“I’ll have a beer,” Daksh told the waiter. Then he looked at the woman sitting across from him. A little scared of her answer, he asked, “Do you eat?”
She rolled her eyes at him likehewas being ridiculous. “Of course I do.” She smiled sweetly up at the server. “Could you get me a simple salad? And drizzle the dressing, please.”
Leaves. She ate leaves.
“And what would you like Sir?” The server glanced over at Daksh, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Daksh cleared his throat, even as his stomach growled at the mention of food. He wasn’t sure but he thought Vedika rolled her eyes again as she stared out towards the ocean waves crashing on to the beach a little distance away.
“A portion of butter garlic calamari, recheado prawns, and some choris pao, please.”
She stared at him, forgetting to pretend interest in the ocean. “You’re going to eat all that?”
“For starters,” he retorted, leaning back in his chair. Just because she wanted to nibble on weeds, didn’t mean everyone had to.
“Do you realise you’re asking for a heart attack?”
Irritation sparked at the judgement in her voice. “Do you realise that you’re on the brink of malnutrition?”
“Eating healthy is the literal definition of good nutrition,” she snapped, her cheeks going a fiery red.
The server returned with their order, setting the dishes on the table. He popped the cap of Daksh’s beer bottle and placed it in front of him. Daksh took a swig, allowing the bitter, chilled liquid to halt any chance of further conversation. Across from him, Vedika took a delicate sip of her water.
Awkward silence descended over them, broken only by the soft crash of the waves against the sand. He didn’t mind one bit. He preferred the quiet to the sound of her judgy, annoying voice. Daksh settled into his chair and looked out into the night, tuning her out and allowing the wash of nature to soothe his soul like it always did.
“So, you’re a photographer?”
Daksh squeezed his eyes shut, his head falling back on the chair. Dammit. She was ruining nature for him.
“Daksh?” she prodded when he didn’t immediately reply.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“What kind of photography?”
Daksh frowned, rolling his head to the side and opening one eye to look at her. “Ashish didn’t tell you?”
“If he did, I’ve forgotten,” she said primly.
How flattering, Daksh thought irritably. He shut his eye again and tried to tune her out. He swallowed another mouthful of beer.
“Do you not know how conversation works?” she asked, her voice like razor blades over his skin. “If someone asks you a question, you’re meant to answer.”
A shy, sweet girl, his brother had said when he’d described the girl he was going to marry. This witch was certainly not it.
“Fashion?” she persisted. “Do you photograph models and clothes and stuff for magazines?”
She wasn’t going to shut up, was she?
“Wildlife,” he replied, curtly.
“Oh.”
A couple at the table behind them got up and started to dance to the music streaming through the air. Daksh watched them laugh and twirl, the flush of their love practically forming a heart in the air around them.
“So, animals,” she murmured.
He glanced over at her. “That’s usually what wildlife means.”
