‘He wasn’t just a good businessman, you know? He was a wonderful grandfather, too,’ Jai said. ‘He’d take me on walks to Marine Drive on Sundays, and we’d eat kulfi. He taught me how to play chess and fly kites. He …’ His voice grew thick. ‘He was the best.’
My heart clenched. ‘He’d be proud of you.’
Emotion rose in his eyes, gone as quickly as it came.
He had obviously been very close to his grandfather. What about his parents? I couldn’timagine a woman like Rekha raising a man like Jai. What was his childhood like? What was his time in Oxford like?
My thoughts brought me to a realisation. I knew nothing about the man.
Sure, I knew how he liked his chai, what made him laugh and how his brain worked under pressure. But him personally? Nothing.
What were his hobbies? Was he religious? Did he like cricket? What were his fears?
Even Rishi and the other friends I’d made had little insight to offer despite having worked at HoA for years. Isha and Jasmine had scoured the internet for details, but Jai Advani remained an enigma.
I didn’t know why I was so interested. But I wanted to know everything about him.
About an hour before we needed to leave for the meeting, I retreated to my bedroom and got ready.
I kept my make-up light – only mascara, kajal and lip oil. I wore my lucky sea green sari and paired it with small gold hoop earrings and Maa’s watch.
Maa.
Seema’s wedding was this weekend, and my family and I had been excited to see each other after more than ten months. But I had to cancel because of this meeting. I’d called Maa to tell her, but she didn’t pick up; no doubt busy with all the wedding preparations.
I grabbed my phone and looked at her chat. I’d texted her, but she hadn’t read it or replied yet.
My eyes fell on the clock.Damn it, I’m late.
I walked out into the living room and paused.
Jai stood there, waiting for me in a crisp white linen shirt and beige chinos, exuding a fresh scent and assured confidence.
His gaze warmed my skin as it coasted down my body before meeting my eyes. A smile curved his lips. ‘You look beautiful.’
My heart skipped a beat. I swallowed. ‘Thank you. And you look …’Hot. ‘Good.’
‘Let’s go.’
The Mahalas lived a ten-minute drive away in a simple two-storey home with faded walls and silk threads drying on the veranda.
‘They’re perfect for us,’ I murmured as a man in his fifties walked out of the door, wearing a simple pair of a yellow shirt and pants, and a smile on his face.
‘Let’s hope they say yes,’ Jai replied, then smiled broadly in return and joined his hands. ‘Sharanji, namaste.’
‘Namaste Jai sahab, Ananyaji.’ He joined his hands. ‘Please come in.’
The interiors were modest, with sun-faded light-blue walls, the earthy smell of dye, and shelves stacked with shimmering silk.
We took a seat on a sofa.
On the divan in front of us, an old lady sat with her legs folded. She used a curved knife to peel betel nuts, her hands moving with practised precision.
‘Dadiji, namaste,’ Jai greeted, and I echoed him with a smile.
She remained silent and popped a nut into her mouth, letting the following loud crunch answer for her – she didn’t want this deal.
Jai didn’t let it deter him as he refocused on Sharanji and made small talk. My attention was on the coffee table in the middle. On it lay a kauseya weave sari in the most gorgeous shade of yellow. It was definitely one of the most beautiful fabrics I’d seen.
