Recap Link Can't insist enough that you refer to the recap - it will make a huge difference to the update, i promise! 😉
(ps: for those who can't make this link work,
Recap is just the previous post on Page 99.)
~ Part 11 ~
"Wow! That was ...! "
She paused meditatively, with a deliberate shake of her head cause there was no nice way to speak her mind - not like the message wasn't evident enough. It wasn't entirely reproachful, much less snide on her part, but Anjali couldn't help feeling somewhat slighted by Armaan's curt aloofness. He'd sure seemed different to her than that, if first impressions were anything to go by.
"He's probably just jaded out of his mind standing around idle with those packets, when he could rather be helping us out." Atul stated simply, with a light shrug. "I've never known Armaan to be one for missed adventures, you see!" A casual smile at that rendered any further critique rather unnecessary, burying the proverbial hatchet.
Just in time, thought Abhi in knowing awe, our eternal save-the-day superhero surfaces! If Machiavelli were alive, Atul Joshi would have given him tough competition; the legend was probably turning in his grave this second! Not only had he saved Armaan Malik a precious amount of grace, he had actually managed to procure him acknowledgment for the extraordinary virtue of affinity for action (bah!). Cause moving loaded dusty boxes was just the adventure someone like Malik would hate to miss! Pfft!
Abhimanyu was sure he'd be insulting the intelligence of people around him, to expect lesser comprehension from them, than his own... Yet, if someone could ever get away with murder (even literally, if the forbidden occasion arose) without being a sinister hot chick, it had to be good guy Atul! The way he'd forwarded Malik's lack of courtesy for a regret at being left out from menial tasks was impossible to question - unless one chose to point out blatantly that the honorable Mr.Joshi was actually shelling crap - which thankfully no one had. Instead he had succeeded in eliciting a miraculous consent from 'The Miss Anjali', cause here she was now, outwardly retreating on a matter that had certainly not pleased her, if only that at all. It prompted Abhi to regard the mutual interactions between Atul and Anjali, in a different light, with a new found interest. A few more inches to his height could have done so much good to Atul's cause ' too late for that now, he grudged, like the loss was partially personal. Maybe, Malik and he could talk the geek into gyming for a while... At this returning thought of the other, eying the glass doors leading out of the hall, Abhimanyu made a memo to self, to explore also, later, as to what exactly had rubbed the wrong side of Armaan Malik.
"I'm sure Ridhima can put him to good use in there." His attention was directed right back, and he wasn't the only one cause with him the other two pairs of eyes came to rest upon Muskaan at this remark, which had clearly provoked ideas. Verbally, she fumbled to clear the misconception, "Uh ... I mean ' th-the food ... and all ... you know ..." She tried a smile, which was unconvincing.
"Come again?!" She meant exactly the opposite of her words, Anjali, as she stood every bit of her element in the 'think-before-you-speak' stance. For fair reason too. Cause Muskaan's words had diffused Abhimanyu's formality for one.
"Food?! Ah!" He scoffed loudly, "Right! Unless your 'and all' means 'I smell something cooking' which is not 'literally food' ... sure!"
"Its 'I smell smoke' ... " Muskaan corrected rolling eyes, before biting her cheek. So much for mindless good deeds! Knowing Anjali, she'd only hoped to deter her friend from Armaan Malik's case before it would become awkward for these other two ... but why, this Modi! Life was just so unfair!
Abhimanyu mouthed another 'ah', increasingly amused. That, until he became aware of Anjali's new scowl, in effect to which he brought on a straight face.
"You look really nice Anjali!" It was positively ill timed.
"WHAT?!"
There was no one, except Abhimanyu, who hadn't seen this coming. True, it had worked with Ridhima once, but there were only so many times one could press their own luck '
"No ... I mean, really ... err ... the colors! ... They're so ... you!"
Atul thought he'd gag himself before becoming witness to the further proceeds of Modi's suicidal pursuit. On the outside he brightened up a smile once more.
"Actually," he said, "I'm going to have to agree with Abhi'"
Muskaan, instantly intrigued, found her urge to laugh temporarily suspended, as she raised an eye at this intervention - so the bail-out pacifist was still in action? What a guy!
When Anjali looked up herself, the frown lines on her face were inclined to soften. What he saw in its place was more curiosity reflected than anything else. Like she was trying to make up her mind. Atul was in no mistake that it concerned him now, him alone, consequently realizing that it was upon him to influence whatever her mental debate, but he realized also, with an uneasiness, how bad a moment he had chosen to be at a loss of words to explain himself.
There had been a difference about her, he'd noticed the first thing, from the moment he'd seen her standing outside their hostel earlier this evening - when she'd waved out to him, unreserved about recognition and acquaintance, like it had been the most natural thing for her to do. The classy uptown girl he had met on the exhibition day had come to pick them up ' but the girl who'd made conversation in the car had been far easier to connect with. Perhaps she'd loosened up with him, now that they weren't mere strangers. Or perhaps, he'd just been off guard, paying extra attention to the combination of gray and blue she wore - against the orange pink ribbons streaking the then descending twilight sky ' which was like her dress, a blend of grey-blue in the backdrop. Abhi sure had a point with the colors being quite her. The image was etched in his mind, so distinctly, that he was tempted to try recreating it on his canvas, with the memory of the details alone, in distinct strokes of the brush ...
Anjali on the other hand, had not missed the bonding among these three. Right from the moment she'd picked up the boys ' the mechanics of their unspoken understanding had made her think of them as a triumvirate of sort. She was having trouble however, figuring out if this was another Atul-coming-to-the-rescue act, or if the latent compliment his words held was uninfluenced ' his expressions at the moment were inclined in favor of neither. Deep inside, she hoped it was not the former. Not that she was starved for praise, but to be disillusioned in her high opinions of this guy ' If this particularly, was any savior act, he was going to hit rock bottom in her assessment charts '
"I think we should get to the boxes." She spoke up finally, when no one else had for a few moments, because she was partially wary of discovering anything uncomely about this guy, if she kept herself at it. It left Atul feeling less than celebratory about dissuading her this time.
"Yeh. Let's do that." Abhimanyu echoed, noncommittally.
Anjali was not the only one who found herself incapable of reading Atul ' he had as well, and that was not normal. Armaan may have proven himself better at the task, but there was no denying that Atul was his room mate of over a year ' even a complete idiot comes to grasp the basics in that kind of time frame ' clearly then, this was beyond basics. The dynamics that were going into the making of this evening, if they were anything to go by, promised to make it eventful already '
A doorbell rang to interrupt conversations ' silent and aloud, and Muskaan excused herself to get the door. It had to be the party invitees finally arriving and they had to be guided towards the parking in the back yard'
"Shall we?" Anjali said again, walking towards the boxes without waiting for consent.
Atul looked behind her for a moment, and Abhimanyu narrowed his eyes at his expression, again.
"Champ?"
"Come on she needs help." And with that he was making way to the boxes too.
Anjali lifted her gaze to meet his, when Atul offered to get the two boxes from her hands in addition to the four he'd already gathered. Instinctively, he spoke up, "It wasn't to bail him out." Pause. "I was meaning to tell you... how wonderful you looked... all along." And it felt just right, having let that out of his system. Even though her face went from feeble signs of reaction to a rather stunned blankness in response - it failed to ruin his own instant mood upliftment. Atul smiled warmly, especially at the uncertainty of her expression, even shook his head ever so slightly before sliding the boxes out of her grip and stocking them into a neat pile. To his questioning eye, which she comprehended belatedly, Anjali pointed in the direction of the alcove under the spiral stairs.
"Atul ... " She called from behind him, just as he was leaving with the load, making him crane his neck over the shoulder to look at her without dropping anything, "I ... erm ... would you know how to disconnect speakers from a home theatre system?" He shrugged in yes, even as the smile spiritedly lingered, a tinge intrigued, but mostly like he knew it wasn't exactly what she'd hoped to say.
"Great! I need help to bring them down from Ridhima's room ... perhaps Abhimanyu could take care of the remaining boxes by himself ... ?"
"Yes Ma'am...!" He said, mildly teasing, before making to move stair-wards again.
"Atul!"
Her call was more determined this time, but it never reached him cause a gush of loud giggles from the doorway drowned the sound of her. Transiently, hearing her own name spoken aloud among other names and exclamations, she exchanged smiles over the distance with the bunch of girls who had arrived, in greeting. Before turning her eyes back to Atul who was having a word with Abhimanyu.
"Thanks!" she muttered inaudibly, for the odd peace she had found in knowing he hadn't been bluffing ... She'd have to quit being so judgmental... someday.
