Periods, Pyaar And Patriarchy

Chapter Ten

"Who's this?" She asks, in an accented English that catches Shweta off-guard. "You know, Bhavya this wasn't a part of our deal."

"I know," Bhavya says. "But you don't have to worry. She's my friend!"

"I don't know." She says, and suddenly, very decisively she closes the lid of the piano. "All of this is a bad idea. I'm not going to do this anymore."

"What?" Bhavya says. Shweta can see his eyes visibly largen as he takes in the shock from her words. "You can't do this!" He exclaims.

"I should never have trusted a twenty-three-year-old boy with all of this. Young boys have more energy than what's good for them. It makes them unreliable." She takes her spectacles and puts them on. Peering at Shweta, she glances the girl up and down.

"Aren't you the little intern?" She asks her.

"I am," Shweta says, feeling awkward knowing that she didn't belong there. Much less, the lady looked like she wanted her out of her vision. What kind of circus had Bhavya dragged into where an old woman hated her?

"Come on," Bhavya says. "You know her. You can trust her. Besides, I've kept your secret for four months, now! Give a guy a break."

"Are you sure, Bhavya?" She asks him, still looking Shweta up and down skeptically.

"Maasi-maa." Bhavya drawls with what Shweta assumes is supposed to be a Bengali accent. It's a ridiculous imitation of it and Shweta wonders for a second if the lady is going to get further affronted. But much to Shweta's surprise, her face breaks into a tight smile. Shweta would later learn that this was her equivalent of a large smile. Having spent most of her life disciplining unruly students in a high school, her lips had found themselves in a permanent frown.

"That's more like it," Bhavya says, extending one arm and giving her a side hug.

"Here you go." She says, handing him a white envelope that Shweta hadn't realized that she'd been holding. "And Bhavya, be careful."

"Don't tell anyone." I know. "This is the first and last person who will ever find out." He promises her.

"Let's go." He looks at Shweta as he advances his wheelchair out of the door. Shweta is only glad to follow him.

"What was all of that about?" She exclaims as soon as they're a safe distance from the music room.

"You were dying of curiosity, weren't you?" Bhavya asks her, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Of course, I am!" Shweta says indignantly. "And what does she mean about don't-tell-anyone and all of this secretive business? Are you smuggling drugs, or what?" She asks him.

"Of course not!" Bhavya sniggers. "Supplying senior citizens with cocaine? Shweta, what goes on in that brain of yours?" He laughs, his dimples popping out as he does so.

"Won't you tell me now?" Shweta pleads. "Pretty please with a cherry-on-top?"

"Can't say no to a pretty please now, can I?" Bhavya winks, and then he holds up the envelope. "But I'm surprised that you haven't figured it out. Letters, old people, I'm the human pigeon who delivers it!"

Shweta looks at him bewildered and then it dawns upon her. It takes every bit of her willpower to not squeal and do a happy jig right there. If her deductions were right, this was the most wholesome thing she had heard in all of the year.

"You've lit up like a house during Diwali," Bhavya says, his own face breaking into a heart-warming smile. "You figured it out, didn't you?"

"It's a love letter, isn't it?" Shweta asks and Bhavya nods.