D.K Airways Saga : Part 3

The neon lights of the London Westfield Mall hummed with the energy of a thousand weekend shoppers. Twenty-one-year-old Rajveer stood inside a sleek clothing store, holding up two identical leather jackets and trying to decide which one made him look more like an action-movie hero and less like an oversized penguin. He was tall, athletic, and possessed the kind of bravery that usually involved jumping off high docks into lakes without checking how deep the water was first. Suddenly, his phone blared in his pocket. The ringtone was a ridiculous brass band horn-a setting his best friend had forced onto his device three weeks ago. Rajveer swiped the screen. "Hello?" "Raj! Drop the jackets! Put down the shoes! Stop looking at the graphic tees!" a voice exploded through the speaker. It was Shiv. Shiv was also twenty-one, but while Rajveer was the muscle and the courage of their duo, Shiv was the nervous system, the comic relief, and a guy who could find a way to panic inside a completely empty bouncy castle. "I'm literally looking at a leather jacket right now," Rajveer said, stepping out of the way of a grumpy shopper pushing a stroller. "How did you know?" "Because I have a psychic link to your bad fashion choices," Shiv yelled. He sounded out of breath, like he had just run a marathon or opened a very stubborn bag of potato chips. "Listen! My grandparents just called from Chennai, India. They want us to come over. Like, right now. For the summer. They bought us tickets. Well, they gave me the money to book them. Raj, we are going to India!" Rajveer blinked, a grin spreading across his face. "Are you serious? Chennai? Man, I haven't seen the beach there in years. When do we leave?" "Two hours! Come to my house right now. We need to jump on the computer and lock these seats down before the internet realizes I'm the one typing and crashes out of sheer spite." "I'm on my way," Rajveer said, tossing the jackets onto a nearby rack and sprinting out of the store. Two hours later, the boys were huddled around a glowing laptop screen in Rajveer’s living room. Shiv’s fingers were flying across the keyboard like a hyperactive crab. "Okay, okay, let’s see," Shiv muttered, sweat glistening on his forehead. "British Airways Flight 035. London Heathrow to Chennai International Airport. Oh, look at that. First class has an opening. Raj, should we do it?" "First class?" Rajveer leaned over his shoulder. "Can we afford that with your grandparents' budget?" "My grandfather strictly said, 'Make sure you boys travel comfortably so your legs don't fall off,'" Shiv argued, his eyes wide with excitement. "If our legs fall off, we can't visit them. Therefore, first class is a medical necessity." "Click it," Rajveer laughed, clapping him on the back. Click. The screen flashed green: BOOKING CONFIRMED. SEATS 2A AND 2B. WELCOME ABOARD BRITISH Airways. "We did it!" Shiv cheered, threw his arms in the air, and immediately tipped his rolling chair backward, crashing onto the carpet in a tangle of limbs. "I'm okay! The floor broke my fall!" "Get up, idiot," Rajveer smiled, shaking his head. "We have to pack. Throw everything into a suitcase and get some sleep. The flight leaves tomorrow, and it’s a long journey." They threw their clothes into heavy duffel bags, checked their passports four times, and finally collapsed into their beds. The night was quiet, the London rain tapping gently against the window panes, completely hiding the fact that this would be the last normal night sleep they would ever have.