Page 57 of Red Flags and Rishtas
‘I’m so sorry,’ I managed.
‘Yeah, we all were. It was heartbreaking to watch him. He stopped hanging out with his friends – their friends – stopped going out, stopped being his chatty, charming self. He’d just work and sleep … in the apartment the two of them had shared,’ he said. He took a deep breath, then continued, ‘At first, we gave him his space. But when a whole year had passed, I couldn’t take it anymore. I convinced him to move in with me. That’s how we got our flat together.’
I thought back to the apartment I’d spent a night in after Saurav’s party. Karan’s room with the cartoon figurines, the living room with the suede blue sofa set, the washroom witha fresh supply of toilet paper and Aadar’s room that I’d never gotten to see.
‘I tried to set him up with some girls I knew, but he was genuinely not interested. Not in girls, not in friends, not in anyone.’
‘Until …?’ I offered, trying to match this mental image of Aadar with the one I’d come to form.
To me, he had never seemed like a man who was running away from love. He was probably the only guy I knew who was so eager for it that he wanted to get married and start a whole new life … with a stranger.
‘Until my parents brought up the topic of shaadi one day,’ he said, sighing. ‘I’m sure they hadn’t expected it, but he said yes. Instantly.’
‘But why?’ I asked, even though I had begun to form my own suspicions.
‘I guess he was tired of being lonely. This way, he could start a family, have a wife, a few kids … without ever risking his heart again.’
14
Touch and Go
Idon’t understand whywomen are insecure about small boobs. They’re really quite a blessing. Think about it: they never attract disapproving glances from aunties (cleavage, who?), they go well with every outfit and no one notices if you ditch your bra. I, for one, considered myself lucky. Take today, for example. Instead of buying a suitable, overly expensive bra for the deep, embroidered blouse I was wearing with my pastel pink lehenga, I had simply decided to let my breasts be. It was economical, liberating and fantastically convenient.
The preparations for Harsh and Deepti’s sangeet were in full swing, which meant I had spent yet another night not sleeping and yet another day not eating. I was amazed at my ability to get all dolled up, walk around in heels and pretend like I had everything together. I was operating on the fear of missing out on a promotion and, well, gallons of extra strong coffee. Pooja was on the ground with me today, which was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, I was grateful for her discerning eye. On the other, I was terrified of her because of it. With her present, there was no room for any kind of bullshitting. She’d noticed right away that the flower bouquets on every table were thinner than they were supposed to be. I had underestimated the requirement for daisies and had to ask the florist to break the arrangements into thinner bunches to cover all the tables. I half-expected my boss to call me out on my lack of judgment, but she simply nodded and moved on.
Throughout the day, she accompanied me to every major and minor meeting. She watched silently as I approved the content shot by the social media team, without offering her own opinion. She let me handle the fit that the groom threw when he found out that he would only have one costume change for the cover shoot and not, as he’d previously expected, a dozen.
‘You’re saying I’ll wear the same clothes in all the photos?’ he had said, placing a hand on his hip.
‘No, you’ll sport two wedding outfits. One will be grand and luxurious, and the other, a bit understated,’ I had explained.
His penthouse suite had been empty, save for the three of us. He was wearing a white kurta and Nike shorts, and looked extra comical as he paced the ridiculously large living room.
‘Seriously, dude. That’s not a cover shoot. That’s not even a regular photo shoot,’ he said.
I was conscious of Pooja’s eyes on me. If I’d turned to face her, I knew I would’ve seen a bold ‘I told you so’ plastered on her forehead. I’d let this man think he ran the show, and now he was taking me for a ride. He didn’t know how much pleading and convincing I’d had to do to get him this digital cover at all.
‘Look, Harsh,’ I said after a minute. ‘We’ve thrown in this cover as a gesture of goodwill. If you don’t want it, I can scrap it altogether.’
He stopped pacing and turned to look at me. I could tell he wanted to cuss at me. Perhaps even fling the coffee mug he was holding for effect. Behind the glamour, fame and wealth, Harsh Khanna, I had come to know, was nothing but a man-child. He was accustomed to getting his way, and on the rare occasion that he didn’t, a spirited tantrum always did the trick. So far, I’d let him win. But not today – not with my boss watching.
‘We need to get going,’ I said when he just continued to gawk at me. ‘You let me know what you want to do about the cover by tonight.’
‘Fine,’ he said, as we approached the door. ‘Two outfits are fine.’
I did a mental victory dance as we left his suite. When I turned to Pooja to share the moment, her face was blank. She was looking straight ahead, unbothered. My heart fell a little, and I wondered if I’d done something wrong. But as the day flew by, I began to understand the reason for her silent observation. I was being evaluated.
The sangeet was scheduled to start at 7:00 p.m. It was 6:40 p.m. when I finally managed to escape to my room to get dressed. A half-hour later, I entered the lawns where the function was set to take place, lifting the skirt of my lehenga so it wouldn’t sweep the floor. My phone buzzed in my hand.
I’d decided to invite Madhav to tonight’s function. Between the lead-up to Best Man and the boutique redecoration, I’d had zero time to meet him. We spoke on the phone every day, but we hadn’t been on an actual date since I’d first met him.I’ve never been with a girl busier than me, he had half-joked, half-complained last night.It’s a short-term thing, I’d promised him. I didn’t know that, of course. I had no idea what lay ahead of me at work after this event. I could get promoted, handle my own team for branded events and never have a second to breathe again … or I could get fired and have nothing better to do than sit at home and complain about howhedidn’t have time forme.Which outcome I preferred more, I didn’t know.
I was looking down and typing out a response when I walked straight into someone.
Aadar’s drink flew out of his hand, soaking my chest with what smelled like a single malt. The whisky glass fell on the ground, shattering into pieces. My phone dropped next to it.
‘Fucking hell,’ I exclaimed as I bent down to pick up my phone. Droplets of whisky were covering its screen, and I cursed some more as I wiped it on my skirt.
‘Shit, sorry,’ Aadar said, helping me straighten up.
