My childhood friend

I have known Anuhya since our second year of college. We were in the same design programme. She stayed for her master’s while I left after the undergraduate degree and took the job. We kept in touch. She was the person I messaged when the office felt like it was closing in, and I was the person she called when a critique went badly or when her parents asked again why she was still studying instead of getting married. She is twenty-three. Final year. She still lives in the hostel during term and goes home to her parents’ flat in the holidays. We have never slept together. She told me once, late, after a long call about a boy who had pushed too hard at a party, that she had not yet. She said it carefully, the way she says most things when she is checking whether the words are accurate. She was waiting for someone who would not treat it as a favour she owed them. I had not known how to answer then. I still do not.

When Rajesh asked me to arrange the lunch I did not tell him any of that. He had seen one of her stories. He said she looked like good company and that he wanted to meet her. He told me not to mention that he would be there. I said yes. I always say yes. I messaged Anuhya that I was free on Saturday and that a colleague might join later if his meeting finished early. She replied with a laughing emoji and said she would come. She asked what I wanted to eat. I said the usual place near her college was fine. I did not tell her who the colleague was. I told myself it was only lunch. I told myself he would see her, talk for a while, and leave. I did not believe it even while I was typing the message.

I arrived first and took the table. Anuhya came in wearing the pale green kurta she likes when the weather is warm. Her hair was down. She smiled when she saw me and sat opposite, the way she always does, one foot tucked under her, already talking about a studio review that had gone better than she expected. I listened. I ordered for both of us because I know what she likes. For a few minutes it felt like the other times we have met. She asked about the firm. I told her it was the same. She made a face. Then Rajesh walked up to the table. She looked at me first, then at him. The smile stayed, but it changed.

He introduced himself. He shook her hand and held it a moment longer than necessary. He sat beside her instead of across from me. I watched her shift her chair a fraction so that her knee was no longer touching mine under the table. He asked about her course. She answered. She is good at answering adults who expect her to be polite. He mentioned the story he had seen. She flushed. For a second her hand went to her hair and stopped. I saw the hesitation. She looked at me. I did not look away. Then she pulled her hair over one shoulder the way she does when she is thinking, and left it there. The line of her neck was bare.

He rested his arm along the back of her chair. She did not move away. “Your friend here has been keeping you to himself,” he said. He glanced at me, then back at her. “I had to find you on his phone. That’s poor management on his part.” Anuhya’s mouth curved. She looked at me again, the same careful checking I had seen before. “He’s usually better at sharing,” she said. It was almost a joke. Her voice was lighter than it had been a minute earlier. Rajesh laughed. His hand moved. His fingers brushed the ends of her hair where it lay against her shoulder. She did not pull away. “I’m better at taking what isn’t offered,” he said. “He can tell you that.”

I tried to talk about the project at work. Neither of them looked at me for long. Under the table I felt the small movements of her leg against his. She tilted her head when he said something low. Her fingers stayed in her hair. He reached for the water and let his arm rest against hers while he poured. She watched his hand. When he set the jug down his fingers stayed on her wrist for a moment. “You’re quiet,” he said to her. “Is he always this quiet when you’re around, or is this special?” She looked at me. There was conflict in her face—interest, embarrassment, the knowledge that I was watching. Then she said, “He talks more when there’s no one else to impress.” Rajesh’s thumb moved once across the inside of her wrist. “I don’t need him to impress me. I need him to sit still.”

The food came. He leaned across for the pickle and his forearm brushed hers. She did not move. When he sat back his hand settled on the back of her chair again, higher this time, so that his fingers rested against the fabric of the kurta between her shoulder blades. She shifted. Not away. Just enough that the contact was firmer. I saw her exhale. Her hair was still over one shoulder. He took a strand between his fingers and smoothed it once, slowly, from the crown of her head down to where it ended against her collarbone. “You should wear it like this more often,” he said. “It suits you.” She turned her head. The movement pressed her hair more firmly into his hand. “I usually tie it,” she said. “For studio.” “Not today,” he answered. His fingers stayed in her hair. She did not tell him to stop.

I have known Anuhya for four years. I have seen her laugh until she cannot speak. I have seen her cry once, after a critique, and sat with her on the steps outside the building until she could go back inside. I have never seen her offer her neck and her hair to anyone the way she offered them to him while I sat across the table. I told myself she was only being polite. I told myself the flush was embarrassment, not interest. I told myself the way she leaned into his hand when he touched her back was accidental. I did not believe any of those things while I was thinking them. I thought about the hostel steps. I thought about the call where she had said she was waiting. I thought about the fact that I was still sitting here, still watching, still not speaking. Rahul, I thought. You could stand up. You could say her name. You will not.

He kept talking. Small things. A joke about the firm’s coffee. A question about whether she still carried the same tote bag she had in second year. She answered. She laughed once, short and surprised, when he described the way I stood outside his office with my hands clasped. Her shoulders moved under his hand. He smoothed his palm once down the line of her back, slow enough that I could see the fabric shift. She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them she looked at me. There was still conflict there. Then she looked back at him and tilted her head so that more of her neck was against his fingers. He did not stop touching her. I did not stop watching.

When the plates were cleared he said it. He told her he had asked me to bring her because he wanted her. He told her I had agreed because I do what he tells me. She looked at me. The colour left her face. She stood so quickly the chair scraped. She said I was disgusting. She said I had known and still sat there. She walked out. Rajesh followed. I stayed where I was because he had put his hand on my shoulder and kept me in the seat until she was gone. Then I paid the bill with the company card and went outside.

They were under the awning. She had her arms crossed. He was speaking. I could not hear the words at first. She looked at me once. The disgust was still there, and under it the same hesitation I had seen at the table—the same weighing of what she wanted against what she knew about me. He told her there was a hotel two streets over. He told her I would sit in the chair. He told her I would not move. She looked at me again. I stood with my hands in my pockets and did not speak. I thought about the way his hand had moved through her hair. I thought about the way she had leaned into it. I thought about the fact that she had told me she was a virgin and that I had kept that information to myself when he asked me to arrange the lunch. She nodded. Rajesh turned and told me to follow them. He said I would sit where he put me. He said I would not speak. I nodded. I followed.

We walked. The hotel was two streets over. Anuhya walked ahead of him. I walked behind. I watched the way her hair moved against the back of the kurta where his hand had rested. I thought about how many times I had walked beside her from the studio to the canteen and never once touched her. I thought about the fact that I was still following them. At the entrance she stopped. She looked back at me. Her mouth was tight. She did not say anything. Rajesh opened the door. She went in. I went in after them. The lobby was quiet. He walked to the desk. I stood with my hands in my pockets and waited while he took a room. Anuhya stood a few steps away, arms crossed, looking at the floor. She did not look at me again. I did not look away from her. I thought about Monday. I thought about the spreadsheet he would want updated. I thought about the next time he would tell me to message her. I thought about the chair. I was still thinking about it when he turned and told us the room number. She walked toward the lift. He followed. I followed. The doors closed. The three of us stood in silence while the lift rose. I kept my eyes on the floor between my shoes. I could feel both of them watching me. I did not speak. I had already said yes. That was the part I could not take back. That was the part that was still true when the doors opened.