I can feel the breath rush out of me like I’ve been punched.
Did Vedveer ask me to pose for this?
Did I just… instinctively link my hand with his?
Who took this?
Did Vedveer have this photograph posted?
Did he mean for it to look like this?
A handle called @cholethings posted the picture; the profile pic is a plate ofchole.
I’m opening and closing my palm between patting my chest, trying to calm myself down. Okay, I pose for a picture with Vedveer. That doesn’t mean anything. Most definitely doesn’t mean we smooched!
So, what exactly happened? The social media timeline?
The Rathores announced their arrival in Bengaluru in that gossip ragTittleTattle. Fortunately, they left me out of that little skit I saw that last evening before Lavanya and I headed out.
Question:Why were the popinjays (read Royals) in Bengaluru?
Answer:Dialling tech support.
I’m gagging as I trollTittleTattlein my head. Absolute scandal sheet, that! Royals this and royals that! People have names for a reason; use them.
My head is a chaotic mess. Why can’t I remember what happened last evening? I know we ran into Vedveer, we chatted some, maybe… What time was I home? I wasn’t late. I had a full night’s sleep!
When I walk through the café to my office a little after 8 a.m., I notice some of the staff is particularly chatty. Smiles everywhere. They may have seen the photograph, and now they will see Vedveer when he walks in.
F@#k! F@#k! F@#k!
A gentle knock cuts through my panic-heightened state.
Vedveer is at the door; he is wearing a broad smile. I try to return it, but I can’t go beyond a twitch. Why is he smiling? He hadn’t smiled a whole lot yesterday when he visited with his parents. He nodded for some before massacring my name.
Vedveer pauses, assimilating the space before him. My gaze shifts to his gait as he moves; it is a slow, almost lazy step.
The collar of the button-up shirt is open. Navy flannel on grey denims and suede shoes. In the photograph, he’s wearing a black shirt on blue jeans, but that could just be a colour tint. Navy/black, grey/blue. Who carries that many clothes for an overnight trip? I assume he leaves today.
I type on an already open email on my desktop; it is addressed to me. I complete the unfinished sentence and press send. I needed time to compose my appearance.
Rahman’s‘Chhoti si Asha’is buzzing in my ears. I tug at the AirPods and place them in their case, which I return to the drawer.
I summon that professional smile I save for customers reaching out to tell me how good my coffee is.
‘Come in,’ I say, fortunately more to myself. Vedveer is well inside the room.
His mood is a little too sunny for my liking. What happened to the man who acted swiftly in stopping his over-enthusiastic father from making a wedding announcement yesterday? He’s supposed to be my ally, not friend! My teeth sink into my lips.
I watch as his hands reach for the only other seat in the house. Vedveer pulls the winged chair back and walks around it. He stops before my desk and puts out his hand. ‘I hope you’re well rested,’ he enquires.
I nod wanly, giving him my hand.
He settles into the chair, and I push back on my Ikea wheels.
‘Tha… thank you for making time,’ I say.
Vedveer nods. He’s looking around my office, taking in the nuances, maybe.
