Chapter 8

                                             Chapter - 8

A/N

Don't really have a PJ for you guys today. But I have this song going on and on and on in my mind.

https://youtu.be/xsWs0qWQlzE

Listen away. Cuz this is a short chapter.

Aryan turned and twisted for the 100th time that night, his body finding it hard to fall asleep in a new room.  Especially a room that smelled like defeat and cheating. He buried his face in the pillows and groaned, probably for the 1000th time that night, frustrated with himself.

You see, one Aryan Singh Rathore was robbed of the better room and, according to him, of his dignity, with one line. He felt himself blush again, as he replayed the moment again and again and cursed himself again and again, for being so transparent and unguarded with Imlie. 

And speaking of Imlie, he'd be lying if he said he didn't wish her bed bugs in the room. But then common sense knocked on the door and reminded him that pest control is not a fun process. Then he wished that she drops water on her bed.

Petty ? He knows. But what can a man do after losing !

And like that, Aryan Singh Rathore began planning and plotting. To snatch the room from under Imlie. Unfortunately for him, such plots are not a cup of tea for the sunshine and rainbows hero, but the dark, manipulative and scary villain. 

Like Komal. And just like that Komal was woken up from a dream with shirtless guys in it, by her cranky best friend.

"Aryan Singh Rathore", Komal spoke, gritted, "If this is not an emergency, I will hang you by your toes."

"Well, I cannot sleep in this room, so yes, Komal, it's an emergency.", Aryan whined and cleared his throat, startled by the high pitch of his voice.

"I'm killing you tomorrow. But first, we'll sole this problem of yours.", Komal sighed, "Tell me, what do you want ?"

"I want that room. Give me villainous ideas.", he ordered, "I am too sunshine for them and you're the perfect, dark witch".

"You realise you need my help right ?" Komal questions, scandalised but not surprised at being called a witch.

"And you will, now tell me, how do I get to sleep in that room ?"

"Well, you could ask her for a rematch and win the room back. Which in my opinion, you''ll again lose. Or you can scare or creep her out of the room. And lastly, my personal favourite, you can make her fall in love with you and move into the room."

"Yeah, sounds good", Aryan muttered, "Wait, WHAT ? Komal, What the fück ? Why would I make her fall in love with me? She'll kill me even if I try to make a single move."

"So, you will make a move if she doesn't kill you ?" Komal sheepishly questioned.

"THAT, is not the point. I want that room. You better tell me an idea.", Aryan whisper yelled.

"You know what, you rude jerk,", Komal hissed, "you woke me up in the middle of a night and be thankful that I am even speaking to you. Now go live with your loss, coward. "

Aryan stared at Komal's name displayed on his screen, as she cut the call and once again face planted into the pillow, trying to find solace in the stuffy room.

"I'm

“127, 128, 129…” He began counting sheep, trying to find that elusive sleep, when a loud clang pierced the silence of the night. Aryan stared at his ceiling, counting on a break.

“130, 131, 132….” he continued, deciding that even if there was a world war outside, his petty ass wouldn’t step out to help.

She cheated him out of a magnificent room, damn it !!

The clang repeated itself and he turned towards the bare wall, covering his ears with the pillow. A loud sound followed the clang, as if someone was repeatedly chopping wood. And Aryan got up.

“Stupid Hero Complex”, he muttered, putting on his slippers “And stupid male ego” . He walked out of his room, and walked towards the source of sound - kitchen.

Imlie stood in the kitchen, with the knife raised a little high into the air and sunglasses on her face. Aryan could see some extremely unevenly chopped onions, half peeled.

“What are you doing ?”,he asked, sneaking up behind Imlie.

“THE FÜCK ???” he heard her yell and within seconds, found himself pinned against the counter, knife very close to where his throat lied.

“Rathore, what the fück is wrong with you ?” Imlie yelled, taking the knife off his neck  “who sneaks behind someone like that ?”

