FF: -Chandni- by Jalebi Jane EPISODE 1-14 Rest at JalebiJane.com - Page 18

OMG you posted the update here
I am elated
Thank u so much

I have already read this chapter a long time back though
Story is getting quite gripping now

EPISODE 13

VERY FEW OF US WOULD HAVE THE ABILITY to push aside the events of such a morning and attend to household responsibilities. But our Heroine was forced to do exactly that. She did not have the luxury to lay upon her bed and torture herself with reflections on her recent encounter with Advay Singh Raizada.

They had three days left to vacate the Mansion. And having just forcibly witnessed the transfer of this property into that man's hands, it was impossible to go on pretending that some miracle would prevent their eviction. No knight in shining armour would arrive to rescue them from the dragon of insolvency.

[Nor do our Heroines believe in knights.]

For the bulk of the day, she made lists, guided servants and packed trunks. Though, truth be told, there was not much to pack except personal items. The terms of the sale stipulated that all furnishings, textiles, carpets, art, chandeliers, ornaments, porcelain etc etc must remain. Nor did Chandni object to this condition. She agreed that these treasures belonged to this house. They had been commissioned and curated especially for Mahant Mansion over many generations.

Moreover, as she understood it, by including these items in the sale inventory, they had significantly reduced their overall debt. And she was of the mind that any diminishment in what they owed was worth every sacrifice in material comforts.

But wait----I would be a prejudiced narrator if I left you with the impression that our Heroine was indifferent to this step down in lifestyle. Yes, Chandni was stoic, but she also loved beauty, and she did feel the loss of the mansion.

She felt it deeply. The Mansion was more than a place to live; it held her every cherished memory.

Of course, she did not resent Indrani for the imprudent investments which had brought on this financial collapse, but she did regret that the Mahantship's splendour had been compromised under her family's leadership. For generations, the Mahants had added prosperity to the Treasury and glory to the City----until now----

In darker moments, she wondered whether the Mahantship of Allahabad had been visited by some nefarious ill-omen. First the Kayeshtas had been ousted, forcing her father to take over. Then the road accident brought that honourable lineage to a horribly tragic end. Then her father suffered that debilitating stroke which had left him physically able but mentally catatonic. Then the investments made by Indrani crumbled without any warning. And then most astonishingly!----the temple doors which had parted on cue every sixteen years for well over a century remained shut this time----this time when it had been most imperative to the future of the Mahantship that they open.

Though her faith had taught Chandni that the forces of good and evil rested in the actions of people, these reflections made her wonder what powers were really in control.

And with more personal poignancy, she agonized if she had done enough to prevent this steady slide from promise to poverty. But what could she have done, Sisters? By the time Indrani had confided in her, their financial situation had been extreme. Only the temple's treasures could have saved them. And when those doors remained sealed, their fate was sealed.

Still she wondered----what he would have done had he been here? That was always Chandni's first reference for all things: WWDD: What Would Devay Do?

I see you smile, Sisters----and I know what you are thinking. With what generosity had our Heroine imbued the memory of that twelve-year-old boy? As the years had passed, as she had matured and developed, she had projected onto him that same growth. The promise of his youth she had forecast into what his manhood would have held. And imagined that he would have much acuity and wisdom to offer her. By asking WWDD, she essentially asked, what would be the action that she should aspire to?

Yes, it is a rather sweet testament to the hero of her childhood attachment. But do not relegate it to only that. This practice of reaching out to the memory of that boy remained active here-and-now. It was this alone which had saved Chandni's life. When she had been captured and caged for three weeks----twenty-three nights!----it had been this thread back to Devay which had fueled her strength. To fight. To resist.

And----even now----in small and great ways----Chandni was drawing on the same. When all she wanted to do was curl up and cry, she spent the day mitigating Indrani's stresses and concerns. Marshalling Shikha's wild energy into constructive action. Reassuring the servants who feared job loss under the new maalik. She kept her mind, heart and hands filled with improving activity.

That is what Dev would have done.

Only when she removed her dusty apron and sat down to the pleasureable duty of feeding Baba his lunch did she permit her thoughts to drift back to the morning at the Broker's.

And Advay.

Her father, as you know, spoke very rarely. Sometimes only to ask her who she was. [This always brought tears to her eyes.] On some occasions he would express a preference. A dish he particularly enjoyed. A request for a shawl if the day was cool. But that too was very seldom. So being with him created a silence which allowed meditation.

Her thoughts touched on all her encounters with Advay, but they kept returning to the question of why he had not revealed to Shikha that he had answered the hotel room door? And from this question, her own mind demanded why she had not told Shikha herself.

