Chapter 5

Aryan had finished his work and he was just about to close his laptop, then he realized Imlie still hadn’t sent him her reports. He had given her until noon tomorrow, the press didn’t need the final piece until 2PM, but he might as well check on her progress.

If I go to her now she’ll just give me some long ridiculous lecture on patience. No, I need to ask her something concrete before I ask her about the piece on the brothel and the working girls there.

He had an idea, he opened the email from the photography and videography team he’d sent to the police station right after the girls had left with the police. This would be perfect, he should ask her input on the photo for the story. She’d probably even have input on the b-roll and interviews the video team did for the TV story.

He pulled up the photos and stood up to walk to her room. As he reached outside her door, he heard her completely tone-deaf singing. This time she wasn’t singing a song of her own creation, it seemed like she was singing (and perhaps dancing) to some nonsense song from some nonsense Bollywood movie.

Imlie decided a half-hour soak was long enough. Sure she hadn’t finished listening to even one lecture, but it was getting late and she needed to finish at least a draft of her article if she wanted it to be perfect before she gave it to Aryan at noon tomorrow. In fact, she’d give it to him at 11AM, just to hear his lecture on taking one’s time to do their work correctly. Then she’d make him read the piece in front of her, and watch his face change from annoyance to grudging respect. He of course wouldn’t compliment her, but he’d be unable to find anything wrong with the piece either.

To psych herself up as she changed and dried her hair, she put on some music. With everything that happened today, over the past couple weeks, she needed to take Amma’s advice seriously, she needed to take care of herself first. Music was the best quick-fix right now. As she looked for the right dupatta for her salwar, she started tapping her foot to the music. She increased the volume on the phone to as loud as it could go. Another benefit to this house was that even if the music was the loudest it could go, Narmada Kaki and Arpita Didi’s rooms were so far away, they’d only be able to hear it if they actually walked by her room. Akkadu Aryan was probably waist deep in some boring report right now, or asleep, he wouldn’t hear anything either. She started to sing, her tapping foot turning into completely ridiculous and physically exhausting dance moves. Imlie leapt onto the bed, her hair whipping around her face. She’d braid it in a bit, there was something freeing about being able to dance with one’s hair down, when no one could see her jumping up and down on a bed like a little kid. These moments, when she was completely lost in the music, there were no thoughts of Aditya, Malini, or even the Tripathis. Her mind was blank and only joy made its way through. She didn’t hear Aryan knock. In fact, she didn’t hear him knock three times.

“Jungli kahin ki,” Aryan muttered under his breath, “why the hell is she playing music this loudly right now?” He looked at his watch, it was only 10:30, but it’s not like Imlie had a carefree day today, she should have been asleep, or at least working.

“Imlie! Stop this infernal music—” Aryan abruptly opened the door and the sight before him shocked him into silence.

There was Imlie, still oblivious to his entering the room or his voice, dancing like a mad girl on the bed. She was in a bathrobe, and it looked like nothing else. There were clothes set out on the bed as he could see, they just weren’t on her.

I need to turn around, Aryan thought, I should have knocked louder. I shouldn’t have even come in here. What the hell is she doing?

Aryan tried, probably not as hard as he should have, to turn around, to just leave the room, but he was transfixed. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. How can she be this happy right now? Is she actually happy? If she keeps jumping around in that wet hair she’s gonna get sick isn’t she?

Aryan was jolted out of his thoughts by a yell and a thud.

“Imlie!” He put the laptop on the nearest table and ran to her. She’d fallen off the bed. “Are you an idiot? Why the hell are you jumping on the bed at 10:30 at night? In fact, why jump on the bed—“

Imlie interrupted him, and quickly backed away from him as he tried to help her up, “I think the better question is, what the hell are you doing in my room right now? Especially considering I clearly am not in a position to entertain. I mean, do you even have manners? Tum pagal ho kya, kisi ladki ke kamre mein kyon aaoge! khaasakar iss samay?!” (Are you crazy or what, why would you enter a girl’s room? Especially at this time?!)

Aryan stiffened, and made sure to keep his eyes specifically on Imlie’s face, “Relax, I just came to ask about your report and to go over photo options for the story and you weren’t—”

Imlie interrupted him yet again, “Not everyone is crazy like you. Not everyone needs to or can be working all day every day. Even the smartest people in the world deserve a break, so don’t I? Why didn’t you knock—”

By now Aryan had had enough, if she kept yelling like this, she’d wake up Didi and Maa. He strode close to her and clasped a hand over her mouth, “Shut. Up. Just shut up, Imlie.”

She shook her head and tried to take his hand off her mouth, clearly not planning to shut up any time soon.

Aryan didn’t let go, “Imlie, Pehii baat, I won’t move my hand until you agree to stop yelling. Maa and Didi are probably asleep. Doosri baat, for your kind information, I am not some of those cheap men who get a thrill from looking at women without their knowing. Now are you going to shut up?”

Imlie nodded as much as she could with Aryan’s hands on her mouth and the other gripping her arm.

Aryan slowly dropped his hand from Imlie’s mouth, his eyes not dropping from hers. His other hand didn’t move from her arm. Standing this close to her was intoxicating, an intoxication that Aryan was both equal parts obsessed with and afraid of.

Imlie dropped her gaze, “Aur teesri baat? Woh udhar rahee?” (And the third point, is that a debt?) Her face split into a smile and she looked back up at Aryan again. Though she was only wearing a bathrobe, her hair was wet, and today was probably one of the worst days of her life, the discomfort she had felt when she saw Aryan completely disappeared.

Aryan fought the intoxication of her eyes and her scent, as well as her smile, “Tujhe bata hai, toh kyun puch nahi ho?” (You know this, so why are you asking?) He fought his smile, though it was getting harder and harder to not smile when Imlie smiled.

