Wrong Number

Antara laughed, as the joke she was narrating to her friends elicited guffaws from them. She covered her face with her hands and sank deeper into the seat as the sheer hilarity of her last disastrous date continued to amuse the group of three girls on the table. Half-finished drinks and a hummus platter littered the table, as wait staff flitted around.

It was a gorgeous evening, thought Antara, as she studied the faces of her two best friends. They got very little time together and they thus cherished whatever little bit they could find.

"Did you block him?" she asked Nikita, referring to some boy her friend had been speaking to since two weeks, who had suddenly decided to ghost her.

"Bitch, I blocked him, deleted him. He can go die in a well for all I care," responded Nikita, her voice light and airy, her curls bouncing around wildly as she sipped on her drink.

"Hear Hear", chimed in Shibani, raising her own glass in solidarity.

The clink of three glasses coming together echoed around them, as techno music played over the loudspeaker. The open-air vibe of the place meant the group could be rowdy and loud and wouldn't be a bother to other tables. In fact, they were often the entertainment.

As Antara reached over to study the menu to order something substantial to eat, a pair of warm hands suddenly covered her eyes.

She stiffened instinctively, her own hands flying automatically to cover those that were on her face. She knew they were a man's hands, the crisp hair on the knuckles a dead giveaway. As she felt around the fingers, she encountered slightly burnt skin and if possible, she turned even more stiff.

"No way!" she shouted, turning around swiftly, so that the hands fell away. "You bastard," she shouted, before jumping up from her chair and smiling widely. "You're alive?"

A pair of smiling black eyes stared back at her, the face a familiar one, with that unmistakable dimple winking proudly at her from his left cheek. He looked exactly as she remembered, handsome, with just a touch of cockiness to add to the charm. The oddly perfect mix of gentleman and rogue.

"Of course I'm alive darling, though I think for a moment there you wished I wasn't," he chuckled.

Antara rolled her eyes, "shut up you dummy," she smiled and moved to hug him.

She closed her eyes, the smell of his old spice cologne bringing back a hundred memories. "Where have you been, you asshole?" she murmured, her face buried in his shoulder.

"Here and there," he replied, hugging her slightly tighter for a moment, before he moved away.

She looked up at him, her smile unrestrained.

A pair of throats clearing behind her alerted her to the fact that they were in public.

Antara turned to her friends, "guys you remember-"

"Yes," her friends replied in unison, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Who's your friend?" asked Shivani.

Antara turned to notice a young, slender, pretty girl standing behind him, fidgeting with her purse. "Hi," she said, extending her hand, "I'm Antara".

The girl seemed relieved and placed her hand forward, "Farah," she replied. "How do you know each other?"

"Oh, we were-" he started, but stopped, turned to look at Antara, apparently lost for words.

"We were friends," she supplied, their history together too complicated for simple words, "long time back," she added.

"Yeah," he said, studying her face.

"You guys on a date?" she asked Farah.

"Yes," Farah replied, her face an odd mixture of excitement and wariness.

"Well, you'll should get to it, I don't think they'll hold your table for much longer," replied Antara, smiling at the pair.

Farah nodded, "it’s nice to meet you," she added, before turning around and walking towards her table.

He continued standing there, studying her intently.

"Your date is waiting," Antara reminded him.

He nodded, moving towards the table where Farah was waiting expectantly.

Antara settled back, her friends jumping right back into a conversation; old, easy camaraderie immediately taking her mind off the strange encounter.

A chime on her phone interrupted her recounting of a disastrous laundry debacle.

'Meet me near the washrooms'.

The time stamp on the last message from that number dated 3 months back, but the latest message stared back at Antara. For a moment it felt like a strange excitement infused her blood, before better sense washed over her in calm waves.

"I'll just be back," she murmured, rising to move towards the washrooms. She took a detour, not wanting to pass Farah's table. 

As she approached him, a thousand thoughts spun rapidly through her head, the foremost of them being that she was done with games. "What?" she asked, coming to standing in front of him, off the side where the washrooms were located.

He opened him mouth to say something, abruptly closing it again.

"What did you want to say?" she asked him again.

"I don't know. When I typed the message, I just wanted to get you away from there and see you in private, but now I don't know."

She sighed. This again!

She reached out for his hand, cradling it between her own and looked into his eyes. "I'm not playing this game again babe."

She dropped his hand, turned and started to walk away.

"Wait-"

"No". She turned around, facing him to shake her head vehemently, "Go be with your date. She deserves better."

With that she walked away. As she approached her table, her friends raised inquiring eyebrows. "What was that?" asked Shibani.

"Got a wrong number. Told them to go dial the correct person," she replied, smiling. In one swift sip, she finished her drink. "Let’s bounce. This place is too crowded".