I picked up my phone and hastily swiped the message from the dating app that popped on my screen, just the moment my mother raised her head from sweeping the floor. She thoughtfully looked at me for a second and I wondered if she had read it. No, no, she couldn't read so fast in English. I was right because her nose scrunched up and her lips drew back momentarily in a disgusted expression. Then she looked down and muttered in unintelligent words, continuing with her sweeping as if she had never looked up at me. I had done nothing to disgust her, but then again, I had done nothing at all. That disgusted her, doing nothing all day.

I could understand why since she broke her back and arms rolling and deep-frying the varieties of snacks. Her orders were piling up for Diwali. I offered to help her, but she shooed me away, prohibiting me from "messing" with her scrumptious cooking. I knew the real reason was that she wanted me to do something, something that would take me out of the kitchen and into the world, even though she was proud of her business. Her dreams were for her daughters to work less harder than her and to live more.

Sighing at my imminent failure and my mother's subsequent disappointment, I opened my chats to read the earlier message, "Can't wait to meet you! Counting days."

Her name was Aastha which meant hope, the girl that I was seeing. Our conversations had been pleasant enough. It had been a month and we talked randomly about anything from the movies we liked to what we ate for dinner. I liked her because she didn't bombard me with messages all day, respected boundaries and diligently watched the movies that I had recommended to her. Like me, she was also a closeted, confused girl who was dwarfed by her domineering parents and brothers. It was comforting to talk to someone who was in the same predicament, yet I didn't know if I liked her that way. She was pretty, not Lila pretty, but pretty. And here Lila snuck again in my thoughts . . . I was just hoping that Aastha could help me forget Lila.

"I'm not letting you both sleep-away these holidays too! Last summer was bad enough!" my mother exploded, brandishing the broom at Pavitra and me. "You both will drive away Goddess Laxmi with your laziness. I can't have you sleeping. No, no."

She forcefully pulled away Pavitra's blanket and made her sit up. Her eyes flashed to me with a hostile glint and I voluntarily sat up straight before my blanket would be snatched. The vestiges of the earlier disgusted expression still lingered on her face as she barked, "Why don't you do something? Anything! Clean your closet or go out and exercise? That friend of yours . . . The Punjabi one with that English name . . . Your only friend now that Lila's in America. Who was it? Yes, Jajh. Why don't you meet her? She always calls you and you never go as if you're busy."

"She's not my only friend," I said, but she shook her head in exhaustion, threw a miserable glance at Pavitra who was laughing indifferently at something on her phone and left the room. Thanks aai for reminding me. After that day, the day when it last rained, Jazz was avoiding me like a good girl who avoided the creeps lurking in their addas. In college, I never saw her in my adda, the library. She even purposefully missed the morning trains that I took, preferring to travel alone than with me.

I had apologized to her, but it came out so half-heartedly that day that I stopped myself midway. Now, whenever we crossed paths at college, she pretended that I was a passerby, her gaze so steady ahead that it seemed forced and false. I was hoping that time would soften her grudge because I couldn't explain the lies that I told her. No, never. I couldn't tell about Lila to anyone.

I hadn't mentioned Lila to Aastha, but if anything were to happen between us, I had to put Lila behind. Today was Dhanteras, the first day of Diwali, although it didn't feel like that because of the premonition of Pavitra's fate which would be decided tomorrow. I was going to visit Lila's house today, uninvited of course. Despite the lack of contact between Lila's parents and mine these past six months, my mother wanted to send them some sweets and snacks that she had prepared like she usually did.

In her mind, our relations with them were unsevered like that of long-lasting community friendships which resumed each time a person bumped into another at a grocery store or some wedding. A hope was flowering within me as I changed into outside clothes, took the trophy lid that Lila and I had won in the quiz competition at school along with the bag of sweets and snacks. What if . . . Just what if Lila had come back for Diwali?

It was some minutes past twilight and all the lanterns and diyas lit up in little windows as I watched from the rickshaw, their light swaying with the gentle breeze. The closer I was to my first love's home, the brighter the hope flowered in my heart. No, no, no, she wouldn't be here. I had to put her behind me for my own sake and sanity. The wetness in my eyes smudged the lanterns and diyas into spots of yellow, orange and red lights that danced in front of my eyes. Everyone had struck a matchstick and let light shine in their lives today despite their calloused hands, beaten hearts and weathered faces. All because of that odd creature, Hope.

Hope could never die. A person who wanted to kill himself still hoped to be freed of worldly burdens and pain. And if he felt like a burden, he hoped to free himself of hope.

I paid the rickshaw driver the money, got down and entered the street to Lila's society. Hope pounded in my heart, so loud, so consuming that when a firecracker burst near my feet, I noticed it only when the children had scurried away in fright. By now, I had already imagined Lila in a gorgeous lehenga as she leapt into my arms and giggled till I had to hold her tightly to stop her from trembling and falling over. Here I was being unrealistically optimistic that I hadn't thought of what I would do when I had to confront her parents. When she wasn't here. Which was real. This was what I was afraid of . . . Hope. I had to put Lila behind. For my own sake and sanity. I couldn't undo months of trying to move on from her within a second, all because of Hope.

I drew long breaths as I rang the bell of her apartment. Maybe, I should just go back. But how could I? I needed to see Lila's absence so I could believe in it. So I could hack Hope to it's death and kill her in my mind.

An uncertain face opened the door, it was her old maid, Supriya. She had been working ever since I knew Lila. When I spent long afternoons with Lila, her maid would bring us snacks and help us and Lila's mother in cooking and baking. For a brief minute, Supriya stared at me, then she broke into a warm, amiable and kind smile. She had recognized me. "I haven't seen you since . . . May? It's been so long!"

"Yeah. Since Lila went away for studies." I swallowed the rock of a lump sinking into the pit of my stomach. Lila wasn't here. The house was so empty that Supriya's voice had echoed.

"Right, the house has been so empty without her! I can see how sad her mother has become . . . Everyone's sad because Lila's gone. Anyway, you can come in. Lila's parents have gone to a Diwali party. I was just finishing some last chores." She welcomed me with the door wide open, unaware of what had transpired between Lila's parents and me. I was taken aback by the wide-open door as if someone had suddenly flung a ball at me, expecting me to catch it. Could I catch this moment? This moment of stepping one last time into Lila's world?

I tried to not feel guilty about taking advantage of Supriya's innocence as I stepped into the house. Immediately, I could smell Lila's father's cologne in the air. What if they came back? I carefully removed the lid of the trophy from the bag and handed Supriya the snacks and sweets. "These are some things that my mother prepared for Lila's family and you. When are they coming back? Uh . . . Lila's parents?"

She graciously took the bags from me, her green glass bangles clinking. "They'll come late in the night. They have asked me to finish the chores and lock everything before I leave. It'll take me some fifteen minutes or so to get everything done. Do you want anything to drink?"

I became so ecstatic then that I shook my head vigorously and remembered to wish her for Diwali. Then I flew into Lila's room like a firecracker rocket finally launched into the sky. It was unbelievable how unchanged her room was, all of her things were untouched. Her room was still white and pure, except for the little chipped paint on the part of the wall where Lila used to carelessly rest her feet.

How many afternoons I had spent here? How many days of studying while Lila troubled me with her childish games and tricks? I sat on the bed where she had first recklessly pushed me against the wall and kissed me. That day when it had all began, the day when the light had slipped in and illuminated the darkness within. That day had marred our lives because that was the day when I had lost her as a best friend and found a lover instead. I had to put it all back, that day and all the days with her, as a friend and as a lover.

* * *

Glossary :

Diya- a small oil lamp usually made out of clay.

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