When Daksh first told me about Rabbani tearing the passport, I had been worried about what he would do. Would he bow down to his sister’s wishes? Now, as he clasps my hand, I know he’s here to stay.
‘Should I not go?’
‘Because of a tantrum? I don’t negotiate with terrorists.’
‘Were we like this too when we were teenagers?’ I ask and then after a pause, I add, ‘We weren’t.’
‘You wanted to win the world, I think I was still closer to what Rabbani is.’
‘Daksh, you were never a teenager. You have always been a charming early-twenties guy. You’re that even now.’
‘By the way, it’s the youngest I have felt in the longest time.’
I look at him and my eyes rest on the creases of his forehead, the slight tiredness in his eyes, which I’m sure he will find in mine too. ‘We are getting old, Daksh.’
He shrugs. ‘There are no merits to being young . . . all the pressure to be cool and stuff . . . no thanks . . .’
‘We are next.’
We make our way to the government official’s desk and take our seats. I slide the documents across the desk to him. He starts to check if everything is in order.
‘I have a right to be selfish,’ he mumbles.
‘We all do,’ I tell him. ‘As someone who broke up with the nicest boy in the entire world to chase selfish pursuits, I know you’re right.’
‘She will get over it,’ says Daksh as much to himself as to me. ‘She just misses Amruta.’
‘I don’t think she will ever like me.’
‘She doesn’t know you yet. And you did mention a bunch of times that you hate kids. She remembers that.’
‘Does she not remember that I gave up my yogurt for her back in the Andamans?’
Daksh chuckles. It’s my favourite sound in the world. ‘I will remind her of that.’
The government employee taps the table and slips the receipt in front of us. It will take three business days.
‘Wait at the gate,’ he tells me. ‘I will get the car.’
‘I’m coming with you,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not leaving you for a single minute.’
‘Clingy.’
‘I identify as a leech now.’
‘I’m a willing host.’
‘We are so cringe,’ I say.
‘Cringe is the highest form of self-acceptance,’ he says and puts his arm around me.
We take the lift to the Basement 1 parking. Today’s a weekday and the parking lot is deserted. There aren’t many people in the world who are jobless and want to apply for passports in Tatkal during office hours. Daksh’s car is parked in the far corner of the basement, which is dimly lit by grey, flickering tube lights. Someone needs to study the direct correlation between dark space and new relationships and what it does to your heartbeat. As we walk towards the car, Daksh’s hand slides around my waist. I’m glad he feels it too. I feel every muscle in my body tense up as his hand rests against my hips. His warmth soaks into my body. I want to be closer to him. As our bodies brush against each other, a jolt of electricity runs through me. It is almost painful how much my body wants his. When he releases me to get into the car, I feel an anxiety I have never felt before. He turns on the ignition. I turn it off. When he looks at me, his eyes travel down my body and then back up to meet my gaze. He knows that I want him. His knowing makes me want him even more. His eyes burn brighter with desire. I enjoy seeing how I can flip a switch in him.
‘Aanchal,’ he says, instinctively reaching out for my face and holding it.
He pulls me close, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, firm and warm. With one fluid motion, he pulls the lever of his car seat. The seat reclines. He cups my face and breathes hot air on to my skin. His rough hands against my face feel reassuring, hot.I let my lips linger on his. He drops his head into the soft space between my neck and shoulder. He’s holding back. His chest heaves from the effort. I smile to myself. I want him as much as he wants me, probably more, definitely more.
‘Someone might come,’ he whispers into my neck. He can barely contain himself from touching me. He’s panting now. Seeing what I can do to him makes me feel powerful.