Imlie, still smiling, looked down at Aryan’s hand gripping her arm still, “I’ve stopped yelling, I think now you can let go of my arm, right?”

Aryan let go of her arm as if it had burned him, “Yea, right. And if I catch you jumping on this bed again and it breaks, I’ll take the repair costs directly from your salary.”

He stepped back from her and turned to get his laptop from the table at the edge of the room, “Now either help me choose the photos for the article tomorrow, or work on your report.”

Imlie nodded and said, “Yes, let me just change and, ow—”

Aryan turned around, “Imlie! What the hell? Tumhe chhot lagi? Kahaan?”

He walked back to her and sat her down on the bed again, making an effort not to get lost in the scent of her hair again. It smelled like coconuts and some sort of flower, he couldn’t figure out which one.

“Hum theek hain. I just think I rolled my ankle when I fell from the bed. It’s all your fault, you know. Why come into my room and scare me? Also why the hell do you have such hard floors? Maybe you should be lowering the beds in your house so they’re not so high off the ground? I bet Kaki and Didi also have trouble getting off their beds sometime. Heck, I bet even you—“ Imlie was rambling because for the second time in just a few minutes Aryan was so close to her she could smell his cologne again. How the hell did it smell so good? His hands were also too soft for her liking, this was a man who sure worked hard, but he never had to work with his hands. Nothing could damage those hands worth millions of crores, of course.

“Shut up, and extend your ankle,“ Aryan interrupted her, “Tumhe har din apne shareer ke kam se kam ek hisse ko chot pahunchaana padata hai, hai na? Jungli kahin ki.” (You have to hurt at least one part of your body every day, right? Wild girl.)

“Haan!” Imlie didn’t know why she was getting angry again, or why she didn’t pull her foot away from Aryan’s hands, “Hum jungli hain. Main jangal ke raanee hoon, jangal ke sher se zyaada katra. Agar koee mujhe paar karta hai to usse zaroor pachhataava hota hai. Aur chot lagne par bhee jangal ke ranee aasaanee se theek ho jaata hain. Samjhe? Also, I’m perfectly fine, it’s just a little scratch and twist, If I had some dirt right now—“ (Yes! I am a jungli. I am the queen of the jungle, more dangerous than the king. If anyone crosses me they definitely regret it. And even if the queen gets hurt, she recovers easily.)

Aryan didn’t let go of her ankle, slowly rotating it, ignoring her winces and nonsense, “Dirt? Tum pagal ho kya?” He opened the bedside drawer and pulled out the first-aid kit. From inside he took out antiseptic cream and a bandaid. “Hold on one second, this will sting.”

Imlie closed her eyes tight and winced harder.

Aryan looked up at her, “I didn’t spray it yet.”

Imlie opened one eye, “Spread it quickly and get it over with. I never understand the need for you city-folk to obsess over creams and bandaids, when dirt does the trick. But, for you, I’ll do this if you need.”

Aryan looked up at her again, meeting her eyes, and staring at her wry smile, “You’re not getting treated for me, but for yourself. Also this is called modern medicine. Consider it required for people in the city, because I bet it isn’t as pure and clean as your village.”

This time he couldn’t stop himself from chuckling, especially because he heard Imlie’s assent of agreement, “You’re exactly right, there is no where as clean and special as Pagdandia. Even the dirt from there is sacred to me. Sometimes you say very smart things. If you didn’t spread your special antiseptic, just get it over with, why are you laughing?“

Aryan’s smile fell, “I’m not smiling. And the cream is on, as well as the bandaid. Now I just need to rotate your ankle—“

Imlie pulled her foot back sharply, “Nahin!” Her face was full of a teasing concern, “If you rotate my ankle you’ll do it so roughly you might rip my foot clean off!”

“Bakwas band karo, aur tuhara pair do.” (Stop your nonsense, and give me your foot).

Imlie reluctantly moved her foot back to his hands, Aryan split the difference and pulled it the other half of the way, gently.

“I’ll do it on the count of three, be ready.” Aryan said, holding back a grin so Imlie wouldn’t be able to tell what he was going to do.

“On three?” Imlie asked, worried, and wincing again.

“On three.” Aryan confirmed.

Imlie nodded.

“One. Two—” Aryan started and quickly rotated the ankle and heard a slight crack.

Imlie was about to let out a yell, but Aryan quickly put a hand to her mouth again, “Tum sach main jungli hi ho. It’s almost 11:00PM, everyone is asleep. Stop making so much noise and overreacting.” (You really are a wild girl). He dropped his hand.

Imlie gingerly bent down and took her foot in her hand, “You did it, but why lie and tell me three if you were going to crack it at two? I thought the great Aryan Singh Rathore hated lying.”

Aryan caught another whiff of her hair as Imlie bent down, and he almost fell over trying to back away. He steadied himself, “That wasn’t a lie, that was just a strategy. You know as a journalist every truth has to come out, but as a businessman, I look for the most opportune moment to let a truth come out.”

Imlie looked at him, “You never stop thinking about profit and loss, do you?”

Aryan returned the gaze, stood up, and answered, “No.”

Imlie stood up slowly, and pulled the bathrobe tighter, she’d completely forgotten what state she was in, “Let me go change and I’ll come back and help you choose the photos. Give me two minutes.”

Aryan nodded and watched her grab the salwar kameez from the bed and scamper back into the bathroom. He heard the clinking of her bangles, he saw the way her hair seemed to glow and dance in the dim room’s light, but his gaze was mainly focused on her newly bandaged ankle. That girl is a walking train wreck. If she doesn’t get hurt by other people, she hurts herself. The scent of coconuts and that unnamed flower still lingered in the room, as Aryan sat on the bed, for some reason his eyes didn’t waver from the closed bathroom door.

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