*************************************
Her past was not a polaroid of fading colors, that a time weathered memory is expected to become. Well, not entirely in any case. It was more like a piece of furniture lying packed away in a locked up room, gathering layers of dust over time ' antique workmanship could be mistaken for signs of aging but only ever as long that one would not bother brushing off the dusty webs, and reaching out to what lay underneath '
It was true she hadn't reached out in a long time ' though not because she hadn't bothered to '
Ridhima stood leaning into the kitchen shelf, head bent over, arms taut and taking the weight of her generally light frame, the heels of her palms pressed against smooth granite edges.
She ought to have grown up hurting inside.
Marks of that evening which had altered the course of her future life thereon, were indelible. Gruesome flashes of what she had witnessed at that tender age were capable of waking her up at nights, even now, though the instance of it had become rarer over time. Those nights however, she'd bolt upright in her bed, panting as if from a never ending run ... a cold sweat breaking upon her brow as if she were reliving the nightmare all over again. The impact was worse, in the the deep set anguish of retrospecting, a legacy forced upon her by her past. An anguish, in knowing what would never be the same again. An anguish, even more, in losing touch with a loss she had to constantly remind herself of. Lest she continued to lead on her days, forgetting all about it.
It was a bittersweet pain.
Bitter, because she had had to mature herself to the fact that her parents were long gone, and that it would never cease to be the case. Sweet, because she had not grown up hurting inside after all. Because the attachment she felt for them had become increasingly customary, such that it existed only until she held onto it consciously. Then again, could that really be termed sweet?
Once in a while that Muskaan would complain about her mum's ridiculous concerns, or Nikki would pout and sulk on a call with her father, or even when Anjali was being disdainful about the obsolete fashion of perfectly trendy contents inside of parcels she had received from home ... Ridhima would find herself briefly deserted in an unfamiliar territory, left alone at the mercy of some befuddled alien emotion she wanted nothing to do with ... one that would want to toy with 'what-if', the tempting illusion.
She had experienced her share of normal living, with Mom and Dad. The memories made with them were close to her heart, unconditionally. But it was hard to completely and always oppress the fantasy of what it could have been like with her own Maa and Papa. There were bleak moments when she couldn't help but wonder about the touch of her own father's hand over her head for a good result, or wishfully imagine a reflection of her own mother alongside herself in a big mirror, and find strange assurance in the resemblance.
The musings were always transient. Eventually, they always passed. Always.
And that was unfair. That she should have to deal with both, the absence of the two people who should have meant the world to her, and with the reality that they had in fact been replaced in her life, mostly. It wasn't like she had wished for her parents to be gone. So if her wounds had been time healed, if her life was not desolate and lacking - was she to blame for the meager memories that were inevitably slipping away?
Ridhima cleared her throat with some effort because there was a feeble sensation that it would well up. Absently, her hand went forward for a glass and filled it from the tap. It helped somewhat, to wash down the threat with generous amounts of cold water.
There was that time, shortly after she had been taken in, that she had miserably, and ashamedly, confessed her fear to Rahul - her longtime secret keeper - amidst crying and hiccups, how she couldn't recall what Maa had cooked for lunch on ' the afternoon preceding that evening. 'I'm forgetting them Bhai '' she had sobbed, 'but how can I?'
They would want her to move on, he had told her with sober conviction, then, and all of the later times too. They'd want for her to grow out of the past and be only happy ' Rahul had comforted her with light words and heavy cuddles until she had dozed off, exhausted. Over the years, she had learned the trick for herself. A good night's sleep nearly always succeeded in mellowing down the occasional restless fits of her mind.
There was however, a trade off involved. A consequence of this entire effort to move on had been a dark guilt. With an increasing frequency, the question continued to return and haunt her. How could she forget? And yet - why was she fated for this double jeopardy?
In escaping all that would remind her of the tormenting past, she had chosen avoidance over acceptance. When shutting out the cries and screams, she had unexceptionally managed to shut out the laughter and joy. Of those few and very early years that she had spent with her biological parents, she could remember but little of the happy times. Because initially the burden of carrying a past so gory had been rather heavy for her fragile mind she had shoved it all away, such that a later wish to be reacquainted with parts of it became exceedingly hard. It was an unfortunate irony, that while the daunting reminders still found ways to sneak back into her subconscious mind, the cheerful chapters had been wiped out.
Well, almost.
Methodically, Ridhima combed fingers through her carefully straightened lose hair, collecting them into a neat pony. When she had secured them tightly with the scrunchie pulled off her wrist, she inhaled deeply. Then gulped down the remaining water from her glass. Finally her eyes turned in deliberate attention to the potted cactus plant she had been avoiding for these past few minutes. And she stood, simply gazing at it. She had wondered about its existence in the extreme kitchen corner just the other day, while surveying the house for party arrangements. The adjustment of its position to receive luxurious amounts of sun had spoken in a way of its careful tending, and the caretakers she now fair guessed had been the family servants. Instead of herself. She even remembered asking Shakuntala about it that day, but the question had been lost somehow, amidst other things to do, and remained unanswered. Perhaps, she had been cautiously talked away from the matter.
It had grown into a rather tall plant for its kind, about a third of her own height, Ridhima assessed, feeling an inexplicable sense of fondness towards it, this unattractive looking heavily thorn decked cactus, which happened to be exactly her own age. The latter most, a fact that should have been unforgettable, because the story behind it deserved to be. Not the kind she should have remembered every day, but the kind that had been repeated so often at a point in her life, however early, that it was bound to have come back to her sometime, as it now had, on account of prodding reminders no matter how unlikely.
The sight and fragrant presence of that fancy flower arrangement in the hall had been her unexpected reminder. For it had stood in exactly that prime spot facing the entrance, which she had recalled in a flashing instant, to have once belonged to the younger sapling version of this very cactus.
It had been her father's surprise gift for her mother, upon her homecoming from her maternal home in Rajasthan where Ridhima, their first born (and only child) had been delivered, as was tradition in her family. The then baby cactus was intended, as her father would often explain to her in jest, to keep Maa company in her nostalgia attached to the sandy deserts left behind... Despite her father's frequently mentioned cheek, the gift had been special to her mother, who had always been extra possessive about the plant, even when she'd pretended to appear otherwise.
And just in a spur of a moment, the entire memory of it had risen so vividly before her mind's eye, now, when Ridhima had seen the eloquent bouquet perched up in the hall. A spot which, for all of her own days in this house, though they had not been very many, she had been accustomed to find occupied by the then pampered little cactus plant, facing the main entrance. So that the sight of it would greet one, first thing, upon entering the house.
The longer she stood looking at it, thinking, the more it roused her curiosity with its presence here in the kitchen now. The only explanation, it seemed, that the plant had been retained despite the regular maintenance makeovers of the bungalow which her foster parents had always ascertained for her sake, was that it would be the doing of their old man servant. Papa's trusted aide, who had to have not let it be taken away. Neither his daughter Shakuntala, evidently, after him.
The realization touched her like that of waking up to find a warm blanket pulled over oneself, during the night, by someone who cared in the most anonymous sort of way ...
Tentatively, finding herself increasingly drawn to it, Ridhima walked in slow steps to where it stood. This cactus was a happy memory of her past, that had been pushed very far back into some inaccessible recess of her head. And still, she almost marveled now, at the way she had been reminded of it, such as had not even happened at the sight of its own self the other day. Beneath all her reasons to have hosted the party in this Gupta mansion, lay this real one - an attempt of trying to recover something from her fast receding past, if she could both hope, and dare to. She'd been considering it for a while now, but returning to this house alone had been a daunting idea, and still she was certain she wanted no one involved in her pursuit. Nikki's party had given her a perfect plan, and a perfect alibi.There was an intimacy, that evolved out of large gatherings, which one could maintain with oneself - the crowd never letting on a dark loneliness, yet never invading upon the privacy of losing oneself among so many. She'd expected a gay time around her, to serve her the chance to live it up in this place again, introspect through it, and later. But to have a bunch of exotic sweet smelling flowers accomplish something of the task for her, she had not seen coming. Deep inside there had been a nervousness all along, in the hope she had harbored to retrieve something from her precious past, and she had certainly not imagined to ever be able to recall again, so clearly, what it had been like to be that little girl in this huge mansion.
Greatly uncertain, as if she feared just about anything to dispel her moment, Ridhima lowered herself to the height of the cactus, the sense of belonging overwhelming her ... and raised a hand to touch it, to render the substance of her memories tangible to herself - memories of the smiles that had been blurred, and were not many, but were running like a high definition film in her mind for the first time that she could remember ... maybe not all was lost. Maybe, there was yet a way to turn back and return to her roots ...