“What’s wrong with me ??? “ Aryan questioned, making space between himself and the dangerous lady, “What the fück is wrong with you ? Who attacks people with knives and who cooks at 2 in the morning ??”

“People who are hungry” Imlie spoke dryly, going back to the chopping board and once again raising the knife.

“Wait, wait” Aryan stopped her, before she brought the knife down on the poor onion, “What are you cooking and what the hell are you trying to do to those poor onions?”

“I’m trying to make some maggi okay ?” Imlie gritted, blowing hair away from her face, “Amaan makes it with onions and I want to eat it that way. Except, I have never cut onions in my life”

“Well, whatever you are doing is not cutting onions, but murdering them. You’re not trying to chop them into pieces because they made you angry. Don’t be an executioner.”

“You know, I can stab you instead of these onions and get away with it ?”Imlie threatened.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see your toughness when you can cut onions without sunglasses. I can help you if you want “

“Why do I sense an underlying negotiation, Rathore ?”Imlie questioned.

“Because I am a businessman. I’ll make that maggi for you, if you give your room to me?”

“And you call yourself a businessman ? How sad, Mr. Rathore !” she sassed.

“Make my maggi and I’ll let you use my balcony five minutes for every 3 days”

“I’ll make your maggi and I want 3 hours per day in your balcony”

“Cook breakfast everyday and I’ll let you be in it half an hour for every 2 days”

“Breakfast every 3 days and 3 hours per day in your balcony”

“2 meals of your choice per day and one hour every 2 days in MY balcony”

“1 meal per day and 2 hours every day”

“Cook breakfast and dinner, every day and one and half hour every day”

“Deal”, Aryan forwarded his hand and Imlie, shook it thrice before letting it go.

“Give me the onions, I’ll chop them and you can make maggi” Aryan offered, seeing her look at the onions wistfully.

Imlie immediately handed him the knife and pulled her sunglasses out, squinting at the sudden bright light in the kitchen. She saw Aryan chop onions skillfully, every piece a perfect reflection of the one before it and a spark of jealousy passed through her. Why can’t the kitchen be so helpful to her? It’s as if cooking gods hated her and she hated them for it.

“Why not just appoint a cook ?” Aryan questioned, realising that both of them could actually afford one.

“Because people are not trustworthy.” Imlie answered curtly and Aryan went back to his work of chopping realising that he cannot really argue with a police officer over trustworthiness.

“Do you trust me?” he questioned again, internally cursing himself for asking questions that would hurt his ego.

“You really want me to answer that question, Rathore ?”

“Yes. Maybe that’ll help us ease out this living situation” he offered.

“I don’t trust you. I barely know you except for your name. And you cannot expect anything more” she deadpanned.

“And you wanted me to cook for you?” Aryan questioned, genuinely confused.

“Oh, I’m gonna tell Amaan that you feed me twice a day. If I get poisoned, he’ll know whom to shoot down.”

“You know you’re absolutely crazy and paranoid right ?”

“Well, perks of the job.” she joked.

“Seriously speaking Imlie, we need to build a factor of trust if we’ll be cohabiting. For the sake of our mental health, we need to be friendly with each other. Courteousness and grudging acceptance can get really toxic, really quick. I know we’ll be going our separate ways after a year, but that doesn’t mean we’ll have to walk on eggshells around each other. We might end up having things in common and we can be friends. It’ll be a fun roommate situation. I feel like a sixth grader, but will you be my friend ?” he propositioned, carefully emptying the chopped onions into the boiling water and noodles.

Aryan saw Imlie add masala into the pan, stir it and put a lid on it. He watched her go around the kitchen, straightening random things. Figuring that she was probably thinking, he hopped on to the counter, hoping for a positive response.

Minutes later, the kitchen saw Imlie scoop out maggi into a bowl, pick up a fork and put some in her mouth, not before blowing on it.

“I have an answer for your question.”

“And ?”

“No” Imlie spoke and promptly walked out of the kitchen.

A/N

Our boy got rejected people. On his face.