Endless Road (Wattys 2015)

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

18th April, 2010

      After dinner on Sunday, I opened my laptop and fired up my email account. I was expecting a message from aunt Rosie; she had promised to send me some e-magazine links and brochures. In fact, most of the last week had gone in doing research, going back and forth with my aunt on the email and applying for entrance exam coaching classes. Mom and dad had spent two whole days going over my decision to enter into the field of architecture; there had been debates, discussions and long sessions of combined research. However, the verdict at the end was positive: I could do whatever I wanted, and if architecture was what I wanted, then that was it.

       I had applied for classes, which would begin in the middle of June. And in order to know exactly what I was getting into, I had also done some digging of my own. The work seemed intense... but it was drawing me towards it with some kind of energy. I didn't know if architecture was my calling; all I knew was that I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to do something that would not only get me on my feet, but something that would touch people's lives. It was contradictory with my I-don't-care attitude, but it was something that I really wanted to do. And somehow, I knew I could do it.

      While I was typing away on my computer, thanking aunt Rosie for the help and asking after her and her family, a knock sounded on my door and Surya came in.

      "Hey," he said, flopping down on my bed, placing his hands behind his head as he stared up at my ceiling. "What are you doing?"

       "Nothing," I muttered, "Writing to aunt Rosie. What are you doing here?"

       "Nothing; pestering you."

      "Don't you have  anything better to do?" I demanded. "No study group? No outdoor events?"

      "Nope."

       I didn't reply. I was sitting cross legged on the chair (Don't ask me why—I did that sometimes), dressed in my favourite faded grey t-shirt and short shorts. My hair was tied up in a bun, and I was peering at the screen like I was going to go inside any moment.

      After some time, Surya sat up and looked  at me. I could feel his stare boring two holes into my back. Without looking, I said, "What?"

      "Why are you home on a Sunday evening?" he demanded.

      "Because I have email to answer."

      He sighed, shaking his head. "Isn't Ajay going to come over?"

      "No. why would he?"

       "Well, you two spend all your weekends cozying up on the couch and watching movies."

      "I guess he's busy," I muttered. At the party, my brain piped up without invitation. I slapped it down.

      Just then, my phone beeped; I had a message.

      "Talk of the devil," Surya said, checking my phone. I turned, eyes wide, and reached out to grab my phone from his hand. But I was too late; he'd already started reading.

      "'Hey, what's up?'"

      "Surya, give my phone back."

       "God, relax. I'm giving it. Here," he handed me my cell. I read the message, and typed back a reply.

      'Hey, nothing much. You?'

       Moments later, it beeped again.

       'Nothing much, either. Are you going to the party?'