"Ridhima ...?"
Rather harshly, she was jolted out of her reveries and in the haste of craning her neck around and upwards, she strained it. The groan like sound that escaped her in a gasp, before she managed to either look at him, or swear aloud, was however on a third account. "Aaah!" The culprit being that cactus. Cause forgetting the very nature of the plant, she had been on the verge of caressing it out of unthinking affection, and the announcement of such unexpected company that second, had startled her into clutching at a leaf of it which she was forced to let go of instantly - but not before it had her wincing at the acute pain that shot all the way through her right arm. When she arched her head upwards to look at him, her facial features were contorted, and Armaan had covered the distance between them to be towering over her urgently.
"Are you ... "
"What are you doing here?" She managed to snap at him anyways, rudely dismissing his concern. Between eying her hand, shaking it frantically, gritting her teeth and pursing her lips, she had the fleeting vision of him making to kneel down himself, and with unbelievable briskness at that she pulled herself up upon her feet. Further, pulling her hand away, when it appeared he would reach for it, her resistance unmistakable.
"I was ... I came to ... " he tried telling her, but the increasing redness of the affected area wouldn't let her pay him due attention. She hissed and blew at it alternately, and fervently, her breath coming sharp and shallow, as her hand began to show signs of rapid swelling. Senselessly, she tried to nick at it with her long nails, apparently to extricate the larger ones of the several varied sized thorns, and consequent signs of her unwise attempt were evident from the way she bit her lower quivering lip. What truly distracted him from explaining himself however, was the tear that rolled down her face. Shocked, despite the verbal and physical repulsion she had shown him, he spoke, his concern running deep. "Ridhima ... let me see ... " Stubbornly she pulled away yet again, and he was alarmed into silence when she looked up at him and he was met with eyes brimming with the threat of many more tears.
"I asked what you were doing here?" Her note was raspy, and somewhat shaky, but the unwelcoming manner had only been heightened, partially from the great physical affliction.
"I ... well ... these ... " he made to raise the packets in his hands, a second too late cause her eyes were trained back to that hand which was becoming marked by little blood spots. She clenched her teeth over a soundless sniffle, pulled out one of the few stinging little pricks. "I came to ... "
"Please leave Armaan!"
".. . give these ... what?! But how ...you..."
"Just go from here!"
"Listen Ridhima ... "
"What part of 'go from here' do you not understand?" The anguish in her words was understandable, even though the implicit command was not; but the angst it caused him was the most misplaced of all.
"Well you can just look up and hear me out once you know!" It was evident from his raised volume that peace between them was not long to prevail. Still, briefly encouraged that he had managed to finally squeeze in an entire sentence into this otherwise lopsided dialogue, he went on, "Leme take a look at your hand and I'll explain why I'm ..."
"Don't bother yourself." She said coldly, her gaze hard.
Vulnerable tears continued to glisten in it alright though. The sight of them was enough leave Armaan feeling frustratingly ineffable, his words lost, and he could only sigh sharply at his fast depleting reserves of tolerance. It was then that he caught a glimpse of the peeping cactus behind her. Comprehension hit him like a slow motion blow. But once that happened, his eyes shot right back to her hand, and the evident shaking of it despite her attempt to steady it with a death grip on the same wrist. His expression revised, and explicitly grim in light of this new discovery. She must have read something into the look because she shifted in her position out of reflex, to completely hide the plant behind her form. And moved her hand even further away from him in a pointed gesture.
"I said leave!" Her words were so blunt that the low tone of them did nothing to underplay their provoking impact.
"Fine," he replied, bringing his voice to level with effort, telling himself to reserve reciprocating her manner for another time, "Just get whatever first aid kit you have at home so I know you're going to fix that hand. It looks ... very patchy."
"You don't ... "
"I know." He cut her short for a change, "I know I don't have to bother, and I wont. Just bring the damn thing, show me you're capable of fixing some damage ... and I'll show myself out of here."
Even though he had drawn back on expressions of any kind, and his voice betrayed nothing of him, and even if realistically she hardly knew this guy, the message of his words was sufficient to tell Ridhima how livid he was becoming. Especially the pun intended by 'fixing some damage' - which for all of her that his temper could have intimidated, only angered her more.
"You're nobody I have to assure or answer about myself." Snap. Armaan narrowed his eyes at her.
"Would you rather I go fetch someone you will have to answer?" he asked her. Not looking particularly intent on doing so, but determined enough to have his way, whatever that took. Visibly, she stiffened, and in her eyes, despite the blurring tears, he saw the flicker of alarm, which was answer enough for him. "I thought so." he whispered dryly.
"Are you blackmailing me?"
"Whatever you like to call it." he replied with the kind of calm one employs to address a precocious six year old. "I don't have all night Ridhima, so if you will please...?"
"Please WHAAA-AAH!" her loud protest ended in a part raspy wail as she jerked the thorn pricked hand in the sudden challenging advancement towards him. It had her reel right back, and bend over her hand, doubling up in a worsened pain.
"Ridh..."
"DON'T... !" She managed to hiss at him, her tearful eyes unreservedly fiery, as she raised up a finger of the healthy although shaky other hand at him, in defiance.
"Stop being ridiculous Ridhima!" He lashed out at her finally with a step towards her that seemed unstoppable. Then forced in a deep breath. "Tell me where the supplies are."
Loud party music from outside begun streaming through high power speakers, just about then - unceremonious of the steeled silence it imposed between them - although it was also a kind of reminder of the world outside the realm of their heated bubble. She gave him a look that told him she wasn't going to relent, in between futile attempts of tending to the damage.
A voice inside his head warned Armaan of how unneeded this conflict was, urging him to not persist ' but her current obstinate refusal to comply was a period reason to keep him from backing out. Distantly he wondered if this had gone, at least partially, beyond plain concern on his part, if it was an ego tussle? Cause surely, she wouldn't be walking around a party with a hand like that not taken care of, even if he wasn't looking over her to do it. In fact, his presence seemed to be posing this delaying detraction, cause arguing was keeping her from actually treating the damn thing. But his mind was not objectively open to good advice for then, even his own.
"You have some nerve to be bossing over me in my own house."
"Can't be worse than you inviting people and telling them to buzz off! Or are you the ethically hypocrite kind?"
"People who trick others into inviting them have no business preaching against 'ethical hypocrisy'."
"Trick you? You think I TRICKED you?! What is this our new found blame game? You can't pin me down for a call, or an invite, you made of your OWN will!"
"You really don't want to bring up that call!"
"Ridhima you're... not serious!" She raised an eye, the 'try me' indignant way - even as it continued to be underlined by that unyielding tear. The side of his eye caught the worsened shaking of her hand. Armaan swore mentally, feeling majorly riled up, shut his eyes momentarily to restore something of better sense. She was choosing to be difficult - but why exactly was he fighting her, being equally dimwit about this? "Look ..." he said in an affected restrain meeting her eye again, "This is getting us no where. I'm terribly sorry I ever tricked you into believing I was Modi. It was just a joke! And, that does nothing to explain how I 'tricked' you, completely unknowingly if I may dare put your record straight, into 'inviting' me?"
"Obligation! I had to ascertain company for Abhimanyu." What the...eff...was she talking! No! Ceasefire was definitely not in her plan.
"Obliged to invite his friend Ridhima? Cause really, how unbecoming he would think you if you did not? Barring how little you can bear to stand the sight of me, as I'm only beginning to realize, wouldn't you sooner owe THAT obligation to ME?"
"I shall never, in my life, owe YOU any obligation, Armaan Malik." It made him incredulous despite himself, even before it affronted him so much. She said it looking him in the eye, and he couldn't but stare back at her, opening his mouth to respond, then shutting it, before he found words again, which were spoken with such forced civility, that they rose not over a bare whisper.
"Please, tell me ... this entire outburst is not your childish way to avenge a harmless prank ... "
"You're just getting on my nerves and I'm telling you to lay off."
"I'M GETTING ON YOUR NERVES? Indeed! And why, because I tell you to tend to an injury that can be helped before it degrades to something worse than it is at the moment? What were you doing mollycoddling a damned cactus anyways?"
"Mind your..."
"And now this is the only sorry way you can find to handicap yourself and gain sympathy votes?"
"I'm not ..."
"Then really, hasn't this argument gone far enough for you to be convinced Ridhima?"
