My Last Love Story by Falguni Kothari Read Free Book Online

business acumen had none in a mere boy’s, and orders had begun to drop like overripe fruit from trees. He’d decided not to go back to college by then.
    Surin was overwhelmed by his responsibilities. Sarvar was worried about our future. So, I worried, too.
    I didn’t like my uncle and aunt. I’d never liked them, but I didn’t tell my brothers that. I had no wish to add to their burdens. My mother had never spoken against her older sister, but I knew they hadn’t gotten along either. I didn’t like how Uncle Farooq spoke to Surin, as if he were an idiot. I didn’t like how nosy my aunt was about my parents’ life insurance policies and our material holdings.
    If Surin didn’t ask them to leave soon, I planned to run away. Where? How? When? The logistics didn’t matter. I felt trapped in my aunt’s presence. I wanted things to go back to how they’d been. I missed my mother terribly.
    I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday that year. Friends from my old neighborhood offered to treat me to lunch, but I refused.
    “I am in mourning,” I told them.
    The truth was, it pained me to see them. They reminded me of my old life, of my parents and happy days, and I couldn’t bear it.
    My brothers overruled my wish not to celebrate. They even brought home a birthday cake, as if we were a normal family. We went out for dinner, and I got money as presents, no other gifts. No one knew what to buy for me. It was always my mother who’d bought the gifts in our family even if the name tag on the gifts stated otherwise.
    That night, Smriti invited me to a beach party. Smriti was a neighbor, and as she was my age, I’d interacted with her off and on since our arrival in the building complex. Before I could think of an excuse, Sarvar urged me to go and have fun. Surin frowned, clearly unsure of whether to allow poor hysterical me out of his sight since I’d spent the day locked in my room, weeping. But much to my disgust, he, too, nodded and smiled in encouragement. It was the one and only time I wished my aunt would butt in and barricade me in my room. But, nope, she didn’t.
    Unbeknownst to me, Surin had already asked my aunt and uncle to leave our home. Within a month, they’d be gone for good.
    I squeezed into the backseat prison of a silver-colored Maruti, jammed from door to door with five other girls.
    “Whose party?” I belatedly asked.
    “Nirvaan from C building,” replied Smriti, the designated driver.
    Smriti and I resided in Ram Bhuvan B, and besides her and a few of her friends, I knew no one.
    “He moved to California two years ago and comes down every summer to meet his grandparents. He throws the best parties. They’re wild and…” Smriti paused to grin at me through the rearview mirror. “There will be lots and lots of booze. Imported.”
    All the girls in the car giggled at the revelation, except me.
    “I know what you’re thinking. Gujarat is a dry state, so no boozing. But who follows rules these days, na ?” Smriti said when I remained silent and slightly horrified by her disclosure.
    “Even government officials don’t follow rules,” added a pigtailed girl, riding shotgun, in a patronizing tone.
    “And Nirvaan has connections. I mean, his father has connections and a green card, so he’s allowed,” Smriti said smugly.
    Connections or not, dry state or not, fifteen-year-olds should not be boozing.
    What if we got arrested? Would the American boy’s father bail us out? I wondered if Smriti had thought this through.
    Too late, it occurred to me, if she was my age, she wasn’t old enough to drive.
    Crap.
    What was I doing here? Why had Sarvar pushed me out the door? Couldn’t he stand my company for even one evening?
    I wasn’t an adventuress soul. I was wary, a homebody. That wasn’t to say I was timid or obedient. I wasn’t.
    But my bratty nature had been blown to bits, along with my sense of security, the night the police had called and informed us about the accident. A drunk