Chapter 45

—Monday, February 7, 2022, 10:30PM—

Imlie yawned and reached for the pitcher of water on her desk, and only after a few seconds of not hearing any water pour into the glass, did she notice it was empty. She sighed, telling herself, ‘Just one more hour of studying, and then sleep. Only one more hour.’

As she crept through the upstairs corridors towards the stairs to reach the kitchen, she noticed a faint light drifting into the corridor from a room at the far end of the house. She’d never been in that room before, in fact, there were a lot of rooms she’d never seen in this house, but she’d never really felt it was her place to explore. Then Imlie heard something crash and break, like glass, from the room. She threw caution to the wind and ran to see what had happened, perhaps someone had slipped on something and needed help.

After pushing the ajar door open all the way, she saw Aryan sitting on the floor, his back leaning against a large wooden desk, and a bottle of what she assumed was liquor in his hand. Aryan looked up at her, and even in the dim light, she could see his eyes were red; he had been crying—or actually, he still was.

“Get out, Imlie.” Aryan muttered. He was in no mood to talk to her right now, and that was exactly what she would want to do.

Imlie took a step forward, but then Aryan raised his hand, “Don’t come in here, there’s broken glass somewhere there, I don’t know where. But also, I don’t want to, need to, or have the energy to talk. Get out.”

The last two words were said with such finality and despair, that Imlie actually hesitated, but she came in the room anyway. She saw the broken glass, and tried to avoid it as she made her way to Aryan and the desk. Imlie took note of the room in her peripheral vision, and it didn’t take her long to realize this was the study that Arpita Didi had mentioned before. The study that no one went into anymore.

She slid down onto the floor next to Aryan, leaning against the desk as well, and looked at him. He scoffed and looked away, and took a swig from the bottle.

‘Jungli kahin ki,’ he thought, ‘she’ll do the exact opposite of what anyone asks her, every god damn time.’

“I thought ‘The Aryan Singh Rathore’ didn’t drink, he always liked to stay in control?” Imlie asked, trying to catch his gaze.

Aryan chuckled bitterly, “Correction, I used to drink, I stopped, I decided to take it up again. Tumse matlab?” (What’s it to you?)

Imlie pulled the bottle out of his hands, and she was happy he didn’t try to fight her. She sighed, “I’ve told you so many times, ABP, jokes mat maro, jokes mar jaate hain.” (Don’t tell jokes, jokes die.)

Aryan rolled his eyes, and then put his head in his hands, “Ok go.”

Imlie asked, “Go what?”

Aryan lifted knees and laid his head on one side, looking at her, “Go on, share the inspirational bakwas you have running in your head right now, I’m ready for some real jokes.”

Imlie made a face at him, “Even now, at this moment, you’re going to make fun of me? Have you looked at the state you’re in?”

Aryan closed his eyes, readying himself for the lecture. He hadn’t intended to drink. In fact, he’d expected that particular bottle of whiskey would remain unopened for the rest of his life. And then it would have ended up in the trash, when someone finally decided to clean out this room.

Imlie sighed again, “Listen to me, I know you don’t like talking. In fact, you talk so little, everyone around you has to try to decipher your mood by your eyebrows most of the time. But, just once, try? What happened? Did something go wrong at the board meeting, or is it…” Imlie trailed off. She didn’t know how to offer comfort to Aryan right now, because she guessed he was here, on the floor, drunk, in this room, because of Arvind. She’d never lost someone the way Aryan had, the way Didi and Kaki Maa had. She didn’t know what that grief looked like, or how one could even begin to deal with it.

Aryan smiled, bitterly, “And talking, that will solve everything?”

Imlie looked at him, “No, but—”

Aryan interrupted her, “Nothing went wrong at the board meeting. In fact, it went swimmingly. We’re launching the new products I suggested, we’re going to be expanding our personnel, and out profits are way higher than expected. Rathore Enterprises is intact.” He said the last line as if it didn’t give him the pleasure it should.

Imlie asked, “Then…” She didn’t want to finish the sentence, but she’d have to, because it wasn’t as if Aryan was going to open up about it himself. She took a breath, “There has to be a reason you decided to come in here tonight, Didi mentioned that—”

Aryan snapped, “Why I came in here has nothing to do with anything.” He looked at the bottle Imlie had set down, Imlie followed his gaze.

“I’ve never drank alcohol, but I know enough to know that you’re not getting any more, at least not tonight. If you try to grab it, I’m waking up Kaki Maa and Didi.”

Aryan smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes, “You know, Jiju bought that bottle when Papa first opened his Mumbai office. I remember, I was in my second year of college, and I really wanted to drink it. It’s a very nice bottle, more than Jiju or Papa should have spent. It’s single-malt, so when it’s distilled—”

Imlie interrupted him this time, “I can tell that you’re a very confused drunk, so I’m going to stop you right there. I obviously don’t care how the alcohol was distilled, Aryan.”

Aryan shrugged, “Sorry, sheesh. It’s a fascinating process. I thought you liked to study.”

Imlie stared at him, she wasn’t amused. Aryan sighed.