"I'm not arguing with you but you had better mind your words about my cactus! And I'm not a PATHETIC.SYMPATHY.SEEKER! You're here because I invited you. Whichever way you chose to understand that. But this is MY HOUSE. I'd appreciate if you, Armaan Malik, remembered you're a guest, at all times. This party means a ton to my friends, and I don't want to pick a fight, heck I'd sooner never talk to you than anything else at all! Just don't cross my path and let the evening pass. And get the hell out of my sight, NOW!"
A silence fell over them, following her provoked yelling, this time to be broken by neither. There remained the noise from outside, lucky for them cause it had served like a cover to their brash scene. She'd gone too far with this one, if she hadn't been unreasonable all along anyways, but right that second for all the blood that had rushed to her head, she couldn't care less. Briskly she brushed past to walk out on him before he could recover and say anymore. Not fast enough.
He blocked her path so completely owing to his physical advantage, that she was cornered completely, and had no option but to look up to his now dark, stormy eyes. If she wasn't so utterly out of her mind, he would have scared her - but for then she succumbed merely to standing still, while holding up her meaningless defiance. Wordlessly, he lifted the food packets he'd been holding onto all along, high up for her to see. A flicker of recognition, and belated understanding of sort show in her eyes, but the scope for reconciliation was past. Armaan was finally, after all the procrastination that ought to have been sooner avoided, quite done with this entire episode. He dumped the packets onto a shelf at the end of the kitchen farthest from her, next to the door, which he then walked out of without looking back at her once.
"The food ..." she mumbled to the empty kitchen, sighing shortly. And found herself unable to sustain absolute indifference to her mistaken conception which had unfolded into this nasty row. Regret, the unavoidable consequence, happened sooner than later, washing over her rapidly like it had been held back only by the sight of him, making her feel quite rotten about herself. How blind had she been to not notice he had them all along? She was sure if murder had been an option, she'd have driven him to it. Although, to not exonerate him entirely, he did have a knack of bringing out the worst in her. Fine he'd wandered into the kitchen, and really what did it matter - food or not - that he'd just walked in on her, but had she not made it obvious thereafter - with such indiscretion too, come to think of it - that he was invading her privacy? God knew what insufferable compulsion had kept him to play the control freak! If only he'd just listened and left her alone...
Ridhima sighed again, shaking her head.
Either way, there was little to justify her misbehavior. The more she thought of it, the more atrocious she felt about herself - that, and disappointed. To have considered banishing him from the party in mere vengeance - that for a prank which was rather inconsequential in the big picture - it wasn't freaking like her! Heck the revenge factor had not even occurred to her, before he'd blamed her for it, much less been her reason lose her manners. The real reasons were quite else - his bad timing to intrude; her not so receptive state of mind; the fact that they they'd neither persevered enough to make peace...
A sneaking thought of apologizing dared make its way into her head but it was trashed with an urgency like that of trashing bad eggs. She couldn't face him anytime soon. Not within this lifetime! Oh the things she'd said to him...! She cringed at herself inwardly, as they resounded fresh in her head... until she came to the very last part of their unpleasant dialogue.
She couldn't charge him for swearing at her precious cactus, because there, he was in the dark. But he'd accused her of seeking sympathy, and that wasn't unintentional. That was his inexcusable offense, and whatever else he thought of her, or the rest of the world did, how could anyone think of her as a... Irritated, Ridhima clicked her tongue, and accidentally her lose hand hit the shelf. Fatefully, it happened to be the battered one. Shit! ... she hissed, and the pain that had been temporarily forgotten, for all the emotional angst, was like a relapse of many piercing needles. She swallowed hard not letting a cry surface, and there was plain frustration in the way she glared at it.
Then with a half turn, her eyes over her shoulder sought the cactus plant, which stood tall in its spot, and unmoved. And in that moment it was to her symbolic of a long estranged sibling, showing blatant reluctance in mending bonds that had been severed over time, a grudge that it must hold against her to have been abandoned for so many years when the two of them were the only ones left of that common past. It was an inexplicable sense of being chastised, by one so silent, and connecting it to the guilt which had overcome her countless many times, she began to believe it had never been misfound. She sighed once more, suddenly exhausted and shut her eyes tight, a deep frown setting in.
Her mind went back in time, to that year of high school, when she'd participated in the annual extempore poetry. Each contestant was to get only a minute of preparing whatever chosen poem would become theirs to recite via draw of lots ... She remembered distinctly getting all tongue tied, a strange congestion gripping her chest, at the sight of the lines printed on her chit, a Sarah Teasdale poem ...
... If anyone asks, say it was forgotten
Long and long ago,
As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall
In a long-forgotten snow ...
With the back of her healthy hand, she brushed away the unshed tears fogging her vision. Ridhima leaned backwards against the wall, swallowing hard. The words were an echo of her life. And Armaan Malik, who knew nothing of it at all, had taken the liberty to write her off as a whiny wretch ... How could he! It was him... the meanest wretch ever!
********************************
"Oi! Malik!" Abhimanyu called out from behind. Prematurely, Armaan had to take a break from his bothersome mental predicament, and turn around, while Abhi, catching up with him, continued, "Dude! What's with you guys deciding to abandon me amidst this horde of crazed women? Have you no idea what it is like to be alone, seeking entertainment at the expense of..."
"Later Abhi."
"... good looking boys acting all gung-ho over loud swanky girls who ... what was that you said?" Armaan cleared his throat looking around, seemingly in search. Crazed women or swanky girls were not going to feature in his favorite topics for idle discussions for the while ' which included all of tonight. Abhimanyu scrunched his nose like an animal sniffing trouble, then most annoyingly laid a hand against his forehead.
"Modi!" Armaan hissed with a miffed look, when the action was met by a few conspicuous giggles from around them.
"Better! You had me scared there for a whole second man!"
"Quit fooling already!" was murmured to him in the passing. And then, stroking his chin thoughtfully with his thumb, Armaan decided to break the news and be done with it. "By the way, I'm gonna get going cause ..."
"No drinks for the boys?"
There was a sonorous 'z' that rung in the 's' phonetic of the deep and clear voice which cut him short. Armaan, and consequently Abhi, turning around, found a girl reaching up to them, smiling breezily. Modi cleared his throat in an undertone and muttered for Armaan's ear's alone, "Beat me on this one Malik!" On the outside, he flashed a brilliant set of white teeth himself. Armaan, who would have actually entertained even riskier dares to outcharm targets another day, limited his courtesies to a cursory smile. Before busying himself with searching the hall again.
"I'm Jiah!" She introduced herself. The hugging little black dress that fell just short of her knees accomplished its cliche purpose alright.
"And I'm a lucky guy it appears!" Modi humored her.
"With a name I hope ..."
"Abhimanyu." he told her, putting up the perfect appeasing smile. Then following her eyes he found Armaan to be uncaring as she awaited his introduction. Whether it was an innocent oblivion, or a convenient facade of the same was majorly debatable. Abhimanyu nudged him, with only so much discretion that could be managed, as he added, "Oh and, this is my friend Armaan." She didn't look pleased with being cold shouldered, but not making an issue of it, she turned back to avail favors of the sociable Modi.
"Abhimanyu ... " she repeated, then paused becoming unpredictably thoughtful, "Hang on a sec! You mean ... you're that Abhimanyu?"
"That ... ?"
"OMG! You're the one I saw on her homepage just the other day!"
"Homepage? ... I'm not sure I ... quite understand ..."
"Modi right?!"
"I .. uh ... yeh, but ..."
"Why of course! You're that guy from facebook! Nikki's latest...erm!" She let her words trail into a hinting laugh. Then looking him up and down, she added, "Trust her choice of men ..." If it was compliment, the very candor of it stumped Abhi, not quite the flattering way.
"I ... I'm sorry, what?!" Abhi cut her off abruptly as comprehension did prevail over him - she had used the word 'men' - a plural. Yes, that was decidedly not flattering. His face a mix of the many reactions, was reflective of the transformation in his demeanor from gamely obliging to an acquired stiffness, none too delighted at what he'd been taken for. Nikki's latest... now that wasn't exactly how he'd choose to be identified.
"Funny," Armaan spoke up, "How Abhimnayu wasn't aware of this favorable preposition," breaking hence his dormancy in the conversation, "Until just about now...!" His words were slow, but deliberate not languid, and his sharp look warned her to not shrug off his implication. Of course this intervention which was not his polite best, rendered her tight lipped. But Armaan had no plans to stick around for a longer interaction and make amends - or even for courteous small talk as a matter of fact. Uncaring of first impressions and such, he turned about on his foot, indicating end of all chat. Abhimanyu did not need to be held by finger and led away from the company of Jiah and her wine. The playful element of the interaction was lost for him; by some compulsive etiquette he did manage an affected 'excuse us' before following suit, with the inset of a deep self absorbed frown.
