Page 50 of Red Flags and Rishtas
‘I’m sure not. They’re always an hour late.’
‘And you couldn’t have told me that? I had to leave an hour in advance to beat the traffic,’ he said, his hands on his hips.
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘it slipped my mind.’
It genuinely had. The long days at work and late nights at the boutique had exhausted both my body and mind. I had done zero preparation for this meeting, but I knew it wasn’t an important one. I was merely there as a mediator – the inputs had to come from Aadar and the happy couple.
‘So what do we do now?’ he asked, checking the time on his phone’s home screen.
It was 12:45 p.m.
‘We get coffee,’ I said, pushing my chair back to stand up.
Instead of taking him to the pantry, I led him downstairs. We had time forpropercoffee, not the astringent liquid we got from the coffee machines at work. I was heading towards the coffee shop across the road when I noticed Aadar wasn’t following me. I waited for him to join me, but instead, he began walking to his left.
‘Are you coming?’ I called out.
He didn’t say anything, just waved at me to come over.
‘What now?’ I mumbled under my breath before turning around to walk towards him.
He was now standing in front of a roadside tea stall that I knew had been on this street for years, and yet I had never fully acknowledged it, let alone tried to drink from it. In fact, I’d never seen anyone from my office enjoying a cup of tea at this tapri. A few people from the editorial team bought cigarettes from this guy, but even they’d go back up to the office balcony to smoke.
‘Chai?’ Aadar asked.
‘Um, you can get tea there,’ I said, pointing to our initial choice of coffee shop.
‘I’m sure, but it won’t be as good,’ he said, then asked me again, ‘so, chai for you?’
My eyes darted along the street, scanning for familiar faces.
‘What, are you afraid someone will see you standing here?’
‘Of course not.’
I totally was.
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure the fancy folks at TMJ won’t demote you for enjoying an innocent cup of chai at the local tea stall,’ he said, sounding amused.
I wouldn’t put my money on it,I thought.
Tentatively, I extended my hand to take the glass cup he was holding out for me.
‘Cheers,’ he said, clinking his cup against mine.
The impact made some of the tea spill out, and I winced as the hot liquid went down my fingers.
‘Oh, sorry,’ he said.
‘Can you ask him for a tissue?’ I asked, holding the dripping cup away from my clothes.
He chuckled. ‘It’s not a Starbucks, madam.’
I turned to look at him, slightly annoyed. ‘A piece of newspaper? A leaf? Anything to prevent me from wiping my hands on your crisp white shirt?’
He took a step back, mouthing, ‘Whoa.’
Then, he retrieved a handkerchief from his left pocket and offered it to me.