“Fine, story time continues, Jiju told Papa that they’d open the bottle when Rathore Enterprises finally went international. But then Papa passed away, before it happened. Jiju didn’t give up though. I remember him telling me,” Aryan’s voice broke but he held himself together, “he pulled me aside when I came to visit one summer during my MBA, that he was close. ‘Just a couple more years,’ he said, ‘then you and I will crack this baby open, of course don’t tell your mother…or your sister.’” Aryan let out a noise that was half sob-half laugh.

“And today,” Aryan clapped his hands together, “finally. It happened. The company—correction,” Aryan hiccuped, “companies…are doing so well that we can open our New York and London offices. We just received two contracts from the U.S. and England, see, so—” he looked at Imlie, and smiled, she looked fuzzy at the moment, but still stunning. How the hell could she look stunning right now? He was drunk, his brain shouldn’t be letting him see how stunning she was. “I don’t have to explain complicated international contracts right now. I mean, obviously, I could, being drunk won’t stop me. But that’s not what you care about, is it?” He chuckled and rested his head on Imlie’s shoulder, “Contracts with international conglomerates aren’t the root of my trauma, obviously.”

Imlie hesitated, but then dropped her knees so she was sitting cross-legged, “Here, my shoulder isn’t wide enough to fit your big head.”

Aryan lifted his head off and laughed, “That was a good one. A plus for the inappropriate joke and the timing. Here I am telling you about a cursed whiskey bottle and why I downed half of it, but sure, make fun of my big head.”

Imlie sighed, “You’re a big boy, you can handle it.” She pulled him by his arm and rested his head in her lap.

Aryan rolled on his back so he was looking up at Imlie, “I’m not a child, you don’t have to do this.” He rubbed his temples with his fingers; his head was throbbing. It hadn’t even been an hour of drinking, and he was already regretting it. It was now that he remembered why he quit drinking, even socially.

Imlie rolled her eyes, and moved his hands off his head, replacing them with her own, “I know you’re not a child, but see, I’m what you like to call, an ‘emotional fool?’ So shut up, and let me try to get rid of the headache you clearly have.”

Aryan laid in her lap silently, looking at Imlie between her fingers as she rubbed his temples.

Imlie stopped, “That doesn’t mean you can stop talking. You hate it, but clearly you need to get it out. Continue.”

Aryan sighed, “You never let anything go, do you?”

Imlie shook her head, smiling softly, “Never.”

Aryan continued, “There’s nothing more to tell, really.”

Imlie looked down at him, Aryan realized she wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to lay here for a few more minutes. He didn’t know if she was doing it on purpose, but her fingers in his hair made him feel sleepy and seemed to take away weeks of stress over this meeting from him.

Imlie groaned, “I think you still have to share why you came into this study in the first place? If your method of ignoring Arvind Ji’s death and spending your time on cartoon villain type revenge plans was working so well, why come in here in the first place?”

Aryan sat up, now he was frustrated again, “I told you, I decided to take up drinking again.”

Imlie shot back, “Fine, don’t tell me.”

Aryan replied, “Also, comparing my revenge to a cartoon villain’s was a bit harsh. I worked hard on that plan.”

They looked at each other, and Aryan, still a little drunk, burst out laughing. Imlie laughed too, despite herself. She just wanted Aryan to laugh again, even though he was drunk right now, he looked so at peace when he was laughing.

Aryan sighed, “I just…what’s the point?” He looked at Imlie, actually hoping she’d have an answer. She would tell him the point, and he’d be able to believe it. At least for tonight, and then he wouldn’t feel like someone was clawing away at his heart every time he thought about Arvind.

Imlie looked at him, “I know you’re drunk, but even then, you can’t expect me to know the answer to that? But, because I’m amazing, and from what I know about drunk people from TV and movies, you won’t remember any of this tomorrow anyway, I’ll give it a shot. The point—I assume you meant, the point to living when someone you loved left you? Right?” She smiled at him, hoping he’d feel better just at the attempt at levity in the conversation.

He smiled faintly back, and nodded, gesturing to her to continue.

Imlie leaned his head back on the desk, “So, as I was saying, I think the ‘point,’ is to never expect your pain to ever go away. It’s not going to go away, Aryan. You know that better than I do. But maybe, the ‘point,’ is to not rob yourself of the other feelings you have a right to just because the person you miss doesn’t get to feel them too? Would Arvind want that? I’m not necessarily encouraging it, but would Arvind have wanted this super special, single malt, bottle to go to waste? Would he want you to walk past this room every day and never use any of the books in it? Never use this desk? Which is very sturdy by the way. Would he want you to just close down your company and never get those big complex contracts with international conglomerates?”

Aryan looked at her, still smiling, “You know, I hate it when people ask rhetorical questions.”

Imlie sighed, “Okay, I’ll stop. I’m not helping, am I?”

Aryan chuckled, “I don’t know, but you are cheaper than a therapist. So there is that.”

Imlie smiled, “Okay, Drunk Singh Rathore, I think your time’s up for this session. Should we get you into bed?”

Aryan raised an eyebrow, “Whoa there, at least buy a guy dinner first.”

