What if the love of your life slipped away, leaving only a quiet ache and an unfillable void? World’s Best Ex-Girlfriend explores the bittersweet pull of unresolved love as Daksh and Aanchal, after a brief spark at a wedding in Dubai, are unexpectedly thrown back together. Read the excerpt below to know more.
Intro Every city transforms in five years. New buildings obscure the older ones. Roads are widened. More cars spill on to the road. Dubai does that faster than any city. I pass by landmarks I recognize, but most of what I remember has been painted over, built over, broken and rebuilt. It’s a small kindness that this city no longer looks like the city that wrested everything away from me.
The closer I get to the Atlantis, my discomfort shifts from the city to her. The nearer I am to her, a torrent of haunting memories surges forth—the ugly words, the echoes of past arguments—and anxiety begins to seep into my very marrow. The last thing I want is to bump into that over-smart, cold, heartless person I was once in love with. Until this very moment, I didn’t realize the visceral hate I still feel for Aanchal. It feels like yesterday.
I feel it rattling in my bones.
‘Don’t stop the trip,’ I repeat to the driver as I pull out the suitcases outside the Atlantis.
It’s 6 p.m. so there’s still plenty of time for the cocktails function to start. I make my way in. The front desk has a long serpentine queue with tourists lugging their carry-on bags and checking if they’ve lost their passports.
‘I’m here to drop off Gaurav Madan’s luggage,’ I tell the lady managing the check-ins.
‘Do you know the room number, sir?’ she asks. I call Gaurav. And as usual, he doesn’t pick up the call.
‘Listen, the person’s not taking my call. Can you call their room and inform them?’
She looks at the line behind me and is about to protest.
‘They’re wedding clothes, or I wouldn’t waste your time,’ I inform her.
She checks the room number and makes the call. She shakes her head and puts the receiver down.
‘Sir, no answer,’ she says.
‘You can keep the luggage here and go check in the open area. Maybe you will find the guest there. That’s the best I can do for you.’
‘Perfect,’ I tell her.
Except that it’s not perfect. I should have been in my taxi, going away from this city, away from her. Not towards her. Not towards the reason I spent a couple of years in absolute misery. A dread fills me up. I’m going to see her. I push the thought out, just in case people are right about manifestation and the law of attraction.
After wandering through the multiple corridors, I spot the cocktail venue. Vanita Weds Aditya, says the signage in an ornate flower arrangement. Vanita never struck me as someone who would get married so early, but here we are. I call Gaurav’s number again. There’s no answer. I walk towards the venue. A small part of me is commanding me to go back. Leave the suitcases at the reception and leave the city, it tells me. She’s here, the voice inside my head warns me. I can feel the air crackle with bad energy.
I look for someone near the stage, anyone I could pawn off the suitcases to. The stage is being given the final touches, the lights are being tested, the harried staff is running around shifting chairs, arranging flowers, testing the sound system. The wedding planners in black T-shirts bark instructions over their walkie-talkies. White people look on, watching curiously. Faint sounds of Hindi songs are in the air. I look around there’s not a single guest there. This is taking way too long.
Fuck it. I turn back and walk towards the reception.
That’s when I see her.
Aanchal Madan.
For a moment, I think I have imagined her. I hope that I have imagined her. But there she is.
Aanchal Madan.
In flesh and blood. All of her.
Aanchal fucking Madan.
A wave of hatred crashes upon me.
My biggest regret.
Aanchal Madan.
The World’s Worst Girlfriend.
I am consumed by how much I despise her.
Aanchal Madan.
It engulfs me entirely. I thought I had gotten over the hurt, but my revulsion towards her overwhelms me.
Aanchal Madan.
My body sears with the heat of my loathing, it burns.
Aanchal Madan.
My first instinct is to turn away, to avoid her presence altogether, just pretend I never saw her and walk past like she doesn’t exist.
***
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