"Nikki's latest ... ?" he muttered to himself in the tone of one who may have just detected an unpleasant bitter tinge to his favorite desert. It was just as well that neither of the boys concerned themselves with turning around to catch the girl's reaction, at being rather unceremoniously abandoned.
"I'm heading back for campus ... " Armaan resumed, picking up from where they had been interrupted, "I reckon you might wana join me now that ..."
"You're ... what? .. But why?!"
"Because." Armaan replied with a light shrug. Then giving his wrist a shake brought the watch dial to view, and looked at it in momentary intent. Letting the one genius word do all the talking on his behalf.
"What, now you're an eight year old complaining of late night at 9pm?" Abhimanyu threw at him, incredulous, and pressing.
"I'm going to find Atul and let him know. You've got ten to make up your mind if you're coming or not."
"No no no, hang on! Are you going to explain what's gotten into you?"
"I take it that's your no?"
"No! I mean yes! I mean ... its not right. Did you forget we're here for a party? Which by the way is yet to commence?"
"There are enough people around for anyone to miss 'just one me'."
"That's not the point!"
"Look! You're free to stay back and play the birthday girl's brand new catch all you want, not me thank you!"
Abhimanyu forced himself to hold back his reply to that. It had been just too wrong a statement to make, even in recklessness. Armaan didn't care to be subtle about the immediate guilt and realization in his expression, even before Modi's affected composure confirmed reason for as much. The deep breath was a sign of forced calm, just like Armaan's own from the kitchen. In hindsight, not half as successful as Modi. Feelingly, he commanded himself to push aside thoughts of the unpleasant exchange with Ridhima cause it was clearly doing him no good. Especially now, when Abhimanyu had fastened a steady piercing gaze upon him, the kind that could not be ignored as easily as a verbal accusation, light or genuine. Armaan was aware that his words, however rash, were actually the doing of that belittling remark against Modi... had he been so much more offended than Abhi himself? Evidently, owing his prevalent mood. Which had become harder still to explain, much less justify, he thought, remorsefully.
Abhimnayu, who had been undeniably insulted by Jiah's instigation, found his own reaction subdued, after watching Malik jump the gun. In particular, Armaan's spite worked like an instant antidote. At the aggravation against Nikita, he abruptly found himself thinking, how speculations would be hasty, and judgments about her most likely presumptuous, considering the half baked information he'd been fed by a complete stranger. It was her birthday, and he could sure stand being nice to the girl for once ... if only to give her a benefit of doubt. Also, for now, he thought watching Malik's fidgety display of regret for the ill remark, he could do him the big favor of knocking some sense into him.
"Atul barely just covered up your tracks before, and it wasn't even funny.'" He finally said in a warning tone, "You can try stop acting like a jerk." It was all he said. Modi making a point without digressing - another day it would have earned him a more elaborate reaction from Armaan. Instead, he got a short nod, which was more concession than Malik was used to yielding.
"Guys guess what ..."
"This is about her again, isn't it?" Abhi said abruptly, confronting what struck him as the possible issue on an after thought. Thereby, cutting Atul short, who summoned either by the mention of his name, or recognizing his probable need by some divine interception, jogged up to join the pair of them, slightly flushed in the face.
"Her?" He quipped up now, looking to them for explanation, having caught Abhi's last words. Then something about the expressions on both their faces made him say, "You mean ... Ridhima ..."
"Its that prank of yours I bet." Abhimanyu went on, following his instincts when he wasn't promptly countered for the intuitive guess. "She blew up over it, didn't she?"
"Its nothing like that." Gruffly, Armaan finally answered, half lying keeping his eyes to his shoes. Wary that the issue was not over despite his humble acceptance of folly.
It was an evening of universal conspiracy launched against him. Matters had only become further entangled for him, to no good avail. Personally he'd planned to tell Modi about the kitchen showdown, and how he was not going to stick around this place after being told to lay off by some high headed girl who thought no end of herself. While the possibility that Abhimanyu would suggest otherwise had seemed out of question, the actual idea of being cornered with the truth had not struck him once. Tested for patience and resolve and every situation that could possibly go averse for him, the cracks were beginning to show; and here he was now, denying the truth against his better will. Partly, he justified himself by stubbornly maintaining that a silly telephonic act could really not be all there was to blame ... There was no way he'd deserved half of what Ridhima had dished out.
"Come on Ammy! It was all for fun, now be a man and own up!" Atul broke in lightly. Or was he really just shying away from a joke gone bad, Armaan questioned himself. No! Ridhima Gupta had behaved like one hell bent preposterous girl. Period. "Besides, hear this! You're never going to believe ..."
"I don't understand why you both won't stop assuming things!" He shot at them, feeling quite mad all over again.
"... what Anjali just told me about ... "
"Assuming, yeh? How about giving us your version of the truth, Malik?!" Atul gave up his own bit of narration, frowning at the two of them being unconcerned with what he had to tell them.
"Can we try to take a break and listen to what I have to tell you both?"
"Too late for that Champ," Abhimanyu said tersely, "You see, Armaan here is all set to leave."
"What's that again?" Modi threw his hands into the air in a 'don't' ask me' way, and Atul had no option but to turn to Armaan, who continued being offbeat.
"I have to take the early bus..."
"And you need a night of sleep before going home?"
"I also have a head ache..." which is Ridhima induced, he wanted to add, but wisely avoided.
"You couldn't fool a kid with that." Atul pointed out calmly. "Now stop with the idiocy and listen to me Ammy. Did you know Ridhima is ... "
"Enough already!" Armaan burst exasperated. "Is there nothing else either of you can talk to me about anymore?"
"Ammy this isn't what you think I'm ..."
"I don't care!" he paused and inhaled sharply. "Look, Champ ... now is not a good time ... " The words held a finality on his part, and a hint of resignation, quite uncharacteristic of Armaan. It had the other two look at him closely, cross eyed. "Please." He added, not imploring but emphasizing, although the strange dejection in his accompanying tone was a distinct reason of its own. He needn't have bothered, cause right that second the speakers around sought their attention.
"Hello, everyone!" the amplified sound of her voice paused the party music that had been playing. "Nikki is out there, parking on the street. We're turning off the lights now, you guys be ready to surprise!"
She raised a thumb in good luck, even winked 'cutely' to the few woots from among the guests, beaming, chirpy and excited - like all that fiasco in the kitchen had mattered nothing at all. Could she really be so unruffled, he thought incredulously, or was she such a good actor?
Her hair had been let down again and she looked much as he'd seen her initially that evening when he'd only just arrived - dressed in a rich green taffeta tunic, which fit well her bodice down to the waist before fluffing stiffly into a bubble hem above her knees - except a fancy color matched organza bow which was newly attached to the left shoulder strap; and her overall appearance which seemed to have undergone a softening brush up. Inevitably, his gaze traveled to Ridhima's right hand by her side and from where he stood there was no visible bandaging of it. Had she not ... could she possibly have been thick enough to not have ... his fist curled and clenched following his observation and consequent conclusion, beyond his will; when he lifted his eyes again, she was looking his way - even from where she stood faraway, her eyes pointedly, though sans the extreme hostility it seemed, lingered an extra moment on him. Instantly, he tore away from the eye lock, wiping off expressions. Ran a hand through his hair, roughly, like it was his only vent to cast off the agitation, and it nicked the bandage on his own forehead. He didn't wince although a fleeting twitching of his mouth could be discerned if keenly observed, before, pressing fingertips over it to ebb the sharp pang, he turned away from the sight of her. Then mumbling something about getting himself that drink he had foolishly declined he walked off in a direction exactly opposite from where she stood - uncaring of where he was headed. It did assure the other two however, who had noticed the imperceptible exchange over the distance, that his plan to desert the party had been axed for the while.
"This isn't like Malik. He can handle his jokes alright... " Abhimanyu mused keeping his note low. "Better than his drinks anyway." He added, inconclusive about the situation - with the way Armaan had been on the verge of leaving, then had not, then had excused himself dismissing discussion of the matter for now. "Whatever could she do to piss him off like that!... Or is it hasty to suspect only her?"
"Can't say." Atul whispered back at last, after having been thoughtfully quiet. "One tends to think they're getting to know her ... but there's only so much to Ridhima Gupta that meets the eye ..." He said, verbalizing one opinion, from the contradicting few inside his head. Formed primarily from the strange set of facts Anjali had only just made him privy to. It didn't answer Abhimanyu directly, and Atul stood figuring a way to elaborate without letting on the details, cause for fairly odd reasons he wanted Armaan to be the first to know ...
