‘You have an interesting name for your café. What’s the story behind it?’ he asks.
The question surprises me, coming from him, at this juncture of getting to know each other, but if there’s one thing that calms me down, it is talking about my caffeinated chain.
I exhale.
‘I think of books and bras as support staff,’ I say. I laugh sometimes when I put it that way, but not today. It’s a conscious decision.
My eyes are on Vedveer. I can see he’s listening.
‘I’m not alone in feeling this way. The second B, the bra, isn’t spoken about or referred to freely. I want to put it out there in a public space, on a nameboard. Bra. I want girls and women in every section of society to say the word boldly, without being forced to blush.’
They can choose to blush, but that’s a different thing entirely.
Vedveer nods. I feel the weight of his gaze on my cheeks.
‘It helps that my sister has the talent to hold that part of my brand up.’
‘She’s a designer?’ His brow doesn’t shoot up. Just a slight shift of muscle on his forehead, suggesting he’s curious.
‘Alia sourced pieces for us initially; now she’s assembling them.’
Vedveer is quiet for a while. He seems comfortable in the silence, but I feel it.
‘You are staying here?’ I ask.
Vedveer is taken aback. I asked him the same question last evening. I can read it on his face.
He nods. ‘Pruh-thaapji,’ he breathes out, ‘recommended it.’
I want to plead with him never to use Appa’s name around me unless he learns how to pronounce it. It’s a simple name, notsome polysyllabic crime story.
Ra-Tho-Ray is ringing in my ears.
I pick up the intercom. ‘Coffee?’ I ask.
There’s a knock on the door, and it opens immediately. Rachael, one of our older staff, is all smiles, carrying an elaborate floral arrangement – white lilies and red roses.
I’m trying to make sense of what is happening, when Vedveer turns to face Rachael, who looks dotingly at the prince.
Is Vedveer sending me red roses?
‘This has just been delivered for you, ma’am,’ Rachael says. Her eyes are on Vedveer, who now looks at the book rack before him.
‘Who sent it?’ I ask. I’m not shrieking, thankfully!
‘The sender is anonymous, ma’am,’ Rachael says, placing the vase on the long side table.
Rachael exits my office, shutting the door behind her, but I’m still agape mentally, trying desperately not to show it.
It has got to be Vedveer. Who else would send me red roses this morning?
Vedveer’s eyes are still on my book rack. I hope he’s not encouraged by Indra Nooyi’sMy Life in Full: Work, Family, and Our Future.
I pick up the intercom again and cough to get his attention. ‘Coffee?’
‘Of course! Coffee!’ he says, smiling brightly.
‘Cappuccino?’
