insensitivity, bad manners - anything to put my soul at ease. To convince myself that the girl who'd taken his heart wasn't that perfect. But no. Of course she wanted to make this harder for me.

And since I couldn't hate her, I hated myself and him and fate and destiny, while drowning in my own thoughts, stuffing food in my mouth to get away from small-talk amd drinking my Pepsi when I wasn't.

That is, of course, until he came in. He was late by more than an hour, and arrived just in time for dessert. At first, I didn't recognize him. And when I finally did, it was only because I noticed how similar his features were to Arya's - thick black hair that was too long, dark brown eyes at the edge of being black, a tall and lean stature, and that boyish charm. Yet . . . there was something different about him. He wasn't exactly Arya. There was more mischief in his eyes, he was taller and his shoulders narrower, he walked with more grace and less stiffness or formality, spoke happily with a voice that conveyed he was pulling your leg or playing a prank on you. And even though even his name started with an 'A', his name wasn't Arya - it was Aditya.