A low creaking silenced the hushed whispers around, including their own, and a path of dim light widened slowly as the main door opened. A single pointed heel clanked against the tiled floor, then after some tentative seconds, the other matched in sound.
"Ridzi ... ?"
"SURPRISE!!!"
The hall came to life and the brilliant lights shone right back. But even through eyes half closed to block out the momentary blinding brightness, Abhimanyu caught a glimpse of her standing like a wide eyed doe dazed by a headlight on a highway. The hall filled with shrieks and many from around him rushed ahead to wish the bummed birthday girl. Unknowingly, with his gaze stuck on her, he inhaled sharply, and held onto his breath. His feet of some subconscious will removing him out of her line of sight ...
**************************************
"You know what, Muski even let it slip by the other day but I never guessed a thing!" she said, an excited rush in her words.
"So being dodo headed actually works to your advantage you mean?!
"Hey! Its my birthday!" She wasn't complaining though.
"You'd think I'd know that!" Ridhima reminded her laughing, laying out another piece of the cake. "But I mean it - one sharp guess from you would have been such a spoiler Nikki, after all that excruciating secret keeping. Its good things never 'occur' to you!"
"Psst! Say what you want cause nothing can ruin this evening for me!" Nikki said crossing her arms, with a smug smile, that was also, inevitably, borderline dazzled, "This is grand. I feel like ... I'm going to wake up from a splendid dream or something!"
"You're welcome Nikki!" Ridhima said laughing more at her awe struck friend, pleased that all the planning had paid off after all.
After being swamped by some countless airy embraces, then being rushed to the center table without being given a chance to figure what had hit her, being subjected further to the joint forces of blaring speakers and out of tune vocals singing out the birthday jingle, expending all the air inside her to blow out two tens of 'magic' candles amidst several familiar voices urging her to make her wish, and ultimately, cutting the cake - all in much ecstasy and yet an overall enveloping sense of disbelief - Nikita was finally assigned the relatively easier, and in comparison mundane task of receiving the dainty parcels from her guests, to smile and thank them each in return.
Anjali and Muskaan had each claimed their exclusive hugs, Muskaan going onto stuff her with a chunk of the cake, which was met by visible disdain from Anjali, who resorted to only the smallest crumble of the sinful stuff herself, before both had taken off to their respective hosting duties, promising to be back and around. Ridhima had remained beside her, expertly cutting the triple layer cake into impressively equal proportioned pieces and laying them out onto paper plates. The oddity of her careful single handed working had escaped Nikita so far. It was while the pile of gifts about her kept rising, that the two of them stood having this chat.
Sighing in content now, Nikita took her first chance to look around and fully appreciate the efforts that had been chipped in by her girl gang.
"I love your house Ridzi." It was a heartfelt compliment she hadn't seen coming. Ridhima's face dropped, before her eyes shot up, then darting back quickly to the task of fair division and delegation of the cake.
"Yeh," she said shortly, "Nice and big, is it not ..." It was a self addressed rhetoric, more than a conversational reply, but Nikki in her involved state of mind remained oblivious of that difference.
"Why its gorgeous! And you've been claiming all these months that the sorry hostel dump is a livelier place to be, goodness how?! I say we all four move in here and I'd be glad to pay twice the campus boarding fares! Dude can you even imagine owning a house like this, oh but of course you can! I want one just like it someday..."
Her further excited rambling of futuristic fantasies was lost upon Ridhima, after the wishful remark. Which unsettled something inside her. She stopped what she was doing and looked up again. Not to respond or agree, but simply to look around her own place. Just this once, trying to step into the shoes of an outsider who didn't have to be deterred by unfavorable memories. It was a beautiful mansion after all, that it was ...would she ever come to believe so all over again?
It was amidst these thoughts that her eyes spotted Abhimanyu Modi.
In a distance, making his way towards them, from behind Nikki. The threatening onset of any melancholic thoughts found a convenient deviation; Ridhima brightened up. Cause from the anxious way he was approaching them, in tediously slow steps, she concluded he was only just going to meet her friend first time this evening...and what a spectator's delight that would be. Ah!
"I say Nikki," she said cutting her short, "Aren't you being forgetful... ?"
"Yeh? Of what ...?"
"Well ... " Ridhima cocked a brow like it was obvious that she had to take at least one shot at guessing.
"I don't know!" Nikki pleaded like a little girl.
"Oh stop with the modest act ... of course you know!"
"Nooo! Trust me, I'm clueless ... dodo headed remember?!" Ridhima giggled at her desperate attempt, all the while keeping tab on his advance from the corner of her eye. "Wait!" Nikki went on suddenly, feeling her ears, then her neck, then glancing at her wrists, and finally at her feet, "Why I seem to have all the right things on ... right?"
"You what?! Ha ha Nikki! Append my compliment, you're a one dimensional dodo!"
"Come on! Its my birthday, and you can't be mean today. Now tell me what I forgot." He'd made it to being within a few mere feet of them, but his pace had taken a yet greater toll.
"More like who you forgot ..." she hinted tentatively.
"Who???"
"Lets see ..." Ridhima said, tongue against her cheek, thoroughly enjoying this. He was almost just behind Nikki's back now, his eyes lowered in the expression of a grave debate, when she finally exclaimed, "Maybe him?!" Looking past Nikki in indication, who, impatient and intrigued, turned around so quickly, that inevitably she bumped, hard, against the wall of Abhimanyu Modi's chest. Causing him to grab her wrists to steady her.
"I'm ... I ... you ... Abhi!" She fumbled, making little sense.
Ridhima did an amused little victory jig of her own inside her head. Abruptly, Nikki jerked herself free from his hold and turned right back around, looking positively aghast and even more flustered, so much that it didn't occur to her that she could strangle Ridhima for landing her in this awkward moment. Why she'd been playing her on this when she ought to have been the good friend and warned her of his presence so she could at least ... well, at least appear more prepared than she felt ... oh and ... it would have helped to confirm that she looked well ... even if for the nth time that evening. But oh why was she wasting time thinking this now! Her back turned upon him! Oh what a faltering fool he must think her! How had she so entirely forgotten about him even for this little while when he'd played on her mind so completely ever since she'd invited ... wait a second ... how was he here? How did he know where to come and... Oh lord, what was happening?! Why did she have to make such an idiot of herself now of all times ...
Abhimanyu stood behind her not knowing what to do next. Ultimately, Ridhima, out of sheer anti climatic pity decided they could do with some help. Starting with the guy.
"Happy birthday Nikki!" she tutored cheerfully, with a 'this-is-how-you-say-it' look. It earned Ridhima a deadly glare from Nikita, of little consequence, cause she was looking right through her. Specifically at him.
"Happy birthday Nikki ... ta ... Nikita ... " He wrinkled brows at his own stuttering, which had Ridhima giggle which she feebly concealed with coughing, but not before Nikki was compelled to turn around, too curious to avoid facing him any longer. Instantly, he stood up straight, and struggled to get one steady, and correct expression on his face.
"Cake?" Ridhima shoved a plate towards him when some few more seconds had passed uneventfully. As uneventful, that is, as a wordless, mutually shared, unblinking eye lock can possibly be. Interrupted from which, he looked like he'd politely refuse, cause really, if he'd ever lost an appetite all his life, it was this particular second. But Ridhima didn't give him the chance to, thrusting it his way insistently. Helplessly, Abhimanyu eyed the cake, fortunately missing out on the self directed scowl making itself at home in the contours of Nikki's face. Until it struck him. He flashed Ridhima the quickest possible smile of gratitude, before grabbing a bit of the piece and holding it up for Nikki.
"Happy birthday," he repeated, "Nikita ..." with a better outward show of conviction. Inside, the anxiety was gnawing at him when she just looked back, still not batting an eye. Mechanically, for surprise was washing her over like repeated waves at sea, she extended her hand to accept the piece at last; then pulled back at the reality of his touch, this one only a slight brush of her fingers against his but the influence no less. Cause he was still holding the cake up for her, she opened her mouth, hesitantly, and took the bite as she had from every single other person before him. Except, this wasn't the same thing at all. It took superwoman powers to ignore all the fluttering inside and appear otherwise.
"Oh hey!" Ridhima faked a greeting to excuse herself, then mumbled as much although there seemed to be little need for pretense. She wasn't in the frame of attention any longer, as far as the other two were concerned. Walking past Abhimanyu, she added in a whisper, "Nice flowers." It was his final hint. Obediently, he removed the bunch from behind himself to between Nikita and him.
