Tara Patel believed in two things: fate and winning. Unfortunately, fate had the sense of humor of a chaotic auntie and kept sticking her with Kamal Mehra—her ex-best friend from school turned full-time nemesis.

And now? Now they were trapped together in the middle of nowhere, at an exclusive singles retreat, aka Lonely Hearts Boot Camp - a place where desperate people(like her) went to find their “forever person.”

“You?!” Tara screeched in the lounge, nearly choking on a sad welcome drink.

Kamal squinted. “Oh, hell no”. Vision’s failing. "This can’t be happening.”

It was.

A long silence stretched between them as they took in the ridiculousness of the situation. They were the last two single bridesmaids in their friend group. Every other woman in their circle had settled into marriage, posting “candid” honeymoon pictures and baby announcements that were suspiciously well-lit. Meanwhile, Tara and Kamal had spent the last few years engaging in a Cold War of romance, each trying to get married before the other.

Now, this.

Kamal crossed her arms. “Did you stalk me here?”

Tara flipped her hair. “I signed up first, babe.”

“Prove it.”

“Oh, let me just pull out my non-refundable invoice from my pocket—oh wait, I can’t, because some of us don’t have trust issues and didn’t think they’d need evidence of their OWN VACATION PLANS!”

“Whatever,” Kamal said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not leaving.”

“Great,” Tara said through gritted teeth. “Neither am I.”

Kamal crossed her arms tighter. “Oh, so we’re doing this? Round 347 of ‘Who Can Be More Stubborn?’”

Tara smirked. “Please. I’ve been winning since 2001.”

“Oh, you mean Sports Day, Circa 2001, when you begged me to swap places so you wouldn’t have to run the 400-meter relay?”

Tara shrugged. “I don’t recall. Must’ve been my evil twin.”

“You owe me for that, Patel. I limped for a week. My shoelaces were basically spaghetti.”

Tara grinned. “Hey, I cheered real hard from the sidelines.”

Kamal rolled her eyes. “Yeah, while eating samosas behind the bleachers.”

Tara chuckled. “Self-care starts young.”

Kamal leaned in. “And let’s not forget the time you ‘accidentally’ set off the fire alarm during our chemistry exam.”

“That was a scientific experiment,” Tara said, deadpan. “For testing the flammability of... your stress level.”

Kamal’s laugh burst out despite herself. “You’re the worst.”

“And you’re still here, babe.”

They stood there, staring each other down.

Tara softened. “We’re not twelve anymore, Kamal.”

Kamal smirked. “Nope. We’re worse—we’re desperate thirty-somethings fighting over retreat territory like it’s Battle Royale: Bridal Edition.”

Tara grinned. “May the odds be ever in your favor.”
Tara’s screamed internally: “I gave up a once-in-a-lifetime Manolo Blahnik sale, spa Saturday, the Euro Cup final, ran 5 kilometers every day for a week, AND sacrificed my emotional support ice cream for this place. Hell. No!”

“Bring it, Patel.”

And just like that, the retreat became The Hunger Games: Bridesmaid to Bride Edition.

~ SABOTAGE AND SHENANIGANS ~

From Day One, it became a no-holds-barred mission: sabotage the other’s retreat until someone cracked, packed up before sunrise, and left behind nothing but humiliation, an empty wallet, and the bitter taste of pride circling the drain.

During the Trust Fall exercise, Kamal “accidentally” let Tara fall straight into a pile of leaves.

“Oops,” Kamal said. “Guess I still have trust issues since you swapped my shampoo with glue in 9th grade.”

Tara retaliated by swapping Kamal’s yoga mat with one that reeked of blue cheese.

“Payback,” Tara chirped. “For the time you switched my presentation slides with photos of baby goats.”

Kamal “helped” Tara pick out an outfit for speed dating—a hideous floral maxi dress that made her look like an auntie going to a temple fundraiser.

