Love Letters From Hell

01 | war

I imagine I should know who he was talking about. Even Dima has a spark of understanding behind his eye and I like to assume that he's just as oblivious as me towards the ongoing affairs of the UCLA student body. That was before he'd fallen in love with the starry-eyed art student who made clay beads that he wore on a string around his wrist.

I'd prodded him in the chest one day and asked what they meant. I didn't have much of an eye for the arts and that was no secret but apparently, the meaning of Kajal's beads was a secret because Dima had only chuckled and said, An inside joke.

And I know I shouldn't be jealous, shouldn't be upset, shouldn't feel any of the feelings that I felt. I should be happy that my best friend had fallen in love. But every time she laughs and he smiles at the sound, I feel a little bit more lonely.

Aryan leans back in his seat, arm sling over the back of his chair. The way he sits is so arrogant, so utterly sure of himself and his standing in the world. He fixes a dark-eyed stare on me and I turn my skin to steel under it.

"And what about you, Zahed?" It's almost a drawl. At least he pronounces my surname properly, doesn't stumble over it, no stuttering, no I'm sorry, sweetie, but forgive me if I get this wrong. Two simple syllables that caused so much trouble yet I'd witnessed people graze seamlessly over Dima's Nazarenko.

I stare at him. "What about me?"

A crooked grin. "Have you ever been streaking?"

Dima snorts beside him. Kajal swats a napkin his way that he easily brushes off, tanned forearm sending the thing spiralling to the floor.

He's in the process of picking it up when I reply. "Only in your dreams, Shankar."

He pauses, fingers brushing for the napkin on the floor. He smiles fully, all dimples and full, twisted lips, glittering eyes and lifted brows. "Sounds quite like a nightmare to me, Zahed."

Before I can make him eat the napkin that he just picked up from the floor, the sound of the restaurant's bell chimes, making everyone's eyes flutter to the doorway. Except for mine. I fix a glare on Aryan. It's a vicious enough one that I capture his attention from the newcomers.

He lifts a brow at me.

I return his pretty smile. Then, I flip him off.

He clutches a hand to his chest with a mock-pained look on his face, dropping his hand and rolling his eyes.

Both of us iron over our snarling expressions by the time Kajal and Dima turn back to the table.

Well, I only half-manage to iron over my snarl, leaving me with a messy resting bitch face that Dima shoots me a puzzled look over.

At least we haven't lost all our codes, I think to myself.

I don't bother returning a look with him, instead sipping my lemon water and peering at Aryan with a cautious, narrow-eyed stare over the rim of my glass.

He pretends he doesn't notice. I very well know he fucking notices.

Dima sinks into a quiet conversation with Kajal, fingers sliding across the tabletop to where she sat opposite him, to graze her own fingertips. I glance away.