Curry Munching with the French Boy

16

AN: PICTURE OF SIDDHARTH MALHOTRA AKA VIKRAM...I WAS THINKING OF USING HRITHIK BUT HE'S A BIT OLD NOW.

It was Friday, a full 4 days after Devin and I had been on our ‘date’. We hadn’t talked much the rest of the week, seeing as Diya was totally consumed with him, but somehow Devin always managed to find ways to sneak knowing smirks my way. He had also made a habit of leaving random notes in my locker, which always got my heart racing. Even if Devin didn’t always show it, he was quite the romantic. The only thing that kept bugging me was that instead of Dee losing interest in him, like I had expected her to, she seemed to be actually gaining interest. She talked about him non-stop, was with him every available minute and every minute they were together, she couldn’t keep her hands to herself.

I had to admit that it did hurt seeing Devin have to pretend to like my sister. It hurt when I saw them kissing in the hallways. But when Devin flashed me one of those looks, the one where his eyes would burn into my freakin soul and assure me that it was me he liked, everything seemed to be in order. I was beginning to realise that my way of thinking was messed up, that it would just be better to tell Diya the truth, but there was something stopping me. Maybe it was the thrill of being a badass, or me just being plain psycho, but no matter how much I tried to pluck up the courage to tell Diya, I couldn’t.

On Friday morning my father announced that we would be having visitors for dinner. One of our ‘old friends’ were coming over from the UK, but he wouldn’t tell us who.

“I want you all on your best behaviour, in your best clothes, with your best manners, got it?” My father had instructed before leaving for work. My sisters and I nodded, and father left pleased.

The day flashed by with its usual hoard of boringness and I was happy to get to my locker and leave. Avril still took me home every day, whilst Diya rode with Devin. I was slightly miffed that she got to be with him in such close proximity, but I guess I deserved that for being a liar. Devin had left a little note that was, much to my annoyance, in French. I was still trying to decipher it when I was seated next to Avril, on the way home.

“What’s that?” She asked, driving out of the school parking lot.

“Nothing.” I shrugged her off, reading the words over. I could understand about 3 words of it, but the rest were foreign to me. The car slowed down as we neared a red light. Avril snatched the piece of paper from my hands and read it aloud.

“Je pense à toi, mon chaton.” Her lips turned up into a wide grin and she looked over at me, “Do you know what it means?”

“Not really.” I admitted. Just then the light turned green and the car lurched forward as Avril handed the note back to me.

“Well I took French from freshman year up until last year,” she began, turning sharply to the right, “and I believe he says that he’s thinking about you. Then he called you his kitten.”

**********

At 5pm my father was home early, dressed in a freshly dry-cleaned black suit. I didn't think all of this fuss was necessary just for his college friend, but he seemed pretty pumped up. My mother had prepared an assortment of curries, rotis and naans. For desert there were different sweet meats all freshly prepared. I was dressed in a respectable kurti. I wore maroon coloured leggings paired with a turquoise kurti that had a flower pattern at the bottom. Diya was dressed in something similar except her kurti was plain pink with black leggings. Gita and Preeya were both wearing matching green and purple. My mother, Diya and I bustled about the kitchen whilst Father paced the living room and Preeya and Gita did whatever it is they did.