“You look… approachable,” Kamal lied. “Like Mrs. Kapoor from the school canteen. She made the best aloo khichdi, remember?”

Tara made sure Kamal’s romantic dinner turned into a sad affair featuring a low-calorie detox meal. Gone was the three-course gourmet spread—replaced by a limp lettuce wrap, kale smoothie, and a side of regret. The burps between awkward conversations were just the cherry on top.

“I swear to god,” Kamal muttered, chewing on a sad lettuce leaf, “if you weren’t here, I’d be thriving.”

Tara smiled sweetly. “Fiber’s good for the soul. Like Ms. Latha, our biology teacher, told us—before you fainted during the dissection.”

And then.

Walked in Arjun Nair.

~ THE MAN, THE MYTH, THE CAUSE OF THIS WAR ~

Tara gagged on her mocktail. Kamal looked like she might leap out the window.

Standing at the entrance was the human embodiment of their fallout—the man responsible for years of passive-aggressive texts and awkward group brunches. The dorky boy from school, now upgraded to Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Emotional-Damage.

Kamal’s secret crush. The one she’d quietly stepped aside for, choosing friendship over feelings.

Tara’s not-so-secret crush. The one she’d chased anyway, choosing chaos over common sense.

Tara thought Kamal was over it. But she was so very, very wrong.

Arjun, oblivious as ever, smiled. “Kamal? Tara?”

Tara cleared her throat. “Oh, wow. You’re here?”

Kamal’s expression turned to stone. “Huh. Didn’t notice.”

Arjun grinned. “It’s great seeing you both! What are the chances?”

Tara grinned weakly. “Like winning a lottery with half a ticket.”

Kamal grabbed a breadstick, chomped down like it was Tara’s spine, and internally debated: stay and risk public humiliation or fake food poisoning and hitch a ride back to civilization on the next vegetable delivery truck? Of course, she stayed—because when has life ever been about making logical, adult decisions?

~ THE ARJUN PROBLEM ~

From that moment on, Arjun—bless his completely clueless heart—decided to pursue Kamal.

Kamal, who had spent years trying to emotionally bury him, wanted nothing to do with it.

She dodged him at every turn.

Changed tables at meals. Pretended to have a very serious phone call anytime he approached. Once, in sheer desperation, told him she had taken a vow of silence.

Meanwhile, Tara wrestled with an emotion she hadn’t felt in ages—since the time she accidentally pocket-dialed her inner therapist: guilt.

For the first time, she actually saw the full picture: Kamal had let Arjun go because of her. And Tara, like a selfish idiot, had still gone for him.

The realization settled uncomfortably in her stomach.

And that’s when she decided to do the most unthinkable thing ever.

Help Kamal.

~ THE MATCHMAKER FROM HELL ~

Tara went full Cupid-on-crack mode.

Signed Kamal and Arjun up for a mandatory “Deep Emotional Connection” workshop. (Kamal tried to escape through the fire exit.)

Spilled coffee on Kamal’s seat at breakfast—forcing her to sit next to Arjun.

Spread a fake rumor that Kamal loved men who played the ukulele. (Arjun suddenly borrowed one and butchered Channa Mereya in glory.)

Kamal winced. “This is worse than the school talent show when you sang ‘Cry Me a River’ and cracked the mic.”

Tara nodded. “Still got the range. And the trauma.”

~ SAD ORANGE JUICE AND HAPPY ICE CREAM ~

After the third suspiciously well-timed encounter, Kamal cornered Tara behind the retreat’s sad juice bar.

“What. Are. You. Doing?”

Tara sipped her drink. “Sipping on this sad drink and contemplating life?”

Kamal crossed her arms. “Like that time you drank all the mystery punch at the farewell party and started quoting Shakespeare?”

Tara smirked. “‘Parting is such sweet sorrow’... unless you’re stalking me, then it’s just awkward.”

Kamal sighed, foot tapping like she was rehearsing for a showdown. “Care to explain, Patel?”

Tara, lazily swirled her juice. “Explain what?”

