No Time for Goodbyes by Andaleeb Wajid Page B

won’t be able to pay you much,’ he says. I nod, remembering the ticket price for the movie yesterday. If that was any indication of the money situation … I gasp when I hear how much he’s willing to pay me.
    â€˜What? I told you I won’t be able to pay more than that,’ he says, looking indignant. I nod, although I’m fuming mentally. Twenty rupees. That’s his offer. Manoj is looking extremely amused and I narrow my eyes at him.
    â€˜So, you come back here in half an hour. You can start then,’ he says and Manoj and I walk away from there.
    â€˜You should have seen the look on your face!’ Manoj says as we walk towards a block of buildings.
    â€˜Honestly!’ I mutter, momentarily forgetting that this is the past and that twenty rupees for a part-time job must be the equivalent of at least a thousand bucks.
    We stop at the canteen for some hot coffee and sit down at a bench, sipping it. I look around with a lot of interest. Everyone seems so laidback and comfortable and they are actually talking to each other instead of peering into their phones or texting. A couple of young women are wearing longish skirts and there’s one girl who is wearing jeans. Only, it doesn’t look anything like the ones I’ve ever seen. It’s all baggy and poufy and I try not to laugh. When I look back at Manoj, he’s staring at me intensely and I feel uncomfortable.
    â€˜What?’ I ask, looking down.
    â€˜It’s not fair, you know. You get to come back and laugh at our fashion sense or make fun of how little we earn and you won’t tell me even a single thing about the future?’ he asks softly. He’s right. Maybe I can tell him some of the good stuff.
    â€˜Tell me your interests,’ I ask him, hoping to tell him something connected to that. He might get off my back then. He looks blank for a moment and then shrugs.
    â€˜The same as anyone else I guess. Movies, cricket and … umm, Physics,’ he says with a smile.
    Cricket!
    â€˜Okay, here’s the thing. In 1983, the Indian cricket team will win the World Cup,’ I whisper and he looks back at me shocked.
    â€˜What?’ he asks so loudly that everyone turns to look at us.
    â€˜Shh! Don’t make a scene, you idiot!’ I tell him and he shakes his head.
    â€˜You’re not making that up?’ he asks and I cross my arms and sit back.
    â€˜Only one way for you to find that out,’ I tell him with a smirk.
    â€˜Wow!’ he breathes. ‘Tell me more!’
    â€˜I don’t like cricket that much and I wouldn’t have watched the last World Cup if it weren’t for Dhoni.’ I admit but he looks at me puzzled. Oh right. Imagine a world where someone doesn’t know Dhoni!
    â€˜Who does India win the World Cup against?’ he asks, leaning forward, his eyes alight with excitement.
    I struggle to recall the team. If it hadn’t been for India winning the last world cup and everyone comparing that to the 1983 match, I wouldn’t even have known about any of it.
    â€˜I think it’s the West Indies,’ I say finally and his eyes grow rounder.
    â€˜Tell me more!’ he says and I look exasperated.
    â€˜I don’t know any more. I told you I don’t like cricket,’ I tell him.
    â€˜Girls!’ he mutters and drains his coffee. ‘What do you like apart from clothes and books?’
    He’s pinned it right. ‘I have this “neat and clean” OCD,’ I tell him. He looks stupefied.
    â€˜Obsessive Compulsive Disorder,’ I explain. ‘Actually I’m sure I don’t have it. It’s just that my whole need for keeping things clean irritates my mother so much that she and Raina call it my OCD.’
    â€˜Slow down, slow down!’ he says, putting his hands up. ‘Who’s Raina?’
    â€˜My younger sister. She’s 13 and she’s nothing like me. And she loves science,