Love Rivals: The Day I Saw Your Tears

56. Compromise Or Care?

We decided to take a quick break before starting the next game. As we settled back into our seats, Sarah's phone rang, breaking the momentary silence.
She glanced at the screen and frowned and stood up to leave.

Vicky glanced over at her, surprised. "You're leaving already? We just started."

I added, half-joking but half-serious, "Your engagement got called off. You should be out celebrating your newfound freedom, not running home like the perfect daughter."

Sarah gave a soft smile, shrugging. "I'm fine with the freedom my parents gave me. It's just getting late."

Vicky immediately grabbed his jacket and keys, offering, "I'll drop you off."

She didn't hesitate, which for some reason irked me. "Just drop me off at the signal near the main road," she said, calm but firm.

I watched as they headed for the door, feeling a strange frustration building up inside.

After locking the door, the house felt eerily quiet, as if all the life had drained out of it. Just moments ago, there had been laughter, conversation, the buzz of a good time. Now, it was back to being a hollow space. I collapsed onto the couch, letting exhaustion take over as I slept through the evening.

By the time I woke, it was already late, and I felt no urge to go outside, order food, or even cook. A strange emptiness hung in the air, and I couldn't shake it.

Then my phone rang - Nitya.

She didn't waste a second. "What's up with you? Why didn't you answer any of my calls?" Her tone was sharp, almost accusatory.

I rubbed my eyes, already feeling the weight of her impatience. "I had my phone on silent. I was resting. What's wrong?"

There was nothing but silence on the other end. Then, with no explanation, she hung up.

Great. Another headache. Nitya always needed things to go her way, to have control over everything -- our conversations, our time together, everything. Meanwhile, all I wanted was to be left alone, to just be myself.

I stared blankly at the ceiling, the reality sinking in. How were we supposed to make this work? Two people so different, trying to fit into each other's lives? It felt impossible.

I headed to the kitchen, feeling that strange emptiness still lingering. Opening the fridge to grab some water, my eyes caught two neatly covered bowls, placed with care. I hesitated for a second, then pulled them out.

Aloo tikka and oats upma.

I stared at them, confused. I was sure there had been nothing in the fridge this morning. But curiosity got the better of me, and I tasted a bite. It hit me immediately.

Sarah.

Without wasting another second, I grabbed my phone and dialed her number.

I chuckled, "You've got quite the weird combo going on. Oats with aloo tikki? Really?"

Sarah's voice came through, unamused. "Then don't eat it."

"Wait..." I paused, still confused. "When did you even make this? And more importantly, why? I mean... I don't get it."

She replied casually, "Even doctors need food to survive, especially if you're planning to challenge me."

A small smile tugged at my lips. "Well, next time, make sure to add the right amount of salt. Masala oats already have some salt, you know."

Her tone turned annoyed. "Next time? Why would there be a next time? And just so you know, if you ever make me cook again, I'll make sure it's your very last meal."

January 18, 2017 **************************

I had been in the hospital for a week with an upset stomach, and it was a relief to finally get discharged. The next day, I went back to school, expecting things to be the same as before. But as soon as I stepped inside, people started coming up to me, asking about my health. It was strange at first, and then it hit me -- I was more popular than I realized. Almost everyone seemed to care, even those I hadn’t spoken to in a while. For the first time, I felt like I wasn’t just another face in the crowd.

During lunch in the cafeteria, I sat across from Vicky. We placed our orders, and as the food came, Vicky looked at me, clearly concerned. "Ryan, you just got out of the hospital today. Are you sure you should be eating this junk?" he asked, pointing to my tray of greasy food.

I sighed inwardly, knowing he was right but not wanting to admit it. I was starving, and the cafeteria food, unhealthy as it was, but I had no choice. Forcing a smile, I said, "Come on, Vicky. I’ve been eating tasteless stuff in the hospital for a week. Let me enjoy real food for once."

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push it.

My parents were always wrapped up in their careers, so there was no one at home to make my lunch. I often found myself wishing for those days when I’d have a lunchbox packed by my mom, something homemade to bring to school. But instead, I ate from the cafeteria every day. It became routine.

Oddly enough, no one ever questioned it. They just assumed I was some rich kid who preferred cafeteria food over homemade meals. Little did they know, it wasn’t about preference -- it was all I had.