"For you ... " he said, holding back his breath in anticipation as she took her time staring at the bouquet. When she looked up, her smile put an end to the misery of those longest few seconds of his life.
"Thanks Abhi!" He wished desperately to come up with something smart to say - it was a shame he'd exhausted his reserves with Malik. With no obliging eureka thoughts, he had to settle for a plain old smile. "So ..." she paused hoping he'd have something to say cause she just didn't know where to begin. Why there had never been trouble arguing with him all those times she had - why was sane conversation so hard to come by. There couldn't be nothing to say at all; which reminded her. "So you knew about this surprise party when I was inviting you for the movies?"
"Huh?" It took Abhimanyu a moment to catch on, "Oh that! No I didn't. It was only on Thursday that Ridhima called to let us in on the plan."
"Us?" Nikki couldn't help being snoopy. She didn't want to be, but the seeds of doubt could germinate even when purposely stifled; there was just no permanent riddance of this silly notion ... Ridhima and Abhimanyu.
"Me. I mean, she called me... but I wasn't carrying the cell. So, Malik ... Armaan ... answered." For reasons of his own, Abhimanyu exercised particular caution into narrating this little bit. If he could help it, he wasn't going to be the one confessing Armaan's tomfoolery to Nikita - Ridhima could do it ... or had she already ... cause perhaps his knowing conscience was playing games, but there seemed to be that look of a frown about her. If he fell prey to the consequences of that good-for-nothing prank, Abhi thought to himself, Malik had better be watching his back!
' ... she called me ...' Nikita meanwhile, could not bring herself to disregard that bit. The seeming caution in his tone didn't help much either. Did it mean what she apprehended? Could he really like Ridhima? Was she, Nikita Malhotra, just his means? Suddenly, Nikki was feeling exceedingly skeptical about the last few minutes, Ridhima's ease and familiarity around him, while she stood feeling odd, out of place, caught like a third between the two ... But Ridzi... could she like Abhimanyu? Did she? Oh but how repelling was the very thought!
Swamped with the disturbing ideas, it only just struck her, that he had not said one nice thing about the way she looked. He didn't even seem to have noticed! Now that was a sign, and not a good one at that. No! She had to stop thinking this way...
"So ... how's football going?" She changed the topic in somewhat desperate measure. Hoping to not have sounded too perturbed.
Not that she gave one damn about the game. But he did, and it was the only thing she could think of to interest him given her befuddled state of mind. Her resolve to distract herself from this dilemma was worth a bland topic, she couldn't let the negativity get to her, spoiling her cheerful mood, on her very special day. When she'd been gloating not long ago that nothing could. Discomfited, she wrung her hands.
*******************************
From a distance, Ridhima moving through the guests, exchanged greetings and compliments, without losing sight of them. Still standing together, they were each an evident bundle of nerves that they were pretending not to be. She rolled her eyes.
And how exactly had this guy put up a show of that 'ragging' bravado, once upon a time? Targeting the same girl whom he could not engage in a harmless conversation currently!
She considered walking back to them to offer more of her cupid assistance. And she almost did set off on the mission too.
Except the sight of him which held her back in the step.
Armaan Malik.
********************************
"Football?" Abhimanyu confirmed, pleasantly surprised. Familiarity of topic bred an ease, and her gesture in having inquired struck him, warmly, as thoughtful. He smiled at her and said, "Its going well. Football has no other way to be!" She could only smile politely back and pray hard for him to continue talking a while. There wasn't much on the matter she could add anyways.
"Do you follow the league games?" Oh no, she thought, getting even more fidgety with her hands. She had not bargained to be quizzed.
"I ... uh..." Desperately she sought some escape. "I haven't... in a while." Nikki wondered with meek hope if she'd warded off the danger. On an impulse, as if to nail her point she added, "Its hard to follow...I mean, hostel... girls don't think that much of football... I mean, sports in genral...you know..." with a nervous shrug. Hoping he would know, better than her anyways.
"Oh pity!" he said back in an understanding way, and she heaved an imperceptible sigh of a relief. Too soon. Cause with a bare pause he quipped again, "So what's your favorite club anyways?!"
For heaven's sake, she thought somewhat mad now, did this guy have any idea what a worthless topic this was to talk about? Oh but kill me, she thought inwardly morose, I'm to blame to have triggered it all in the first place. Football indeed! And now she was a second away from making a complete fool of herself. Second time. When by the stroke of a miracle, it occurred to her...
"Beckham ... err ... I follow his club ... used to... I mean ... "
He gave her a look which to her anticipating skepticism was something on the lines of 'do you really now!' Had she said something stupid? Luck had better quit being so moody and side up with her before... it was too late. Or was it already? Cause shocking her that second, he broke out laughing. Feeling miserably silly, she could only stand looking on, lost, and desolate, and inwardly groaning. She had said something terribly foolish...
"Beckham! Why did I not see 'that' coming!" He said, in between laughs. She heard the amusement in his tone, but couldn't decide if it was necessarily unkind, or mocking, and stared at him some more, in hope of better comprehension.
"What 'that' did you not see coming?" She asked at last. And when he broke in fresh peels of laughter, her embarrassment on account of an unknown found its alter ego in a major bout of annoyance. Her patience had run out.
"That! Strike of the Beckham fandom! You too are a girl, after all..."
"Excuse ME?!"
"What?"
"You make that sound like I should pity myself for being a girl."
"That, you have to decide for yourself. I don't believe in imposing opinions." She shot him a look that was precariously balanced between being unbelieving and glaring, and disgusted. It made him laugh, again. Because she continued to look daggers at him, he cut short his fun. "Clearly, we don't share a common sense of humor."
"Clearly, you have no such sense. Nor for that matter any other that is chivalrous or polite, or even simply civil. But how could I forget, we're talking about you Modi!"
"Touche!" He muttered through his teeth, winking, and stifling more laugh.
"If it lets you sleep better at night, I don't give one damn about Beckham! Or any of this for that matter." Abhimanyu raised an eye in teasing amusement at her indignant defense - which was what he made of her truthful confession. For Nikita, his continuance of mockery, silent even if, despite her outburst was the final straw! "You know what... actually, never you mind! I'm so done with this playing pretend nonsense!" Without a warning, or one that had he didn't perceive in time, she turned upon her heel, and it was after she'd already moved some feet away from him when he realized she was serious.
"Oh shit!" he muttered, hastening up behind her, "Nik...Nikita! ... Hey wait on, will you? Nikita! Come on, I was just...teasing...Nikki!"
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Armaan Malik, had just (re)appeared through the heavy main doors, and in his hands she saw a pack wrapped in silver - which predictably, was Nikita's gift. Abruptly, it hit Ridhima like a bolt from the blue. Abhimanyu Modi was best friends with this guy. And she'd managed to conveniently overlook that detail? How on earth! More baffling however, in a rushed thinking back, she found Abhimanyu's smooth manner. Nothing, to indicate his knowing. Of the not so pretty kitchen scene. She replayed her interaction from minutes ago to ascertain she was missing no insinuations - no latent curtness or cold avoidance, or anything else out of line - in Modi's demeanor. Perhaps she owed his normalcy to an act for Nikki's sake...
Or... had Armaan...could he have...not disclosed? But...after all that had transpired between them? Despite, it all...?
For all its logical improbability, the revelation nonetheless startled her so, that spontaneously her eyes shot up - putting an end to the ponderous mid air staring - half expecting, half hoping against having lost him to the crowd. Quite easily however, she located the broken white color of his corduroy semi formal jacket, as he stood with his back to her direction. Only some feet displaced from the entrance. She watched him turn about his current spot slowly, scanning the hall, in evident search. Seconds later, having eventually covered an approximate 180 in the process, his eyes grazed past her. Momentarily, as often happens in reflexive response to recognition, they returned to her and because she was looking at him, their eyes met. For a second only, or even less. In fact before she knew, he had looked away from her such that she had to ask herself if she hadn't just imagined sharing a look with Armaan Malik. She knew it was real only because it emphasized to her, his stark message of indifference, loud and clear. He had got to be so mad at her ... so very mad. Come to think of it, how was he still hanging around the place? Even though, secretly, she couldn't not be relieved about it.
It didn't stop her from mulling further over the matter though, and she frowned...
Was it even remotely possible that he had kept his friends so entirely uninformed of their private little play of tempers? She couldn't think it possible, and if she were to, she couldn't think why. And still, what was she to make of Abhimanyu having shown no aloofness... Maybe it was the guy rule of keeping out of others' affairs. But she knew better than to be convinced with that. There was no forgetting how meeting Armaan Malik had ever only happened the first time at the fest, because he'd been out there, to avenge her Romeo act which had fooled his mate. No, it would be unrealistically optimistic to assume Abhimanyu would appear so unaffected while all the time knowing of their not so cordial row.
