Poles Apart

Chapter Fifteen

At 10:50 that night, I receive a text from Dhruv.

When were you going to tell us?

My heart thuds as I try to remember something I haven't shared with them. If I hadn't told them, who would? What would I have done, anyway? I don't remember doing anything.

My phone pings with another text that concludes my thoughts,

My mom just told me about the deal. We were waiting for you to text.

I breathe out in relief. I had told my friends about the deal, but I hadn't given them any details. I got excited about my first big deal in India and told them about it, but I was waiting for them to ask me about it.

Dhruv's mother knows about the deal because she's Zēlos International's chief legal advisor. She doesn't sit in on the meetings, even if it's meetings as consequential as this one. She sits in on conferences of direct impact, where she sorts things on the spot.

Congrats, butthole!

I chuckle at Dhruv's text, typing one back to him.

So much love! Uff! Thanks, butthole.

Dhriti: Congrats, Vi!!!!!!!

Thank you, Dhri!!!!!

Siddharth: Party!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

I roll my eyes at Sid's text. He's always partying. Every day, the first face on the tabloid is Siddharth Chetti's. Not for bad or wrong things, per se, but the guy is in attendance to every big shot party in the city.

Isn't that what you do every night with all of your actor friends?

Sid's family is deeply associated with the movie industry. His father is a producer, and his mother, a legendary actress. Aunty stopped acting as a romance lead after marrying Siddharth's father. She occasionally does roles on request, but otherwise, she only serves the part of co-producer now.

Siddharth: You are also one of my actor friends. Legendary actress, Arvi Ravichander. Tamil industry's prodigy.

I roll my eyes, chuckling at Sid's reply. Tit for tat. I went at his partying and sleeping habits, and he came to my surname which is professedly Tamil.

I reply to Sam's congratulatory text before throwing my phone away and going back to work.

~.~.~.~.~

On Saturday night, despite all of my protests and excuses, I'm dragged to the club. By my best friends. Please note the sarcasm.

I get dragged to a club opening. Sam's friend's brother's club, she says. But what does it matter when you don't want to go? It doesn't matter to my friends that I don't want to go.

To make matters worse, we had VIP access. Cool? Not. I was praying we don't bump into any familiar figures. I have no strength to put up an elaborate act of elegance and niceties when my body is in war with itself.

Yesterday, I realised my periods' cycle was late. After the initial, 'Am I pregnant?' followed by, 'You need to have sex to be pregnant', I realised it could be because of a lack of physical activity. The exercise kind. Gosh!

So, I joined my sister-in-law in her daily workout routine. It was sheer torture. Working-out, after nearly three months, did not sit well with my body. Which is why, kids, no matter how lazy you feel, go and fucking workout. It only gets harder when you return to it.