Simran
2018
The first thing Simran hears is *NSYNC blasting through the speakers.
“What have you gotten us into now?” Kunal laughs; first at her, then at everything around them.
Roosevelt High School is transformed for their five-year reunion. The entire space is the perfect mixture of nostalgic and ridiculous. Banners reading, WELCOME, GRADUATES and REUNION in shimmering red and blue letters are hanging from the tiled ceilings. Teal lockers are covered with stickers of their mascot, Tim the Tiger. The posters haven’t changed. Some are inspirational quotes with pictures of eagles or waterfalls; others warn against the dangers of drug use. The air smells the same: a mixture of sharpened pencils, Elmer’s glue, and sweat.
“You’ll have fun. I promise.” Simran rubs the sides of her forehead. She shouldn’t have had that extra glass of red wine last night. Luckily, the thump of “Bye, Bye, Bye” is helping her forget about her headache. Boy bands would always have the power to distract her.
“I believe you,” Kunal says, raising his voice over Justin Timberlake’s. “And you were right before. It’s nice to get away.”
It’s clear. Her boyfriend needs a break. The first year of medical school has been even more grueling than he thought it’d be. His days are filled with a steady stream of worry and work. Work and worry.
“I just want you to relax. You deserve it,” Simran says.
She’s going to talk to him tonight about all of it, her growing worry about his lack of sleep, his preoccupation with his student loans, how he barely has time for himself, let alone them. She still doesn’t know how he’ll receive her concern. Kunal is, among many things, proud. It’s one of her favorite things about him, his certainty in himself, in his future, in everything. But it also means that he doesn’t always know when to make a change.
Kunal leans toward her and kisses her forehead. “You always make sure I do. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Simran and Kunal’s classmates are in clusters around them, taking selfies for social media and exchanging blurbs of their lives. Some of them gained weight. The popular girls have started getting their first Botox injections. Others exchange pictures of their babies. Simran can’t believe there are people she graduated with who are real parents.
Josh, one of their classmates who is now an Instagram influencer, approaches them.
“You two! Still so cute together,” he says. “The real-life Cory and Topanga from Boy Meets World. You make the rest of us—especially the ones stuck in online dating Hell—sick.”
Kunal smiles, giving a sudden softness to his usual serious disposition. “We’ll take that.”
Josh pauses to take an impromptu selfie. “Are you both planning to stay in New York for the long term?”
Simran nods. She gives Josh an update about Kunal’s first year at NYU Med and her master’s in psychology program at Columbia. A wave of gratitude washes over her for this being her life, her choices. She and Kunal are on the cusp of real adulthood. Together.
If anyone had asked Simran at sixteen what she thought her life would be like now, she saw herself traveling and creating and jumping from place to place. Even when they were at NYU, while she floated in and out of classes, devouring novels and articles, Kunal went to the library on campus every night to study. He had a plan. He always did. Simran preferred to live in the moment and not worry so much about what was ahead. She would have never believed that all these years later, her favorite moments would still be when she wore pajamas and ate pizza with her boyfriend, when she felt simple and still and at ease.
Once Josh walks away, Kunal points to a glass display that’s filled with trophies, medals, and photos from school events. “Look, it’s us.”
Simran follows his gaze to a professional photograph of younger versions of them from senior prom. They’re wearing big, glittering crowns to match their big, glittering smiles. Kunal’s expression in the photo is a mixture of pride and amusement. He hated wearing a tux, much less a crown and sash that read PROM KING in bright blue letters.
“Look how young we look.” Simran takes note of their acned cheeks. “We’ve been together so long.”
“I know. It goes by so fast. This picture is unreal,” Kunal says. “Remember how I picked you up at your house and we were so nervous about your parents?”
“God, dating behind their backs was so scary,” Simran says. “I’m glad that part of our lives is over. But then again, sneaking around was kinda fun. It made me feel like some sort of rebellious Bollywood heroine. You know, taking a stand, living on her own terms.”
“You would say that.” Kunal shakes his head in amusement. He glances at the picture again and scans Simran in her gold, shiny dress. For weeks, she had begged Mom to buy it from the sales rack at Macy’s. Mom didn’t see the point of prom—or any school dance, for that matter. School dances didn’t exist in India. School is for studying, she’d said. Not thinking about boys.
“You’re so beautiful.” Kunal wraps his arms across Simran’s waist and then sneakily grabs her butt.
At first, the picture seems to cheer Kunal up. But then he slips back into himself for the rest of the day. He’s quiet while Simran and the other graduates cheer during the pep rally that’s in the gym, with its basketball hoops, shiny floors, and hooks on the ceiling where Simran used to climb the dreadful rope. She notices he doesn’t laugh during the presentation of everyone’s old yearbook photos. (Simran’s photos seemed to be about hair or the lack of it: the frizzy locks on her head, thick eyelashes, her threaded eyebrows.)
She tells herself that he’s stressed because of school, that they’re in the midst of an adjustment period. They’ve gotten through plenty of them before and will now.
“Let’s get back to the city before dinner,” Simran says. “I’m sure you have a lot of studying to do.”
“Yeah . . . that sounds good,” Kunal says.
“Are you okay?”
Kunal gazes at her. “I’m fine.”
This was always his response. I’m fine. Kunal was never good at naming or talking about his feelings.
“Are you sure? You seem preoccupied.”
Kunal sighs. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“I can tell. Let’s just head back. Get out of here.”
Kunal nods. “Okay. But before we go, can we walk through the main hallway again?”
They pass through crowds of their old classmates. Kunal gives them polite nods while Simran asks them about what she’s seen from their lives on Facebook. The speakers are now playing a series of Usher songs.