If he did know.
Yet again, her eyes sought Armaan in a surrounding brimming with people. And yet again, to her seeking eye he stood out easily, among the rest. Close to the spiral stairs now. An expression of study on his face, intent in a direction that she followed to find Abhimanyu and Nikki. Of course, it was them he'd been looking for, or rather her, Nikki. He was on his way to wish her... or had been. Cause it seemed his plans to join them were temporarily suspended, as he stood visibly in half minds. She saw him a run a hand through his hair - a habit that appeared exceedingly boyish to her, for she couldn't help but be reminded of how frequently she'd seen him do it. A typical drill of his own - run a hand to push the hair off the hazel-blue eyes, then pat them lightly so they fell right back, disorderly as ever - what was the point?! The thought made her shake her head, belatedly even smirk mildly, in some kind of defiance to her innate resistance, as she stood there all by herself. In an uncanny coincidence of sort, she saw him smirk at the same time, just like her, all by himself. As if he'd been waiting for her to lead. As if, it were a telepathic response to her, without an obvious connection. Except she knew better than that. She watched it widen into a grin, gain an unrestrained, heartfelt element. He glanced at the gift in his hands, muttering something to it - like there was a mutual joke between the inanimate object and himself - and it shifted something inside her. She'd experienced it before, the infectious nature of his happy emotions at play, but there was a unwarranted melancholy that tried to confuse the spontaneous warm, fuzzy feeling inside her. Casually, he was messing with his hair again, before leaning against the lowermost end of the railing, getting comfortable. Grinning and muttering some more to himself. The change of his position altered the angle of his profile visible to her, and revealed to her observant eye hence, the peaking white bandage plastered to his temple. She had spotted it once, when he'd hardly just arrived, but not again after, thanks to his discordant front hair. Abruptly, at the sight of it now, her lightened expression fell, reminded. Ridhima found herself looking down at her own hand. Before feeling it ever so gingerly.
Earlier in the kitchen, left to her solitude, and eventually regaining some composure, Ridhima had conceded to the need of the first aid Armaan had tried to coerce her into, literally, however well meant his intention. Making one wise call among many otherwise that evening, she'd gone looking for Shakuntala to find her in the backyard quarters. It had taken more time and effort to get her maid to stop fussing, than to have her pull out the many thorns using a sharp and heated pair of tweezers. Which was not to underrate the painstaking task itself. The hand was immersed in what she called warm water (which was scalding in Ridhima's opinion) to help loosen the pores, before Shakuntala, unbelievably nimble, had proceeded to extracting the buggers, especially the tiniest, nearly invisible ones. By the time she was satisfied with her doing (as satisfied, that is, as Ridhima could assure her into being) the sensation of countless tiny splinters being stuck under the skin was much reduced. But the palm had become a tell tale sight of damage. It had become visibly tender with a soreness that was spread over it, not very bearable. Sympathy votes ... Armaan's allegation had echoed in her ears, and pulling her hand out of her maid's grip just as she was going to dress it securely, she had declared it wasn't needed. Instead, she'd dabbed liberal amounts of astringent over it, the sting of which had her chew out her lower lip, followed with minutes of intensive icing. The result was a numbness that felt decidedly better than any alternate sensation, but knowing it was only a temporary relief, she decided to pop in a couple decently potent pain killers to survive the evening. Deciding to come back ice it repeatedly in between. More about it, she would worry tomorrow, or later that night if need arose, for then she satisfied herself with a resolve to keep it cautiously out of view.
Everyone's view that is, except Armaan Malik's. He'd looked out for her hand first chance he had, after the kitchen showdown and she'd caught him in the act. Even as he'd blankly backed off becoming aware of her notice. It had left her at a loss of discrete reaction within, torn between feeling immensely contrite and awkward at once, even a tad intimidated... and there was that vague sense of vulnerability - which was almost touching.
Shaking off the threat of being overcome, unable as she was to understand, or justify, her lurking susceptibility tonight, Ridhima looked up for him once more. This time, to find him in additional company. Atul stood beside him now, the two being engaged in an animated chat, and from the vigorous movement of his hands, it appeared Armaan was stressing a point. A point, that had his highly amused grin still more pronounced. She saw Atul roll his eyes, not without his smile widening till it was showing distinctly in his own eyes, and Armaan, sticking tongue against cheek, looked positively smug. And genuinely pleased. With an air of enviable ease about him.
He returned to watching them, Abhimanyu and Nikki, with Atul following suit.
And Ridhima still watching him herself...suddenly felt lonesome. Here in her own house, in her own party, amidst all the people she knew, and he did not, and she grudged him for all of it. Yet, another part of her wished to simply walk up to him, them, share their conversation over a context she could fairly fathom, and the evident amusement it therefore held. If only she'd never had gotten into that ridiculous argument with him. She could have been hanging out with him now, no, them. Three would have had more fun than two. Why she could have been giving him an earful for that fake call act he had her fooled with, met out to him, blatant hints to make up to her... she trusted he would have too - in his own twisted ways, which for all the repentance they may have lacked, would have been antics impossible to ignore, knowing him. She had a lose thought of Atul teaming up with her, in taking down Armaan two on one, although she knew not why it had occurred to her so... but oh! What fun that could have been...
Not anymore.
She had been the one to tell Armaan Malik to stay out of her way, and she had no business to be disturbed by his compliance of as much. Ridhima sighed, her shoulders unknowingly slumping, and it was some more seconds before she realized her gaze had been wistfully fixated in his direction although she'd ceased to stare at him as such. She realized it, because on account of some primitive human instinct, she sensed being watched, and that was how she caught Atul's eye upon herself, a curious watchfulness cross his face. Embarrassed and instantly coloring, she chickened out averting her eyes, before thinking better and mustering up a polite smile for him, not convincing enough to quite fulfill its purpose, she dreaded, cause even in his responding nod, the curiosity lingered.
Damn, she swore mentally, spinning around upon her heel. What was with all the messy spots she kept getting herself into this evening! She had a morbid idea of having promoted unnecessary ideas... and what if ... shit, Atul was totally going to mention it to Armaan and... god what would he think?! She didn't know why she even cared, cause it couldn't get any worse than whatever she had led him to think of her in the kitchen anyways. Still...Fretting inside, she wove her way through chattering groups, inattentively, all the time swearing in undertones.
Until she was quite out of names to call herself, and somewhat out of breath too. Resignedly, she decided it was beyond her to help whatever was done.
Ridhima drew in a long, troubled and resigning breath ... Armaan Malik was disrupting her system. And she had to stop giving a damn. She was never going to understand him anyways. Ever.
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ps: here we are with the part, after a lifetime or something!
I can, and should apologize - but can you guys read anymore after 22 damn pages of MS word?! 😆
so i want to say the other important thing before all else. I will here on be updating shorter (in the real sense of the word, and not by 'nj standards') parts with more frequency, say 2-3 times week. I really think I can manage that better, and with often updating, hopefully you all will not mind the decreased length! I do want to try it out for a bit and see how that works - hopefully it will keep you all, and me, from forgetting the story every time before the next chapter actually happens! Let me know what you think of the idea!
The update here, if it seems disjoint n ways is a consequence of the many months i put into getting it ready - with every sitting i seemed to keep adding content, without actually gathering it into a part and posting up :| hence the length, and hence whatever kinks you discover! with shorter part approach I hope to do away with that issue, sincerely! I ended up reading significant parts of this chapter SO many times that i can't seem to tell what i think of it anymore... but what i had intended was for it to up the AR interaction (albeit via the path of angst) and to finally throw some light on Ridhima's mysterious last name! Primarily. Of course, since its a party chapter (the never ending party lol) i couldn't help but get every character involved and be talked of - except RM ... hopefully that hasn't come across as a jumble!
That said, this chapter is dedicated to everyone who will comment hereafter! Thank you, for the lack of better words, to stick around. It means more to me than I can possibly tell you! This is also a absolute notice to all my old readers to better be returning here! 😆 I've missed you all tremendously over the last year or so especially, and with DMG ending as a show, you all need to know its only the readers who motivate me to write a DMG fic... =) So no reserves that never get edited, please!
Which brings you to two options - actual comments slash like tab =) please be obliged to utilize these appeasing IF features 😆😆 and make me very happy! =) criticism is as welcome, if not more, as complimenting!
Hope you enjoyed reading!
cheers,
nj
Link to Next Part
Edited by spln - 13 years ago
Real Estate
193