So it was just another weekend and I was doing what I always do—making plans with Ryan, because apparently I don't know what peace is, and since I had something to return to Ananya (don't even ask what it was, not important), I thought I'd drop by her place first before heading over to Ryan's, and FYI he was totally waiting for me, like counting minutes and probably breathing into a paper bag because this time, I made him wait, and honestly, it felt like justice being served cold and late, just how I like it.
Anyway, he kept calling me like his fingers were possessed, asking why I was late, where I was, what I was doing, like chill dude I'm literally just walking—slowly, but walking—towards you, and when I finally got near his place (took me forever), he promised he would pick me up on his bike, and let me make one thing painfully clear: I hate bikes, like the wind-in-your-face-dust-in-your-eyes-no-room-for-glam kind of hate, but because he was picking me up, and I was in a delulu mood, I got all excited and flirty and said yes.
So I showed up, and there he was, and we rode off like some budget rom-com couple, except the only thing missing was a helmet, safety, and basic decency. When we got to his place, I was on a call and this man suddenly goes, "Today we're cleaning the place," and I'm like, uh-huh sure, because let's not forget I roasted him last time for how disgusting his apartment looked—it was literally giving "abandoned frat house energy"—and now he thinks cleaning the his space is an act of romance.
But the best part? This man, who claimed he was going to clean, didn't even SHOWER. Yes. You read that right. He was on a date. With ME. And didn't. Even. Bathe. I should've walked out right then but no, I'm a giver, I stayed.
Also, remember the guy whose flat Ryan wanted to take me to earlier? The one supporting himself in this new city and acting like a whole "main character" in his own struggle film? Yeah, him—his roommate. Well, this guy sees me and goes FROZEN, like literally stunned, probably thinking, how did Ryan, of all people, pull someone who looks like she walked out of a film, and I could tell from his expression he needed answers and maybe a therapist.
I ignored all that and went straight to the bedroom because not to be TMI but I was probably ovulating, and I don't mess with my cycle or my instincts. Ryan and I spent hours together—blissful, uninterrupted hours—and for once, no one was calling or knocking or having an existential crisis in the background. Meanwhile, his roommate, who was clearly radiating jealousy and unresolved sexual tension, decided to not leave the house like he originally planned (how generous of him), and instead called his girlfriend over.
And let's talk about her. She wasn't conventionally attractive (yes I said it, no I'm not sorry), but I guess she had a vibe and probably a killer Spotify playlist because that's all I can say. So we're inside, minding our business, doing couple-y things, and suddenly Ryan gets a call—from his roommate—asking for freaking lubricant, and I'm like EXCUSE ME? Why do you casually have lubricant lying around and why is your roommate asking for it.
But wait, the tea gets hotter.
So apparently, this guy, this rookie, had recently started dating this girl (yes, the one outside), and it was their "first time" which means suddenly everything's urgent and everyone's panicking, and the first time they tried doing it, he wore the condom WRONG. I mean, how do you even mess that up? It's literally in diagrams. He told Ryan it didn't fit and Ryan was like, bro, it's standard Indian size—not a measuring tape for your ego.
And they were both laughing about it like it was some dumb sitcom moment, but I was sitting there, silently calculating how many STDs are now floating in the air because of this careless, clueless hookup, and like shouldn't someone check on the poor girl's health or well-being? But no, apparently hygiene, respect, and protection are optional in this house.
Anyway, later that day, when his roommate and the girl finally left (thank the gods), Ryan and I emerged from our bedroom, only to find PIZZA BOXES, paper napkins, sauce stains, and literal garbage everywhere, like they were raised in a jungle and had never met a trash can. And Ryan—sweet, dumb, unaware Ryan—started cleaning it up like a housemaid while I sat there silently boiling because I had been out since morning, had not been offered food, water, or even a polite "are you okay," and I was starving like a forgotten orphan.
And don't come at me like "you should've said something," because I shouldn't have to—like what do you think I came for? To lick the floor and sip air?
So after that, we sat on the sofa, made out again (because I have poor boundaries and he's cute when he shuts up), and eventually I was on his lap kissing him like a scene from a Wattpad fic no one asked for. But then he got up because he was hungry, and checked the fridge—and let me tell you, the fridge was emptier than my emotional support system.
Only two things were inside: a packet of milk and a packet of brown bread, which might as well have been cardboard to me. But I was so hungry, I could've eaten my own opinions. Ryan grabbed the milk first, probably considering drinking it raw like a wild animal, but then changed his mind and took the bread, and I swear I thought he would offer me some—like a decent human being—but no, he starts eating it like this is some kind of survival challenge. So I had to ask for one, like I was begging for crumbs, and even then, he gave me this look like he was donating his kidney.
Whatever. I ate the dry, flavorless slice like it was a Michelin meal and silently mourned the death of chivalry.
Eventually, we left. He promised he'd drop me somewhere, and since my home is basically Narnia, I asked him to drop me halfway. And then this dude says, "I don't have two helmets," like, okay genius, but then he goes, "Let me ask my friend," and texts the friend and doesn't even wait for a reply before saying, "Yeah he probably doesn't have one"—like bro, if you're gonna fake being helpful, at least call.
Anyway, he dropped me back to the place he picked me from (romance is dead), and the ride was cute I'll admit, the wind was nice, my hands were around his neck like I was trying to strangle love back into him, and then we reached my stop, and I turned around to wave goodbye... and the man was GONE.
Like vanished into the wind.
No wave. No smile. Just evaporated.
Anyway.
After I got home, I texted him that I reached safely—like the decent human being I am. And guess what this emotionally constipated crusty bread-eating man said?
He said, "Now eat well."
Like... BRUH.
You KNEW I was starving. You WATCHED me eat that sad, cold slice of depression bread. You had exactly one chance to redeem yourself and offer me actual food when I was about to faint from hunger—and you didn't. And now you tell me to "eat well"? With WHAT? The leftover air in your fridge?
So yeah. That's how my Saturday went. And guess what? The next chapter is going to be about how he met Lila again and the two of them conspired against me.
Stay tuned. I'm not done.