(Image: Dee's hazy memory of the party)
After promising that he'd be back after seeing Deven off, Harsh had practically run out of my room. Not keen on wasting my peace of mind over the anticipation of what the story was, I took the liberty to bolt towards my cupboard and change into my favourite pyjamas. Sure, I was likely to get a heart-attack tonight; but who said I couldn't have it in the most comfortable set of clothes I owned?
Fifteen minutes later, I was ridiculously close to throwing a fit for making me wait forever, when Harsh dejectedly walked back into my room. "So.. Is he gone?" I ask Harsh and I notice him go slightly pale as an even more dejected Deven step into the doorframe, not even bothering to hide any embarrassment he was feeling. "Oh..." I say, but Harsh shoots me a warning glance, saying, "Dee – as much as I hate to admit this, this isn't my story alone. I need you to be as patient as you can, and hear us out" he said. After a quick pause and a deep breath, "Both of us", he added.
Struggling to hold back a huff, I leaned forward to pat the edge of my bed and almost in a heartbeat, Harsh was perched on it, while Deven occupied the chair at my table, to my right. Noting how close he sat to the door, I wondered what it would take, for him to bolt out of it at the first chance he got.
Harsh caught my attention when he said, "I would have told you everything, but I was just as much at fault in the mess, as Deven was – and having him explain his bit to you is the least we can all do, after all these years."
Peeling my eyes away from Deven at the sound of Harsh's voice, I nodded at him in understanding, waiting for him to continue. But surprising me, the steady, calming voice of Deven broke the silence. "Deeksha" he said, and I couldn't resist correcting it to "Dee".
"Right.. Sorry. Um.. Dee – the reason why all of us kept this from you, was because we thought that was best. It didn't make sense to involve the parents either, because you need to understand that this happened at a time when Harsh and I were just.. what? Sixteen?" he said – and I agreed, allowing him to go on. "So... Two things – one, a lot of the reasons we gave ourselves to convince ourselves we were doing the right thing, will seem petty and even, err.. comical to you now. But please – Just HEAR us out, before you make your final judgement of us. Okay?" he ended.
"Alright – but.. you do realize that I won't be able to do that until you actually tell me the story.. No?" I ask, throwing a pointed glance across the room, from Dev to Harsh.
"Okay.. here goes. Dev and I were friends for many years. We met for the first time in middle school for the annual play and we were both made woodcutters," said Harsh, plunging headlong into the story with no frills or follies. "Not our best moment", added Dev with a sly smile that somehow, Harsh understood.
"And – you probably remember seeing him around with Vicky and me... especially in nineth and tenth grades... because we went to the same classes and everything," Harsh continued. My quizzical expression must have told him I didn't, when Dev – very helpfully added – "Yeah.. everyone knew me as Fatso back then."
At this, Harsh started laughing and said amidst his fit, "Oh God, remember how you got that name?" To this, Deven shot back and HAD to reply with "Yeah! And Chintan went all macho on the C section boys during PT? And.."
Annoyed that they were getting side-tracked, I had to scream "Boys!!" to make them stop. "Sorry" said Harsh sheepishly – and Deven just wore the expression without an apology.
"I remember Fatso.. I never really spoke to him, but I knew he was your friend. Wait.. I remember now.. When you became the head of Science Club, he was the head of the Prop Committee for the Drama Association!" I exclaimed, remembering more details as I tried to put a finger on whatever little I knew about Fatso. Suddenly, I remember the last memory I have of him, the same one I saw before passing out this evening. My tone, suddenly serious, I am about to bring that up, when Dev interrupts me, saying, "Umm... Dee, I'm.. Kind of – right here.. So can we not talk in third person? It's weird."
I let out an awkward nod as I remember that Fatso, now Dev, is here – though I was far from registering permanently that they are the same person. "So yeah.. Dev, Vicky and I were super close and each of us had our forte. Mine was studying, Dev's was creativity and of course, you know that Vicky's was sports," recounted Harsh, and I made the connection that this "Vicky" person was Vikrant Bhatija – who was professionally a golfer, touring the country at the moment.
"So anyway, you remember that party we went to, back when you were in eighth grade and we were in tenth, some time in July or so? When we were supposed to be celebrating the victory of our first ever district match in football that Vicky and I had played?" Harsh asked – and I did. Of course, I did. It wasn't exactly my fondest memory of high school. "Umm... Harsh.. What does THAT party have anything to do with this conversation?" was my obvious question.
"It does" said Harsh with a pause, "That was where it all started." Confused, I waited for him to continue.
Taking a deep breath and throwing his head back to look at the ceiling, Harsh asked me, "Dee, how much do you remember from that party?"
"Not much", I admitted, my curiosity growing.
"Hmm.. and do you remember that you had a fever for the rest of the week?" he asked, his voice now hoarse.
"Of course I do! I had to miss school because of that stupid party and I had to redo an entire class assignment", I recollected.
"Yeah well..." said Harsh, almost in a whisper – like he was struggling to say the words, "You were caught in the crossfire between my group of friends and some of the others. You fell ill.. (deep breath).. because they spiked your regular drink with alcohol and some random pills to get back at us."