And then began my story, a story so grimy I hid it from all. I wanted to forget it and move on.
I was topping most of my classes but Maths was tough. And hence walked in Rishab Sinha, a highly spoken of tutor. His chiseled face, geeky specs and pulled back hair made him look super cute. But I needed to crack the math exam, I was in my final semester and needed it to get a scholarship for a prestigious London college.
It was my dream, I breathed, lived and tried my best to get there. Rishab was fun to study with. He had no qualms when I called him at middle of the night and couldn't solve a question. Slowly the night calls became a norm and then it was never about studies. We talked about aspirations and life. I never knew he was married. 7 years elder to me yes, but he never mentioned marriage.
One day he casually invited me over to his place, "let's study at mine tomorrow Reet? I have a meeting tomorrow and need to prepare." I believed him much like most foolish girls would. At his place he opened a bottle of cheap whiskey, "I'm stressed. Hope you don't mind if I have some." I felt so grown up and imagined us staying like that a few years later. "Have some?" He asked and poured me a stiff one.
Never did I realize intoxication came so quickly. He slowly removed my yellow top. There was some frenzied kissing too. I wanted him to go ahead. But I wanted him to stop too I saw multicolour lights dancing in front of my eyes. After a few painful minutes, I was no longer a virgin. I left his house and went back to my flat. Confused, unhappy and in pain.
The next morning, he called me over again. And soon our evening sessions were about sex. I never realized it was not a relationship and he never talked about him. My naive mind had imagined our marriage and all the glittering things attached to it. Then one fine day, the vodka coke combination started. Next were cigarettes. Little did I know it was his way of ruining me.
One muggy evening, when I was still at his place at the pretext of extra studies, we began kissing. And his wife came from work. I still remember her ear piercing shriek, her slapping me for being a slut and not pointing even one finger on her husband. She called my parents over. They knew. The whole society knew. My parents shamed me, their upbringing. It took away a part of my life. When they whisked me to my aunts place, I promised to myself to become the perfect daughter.
Rishab never called me once. I had been an easy fuck. My life never mattered to him. A few months into living with my aunt in a nearby area, only going to college when necessary, resulted in my London dream crashing. I ate, I ate a lot to make myself feel better but all it gave me was kilos of added weight. I looked swollen. When I took my internship people called me all the weird names from hungry bird, to buffet lover.
A year later when I went to meet my parents, my neighborhood was abuzz with gossip about me from me being pregnant to having a mental disorder. That was the time I decided I needed to change. And I went back to my internship and gave it the best shot. I also started eating less. Some days were only about coffee. Soon the extreme diet started showing results. I made friends, and with that confidence I cracked my job at Rosiale, Delhi. My current office.
Life was easy, simpler till Sid screwed it upside down. Sure I had my past but it was buried in my heart. I sent most of my pay cheques to my parents as a remittance and for saving. I did not want too much money. I could survive on black clothes and kebab rolls.