He nods.
‘Breakfast?’
‘I don’t eat breakfast.’
His Royal Highness probably only surfaces at noon.
I want to put this out there: I didn’t ask for an early AM meeting to inconvenience VRS, though that would’ve been a sweet touch. The only reason I told Appa that I’m at work at 8a.m. is because I wanted to get this over with at the earliest so that I could get on with my day.
Appa, whose day begins at 4.30 a.m., didn’t think the hour unreasonable. He is several filter coffees down by then.
I turn to my right and face the only window in the room. The blinds are down. They are always down; that’s how I like it.
My eyes shift to the flowers. Who is this anonymous sender?
Was Lavanya serious about Vedveer and me kissing last evening?
Is Lavanya pranking me?
Butterflies are flying free in my stomach.
‘Do you write code? For a lark?’ I ask Vedveer. There’s a plan the both of us need to hammer out. I haven’t forgotten.
Vedveer stops smiling, and his forehead scrunches into folds.
‘I studied environmental science and engineering,’ he says. Then, almost as an afterthought, ‘Atmospheric chemistry.’
What the hell.
I bury my face in my hands and let out a laugh, loud and slightly hysterical.
Environmental science?
That word didn’t even register when my parents first mentioned VRS two weeks ago. I must have tuned it out.
Vedveer’s eyes wander to the flowers.
Prem, the server, enters the room. He is carrying hot cups of coffee and a bakery basket – muffins, pain au chocolat and our signature confectionery, mango Danish.
Vedveer pushes back his sleeves, exposing toned forearms. I give in to the image of them wound tightly around me for a nanosecond. Is that what happened last evening?
He takes a sip of his coffee, ignoring the deliciously laid-out basket.
‘Good?’ I ask stiffly, knowing immediately I should specify what exactly I meant by good. ‘Hot enough?’
He nods. ‘Hot, yeah. Very hot.’
‘Too hot?’
Vedveer is smiling. ‘Right hot.’
I laugh.
Maybe he, too, likes his coffee hot like folks down south do. Generally speaking.
Vedveer’s posture is all lines, starch stiff and straight.
I draw up my bare feet and fold them next to me before picking up my cup and taking a sip. My brain is crying for caffeine.