Imlie rolled her eyebrows, but she could feel her face getting hot, “If your not drinking saved the world from your awful jokes, then you’ve done everyone a service. Get up.”

They stood up, Imlie steadied Aryan, who wobbled a little. For a brief moment, the light hit Imlie’s eyes in such a way that Aryan couldn’t control himself. He knew it was a mistake even before he did it. He raised his hand to Imlie’s face and leaned in to kiss her.

In shock more than anything, Imlie stepped back, and Aryan realized his mistake. He looked at Imlie, her face telling him what he should have realized already.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry.” Aryan turned towards the door and started to leave.

Imlie cursed herself for stopping him. Why did she stop him? Wait, why didn’t she want him to stop? She grabbed at his arm and stepped forward to follow him, “Wait, Aryan—ow!”

Aryan turned around and looked at her, “What’s wrong?”

Imlie lifted her right foot, and realized why she’d felt a sharp pain. She must have stepped on the glass shard when she’d come in the room, and not realized it until she’d put pressure on her foot again. She couldn’t tell if the piece of glass was big in the light, but she could see that there was a decent amount of blood. She couldn’t say anything else but “ow” again.

Aryan lifted her by her waist and sat her on the desk, “What the hell is wrong with you? This is why I told you not to come in here. Tera dhyaan kaha rehti hai?” (Where is your attention?)

“I’m bleeding and you’re yelling at me?” Imlie asked, “Looks like the alcohol’s worn off.”

“Shut up, Imlie.” Aryan told her, “Why are you getting off the table? Tum pagal ho kya? Sit here. There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom. Stay still.” Aryan forced her back onto the desk by her shoulders when she tried to get up. (Are you crazy?)

Imlie protested, “It’s fine, I’ll just—”

Aryan shook a finger at her, “If you so much as move, I’m firing you tomorrow. Wait here.” He sped out of the room to get the first aid kit.

He came back a minute later and kneeled to get a good look at Imlie’s foot.

“Turn on that switch behind you, I need more light.” Aryan commanded.

Imlie found the switch and flipped it, flooding the study with light. For the first time Imlie realized how massive the room actually was. It only looked smaller in the dark because all the walls were covered with shelves of books. Imlie wasn’t the best at quick math, but she guessed there were at least two thousand or so books in the room.

“Ow!” Imlie’s attention went back to Aryan and her foot, “You’re not supposed to put that much antibiotic spray. What the hell?”

Aryan looked at her and made a face, “Stop moving, and shut up for once. Your sasta therapy session is over.” (sasta = cheap)

“Hey!” Imlie said, “I may not be professionally licensed, but that wasn’t that bad.”

Aryan glared at her again, and Imlie fell silent.

He put on the bandaid finally, after he was sure that the piece of glass wasn’t still stuck in there, and stood up. He found Imlie giggling silently.

“You laugh at the weirdest times, you know that?” Aryan said, closing the first aid box.

Imlie smiled and said, “You remember in Pagdandia, when you ripped your shirt? I was remembering that. You should have given a repeat performance with this cut.” Imlie started laughing again.

Aryan’s mouth twitched, then he looked down at his shirt, “Please, that shirt was one of my favorites, and so is this one. Make do with the bandaid.”

Imlie nodded, stifling her laughter. She made to stand up but before she could, Aryan’s arms were below her knees and behind her. He lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

“What the hell?” Imlie exclaimed, “Yahaan koi film chai rahee hai? I can walk to my room, it’s not a war wound.” (Is there a film running here?)

Aryan glared at her, then rolled his eyes, “Shut up.”

He carried her to her room without another word and set her down on the edge of her bed. Then he kneeled and checked the bandaid again. Imlie stared at him. Then she shook her head and said, “The bandaid’s still where you left it.”

Aryan stood up, “I was just checking.” Then he realized he was in her room again, for what felt like the thousandth time in recent days, and the horribly thought out almost event in the study flashed back in his mind. “Okay, I’m going to go. It’s late, don’t study any more. Anything you read now isn’t going to stay in your head any way. Good night.” Aryan almost fled the room, he felt like he was fleeing Imlie’s room a lot recently.

He closed Imlie’s bedroom door and took a deep breath, hoping beyond hope that Imlie would forget what an idiot he was. He walked towards the study again and turned off the light, looking one last time at the novels he’d left on the desk before he’d found the bottle of scotch. He remembered why he’d come in here in the first place; he’d remembered his father had bought a few Austen novels when Didi was in high school and had been reading them. His father had read all of them just so he could talk with Didi about them. And Aryan had thought, rather stupidly now he realized, he’d be able to come into the study grab the books and get out without breaking down. He grabbed the books on his way back to his room.

Imlie sat in bed, staring absently at the spot on the floor where Aryan had been kneeling. What the hell was she going to do? There were hundreds of questions swimming around in her head. Why had Aryan wanted to kiss her? Why had she stopped him? Why didn’t she want to have stopped him? Would he do it again? Should she ask him about it tomorrow? Would he even remember? She laid down on her pillow and stared at the ceiling instead, all thoughts of her exam completely gone.