Anavya

I was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him, trying to teach him English grammar because my tuition teacher had forced me to. It wasn’t like I wanted to help him. In fact, I couldn’t stand him. Or maybe that was just what I told myself to survive being around him.

I was deeply focused on a question, trying to figure out how to change the tense, when his voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

"Anavya," he called, making me look at him with questioning eyes.

"Tu mujhe rakhi bandh de (Tie a rakhi to me)," he said, smirking in that way that made my blood boil.

For a second, I froze. Did he just—? No, he didn’t. My heart dropped, then twisted itself into a knot. Why would he even say something like that?

"What? Bhai, kal Holi hai, Raksha Bandhan nahi! Pagal hai kya? (What? tomorrow is Holi, not Raksha Bandhan! Are you crazy?)" I blurted out, my voice panicked. My words tumbled out in a rush, and I regretted them the moment they left my mouth.

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening as he leaned forward a little. "Toh rakhi Raksha Bandhan pe hi bandhni hoti hai kya? (So, does rakhi have to be tied only on Raksha Bandhan?)" he asked, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

I glared at him, my hands gripping the notebook on my lap tightly. Why was he like this? Why did he enjoy irritating me so much? Didn’t he realize how much his words stung—or worse, did he realize and just enjoy it?

"Jo bhi hai, mai tereko rakhi nahi bandh rahi. Baat khatam. (Whatever it is, I’m not tying you a rakhi. End of discussion.)," I said, trying to focus back on the question in front of me. But my hands were shaking, and my cheeks burned.

"Arre, reason toh bata. Kyun nahi bandh rahi? (Hey, at least give me a reason. Why won’t you tie it?)" he asked, pushing me further with that same smug smile.

I clenched my jaw, trying to stay calm. My mind was racing,  How could I possibly tell him the truth? That I hated him for making me feel so out of control? That I hated how much I didn’t actually hate him?

"Khud pata kar le. (Figure it out yourself.)," I muttered, refusing to look at him.

I turned back to the notebook, but my focus was completely gone. I could still feel his eyes on me, and my heart refused to settle down. My thoughts were loud, screaming at me that this boy—this annoying, smug, impossible boy—had way too much power over me.