Kamal narrowed her eyes. “Why are you shoving me into a Nicholas Sparks novel starring Captain off - key Ukulele?”

Tara shrugged. “Maybe because you actually like him?”

Kamal scowled. “I used to. Past tense. And I didn’t do anything about it”, she paused…. “unlike someone i used to know, because I cared.”

Tara hesitated. “Yeah. And I repaid that by stepping all over you.”

Kamal blinked. “Wait—are you... emotionally mature now?”. “And is that an apology?”

Tara made a face. “Debatable, but I guess yes?”

Kamal asked softly, “But… why? I thought we were best friends.”

Tara winced. “Yeah, long story short—my parents were getting divorced, Patel. While they were busy fighting over who got the car and who got the dog, they forgot to fight over who got stuck with me.”

She gave a wry smile. “So I decided to make some noise—picked dumb fights, made worse decisions...Went full drama queen, did every stupid thing in the ‘Cry For Attention’ handbook—like, say, blowing up my own best friendship, that Included stealing crushes just to feel like someone was paying attention.”

Kamal softened.“So you went all-in on the chaotic raccoon career path - full-time, benefits included?”

Tara grinned. “Still got the dark circles to prove it.”

After a moment of silence.

Tara sighed. “I could’ve taken the mature path, you know—talked it out, communicated like a functional human being… but nope. I picked door number two: emotional sabotage and questionable life choices.”

She shrugged. “And before you say anything—I’m over it now. The childhood trauma, the pity parties, the emotional dumpster fire—I’ve evolved. I’m a better person. Well… I think. No, I believe. So let’s not dig up that rabbit hole, alright? Spare me the TED Talk.”

Kamal opened her mouth. “But—”

Tara cut her off. “Look, just because you sat through me screaming at people in debate club doesn’t mean you get to yell at me now.”

Kamal gave her a long, dry stare. “You’re still the absolute worst.”

Tara grinned. “I know.”

Kamal smiled. “And… I missed you.”

Tara smirked. “I know.”

Kamal rolled her eyes, “Still annoying.”

Tra winked, “Still lovable.”

Eventually, after hours of talking and demolishing enough ice cream to put a rom-com heroine to shame, Kamal and Tara finally stopped running.

For once, Tara let Kamal win. No schemes. No secret scoring system. Just… letting go.

Because maybe—just maybe—not everything had to be about who crossed the finish line first. Sometimes, it was okay to just walk side by side.

Sometimes, you could just eat ice cream and be human.

“Remember how you’d always beat me at chess in the library?” Tara said, licking her spoon. “I only kept playing for the snacks.”

Kamal laughed. “Yeah, and I only played because I knew you’d bribe me with Uncle Sam's wafer biscuits.”

Tara nudged her spoon toward Kamal. “Mr. Arjun Nair still cute though, isn’t he?”

Kamal snorted. “Cuter.”

Tara grinned. “And he still has those hopeless puppy eyes for you.”

Kamal sighed. “I know.”

Tara leaned in. “So… you gonna adopt the puppy or leave him at the shelter?”

Kamal chuckled. “Still deciding.”

Tara smirked. “Careful, there are still takers for him.”

Kamal shot her a glare. “DON'T. YOU. DARE.”

Tara winked. “Relax, I’m reformed... mostly.”

Kamal raised an eyebrow. “Once bitten, twice shy, Patel.”

Tara grinned. “Fair enough. But admit it—you miss the chaos.”

Kamal chuckled. “I miss my sanity more.”

~ OLD FRIENDS, NEW RULES ~

And as they packed up to leave the retreat, Tara got a text from Kamal:

Dinner tomorrow at 8?? and Meera found a guy for you. No escaping this one

Tara groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Kamal smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll sabotage it for you.”

Tara grinned. “Now that’s true friendship.”

And for the first time in years, they actually laughed together.

Like real best friends.

And the war was finally over.
(Mostly.)