There was no ready answer.

But at least this morning's meeting had explained why he had reacted with such bizarre violence to her words at the hotel. Without knowing what she was doing, she had encroached upon an aspect of his identity where he clearly felt vulnerable. She wondered what the tragic circumstances of his adoption were? She winced as she recollected that scene in his suite. His rage. His tears. She was heartily ashamed of herself. First for going to his hotel with nothing but a suspicion and then speaking as carelessly as she had.

However, what had been done and said could not be erased----all she could do was hope that she never encountered him again.

BUT THIS HOPE WE KNOW, SISTERS, was not a reasonable one. By purchasing the Mansion, Advay had made himself a prominent citizen of Allahabad. And she, as the Mahant's heir and daughter, had her own prominent role to play. They would undoubtedly move in the same circles. Be at the same events. Civic. Religious. Cultural. Allahabad was, in the social sense, a very small planet.

And early proof of this was presented that same evening.

There was an aarti at the riverfront as a welcome to the new disciples. As Yash had himself been of the disciple-class, all their rituals were faithfully attended by the family. In fact, Chandni especially enjoyed their events because she could participate as one of the crowd----a member of the audience rather than being on stage.

And on this clear moon-drenched night, the river dancing with floating diyas was a gorgeous sight. An antidote to the heartbreak of the past week. She and Shikha clasped hands tightly as the crowds jostled and pushed for river access; to be separated in such a throng would mean not uniting again for the rest of the evening.

As Chandni bent to send off her diya with a whispered prayer, her dupatta dipped into the water----and to her dismay, floated away. Chandni stretched for it, but the silk moved just beyond her fingertips.

She grimaced. It was one of her favourites.

But Shikha did not stand in regretful resignation. She dropped Chandni's hand and sprinted down the promenade, chasing the silk, hoping it would catch onto something from where it could be rescued.

Chandni cried out to stop her. She could easily bear the loss of her beautiful dupatta but not the comfort of having her sister by her side. Unfortunately her shout failed to reach Shikha.

Rather it drew attention to herself.

And as always, when she found herself alone in public, she felt the censure in people's looks. It had begun after her abduction----all the sensational speculation, all the titillating conjectures----and had yet to fade away. Despite everything she told herself, about the shortness of public memory, about the probity of her conduct, she hated that so many of her community viewed her as a reckless girl who had thrown aside all her future responsibilities as Mahantni for an ill-judged fling with a boy.

If they only knew her heart and knew that she was constitutionally incapable of what she was accused. Firstly, because she would never willingly bring shame upon her family. But more significantly, she would never break the promise she had made to Devay.

When Devay had died, she had made a declaration. A promise that through her his legacy would live. That she would be Mahantni, but in spirit he----the boy raised and groomed for the role----would live as Mahant. His ambitions. His dreams. His intentions for the Mahantship of Allahabad would be realized through her.

She had fought to stay alive so she could return home to fulfill this promise----yet all that people seemed to be fixated on the shame of lost virtue.

Oh, nobody said anything directly, Sisters. Her family's position assured her polite outward respect; however the sidelong looks, the winked nudges, the hushed whispers----these were experienced everytime she was in public.

And now here she stood alone----and dupatta-less----in the midst of this hostile set.

With head bent, she turned away from the water's edge intending to follow Shikha----when she felt the flutter of a dupatta cascade over her open back.

"Oh, Shikha----" she laughed, and looked around with happy relief.

----But short-lived was that relief.

Her eyes met Advay Singh Raizada.

And the dupatta over her shoulders was not the one which had just escaped her. It was the one she had left on the carpet of his hotel suite yesterday evening.

"At the rate at which you lose dupattas," he smiled, "it is no wonder your family is in debt."

It was a harmless wry remark, and had anyone else made it, Chandni would have shared a self-deprecating laugh. But she could not laugh with this man. Clutching the ends of the dupatta in her fist to ensure there would be no further accident, she accused, "I'm convinced that you are stalking me."

"I am," he stated, without any hint of self-consciousness.

His bald acknowledgement silenced her. But only briefly.

"We have laws against that----" but before she could complete her threat, a stocky woman brushed past her and she was unceremoniously flung at Advay's chest. She clutched his shoulders to keep herself upright. He caught her waist, which drew her even closer to him. His heartbeat drummed in her chest. And for a few moments, she found herself captivated by his amber gaze. How unfortunate that a man with such physical beauty was so unappealing in every other way. It felt like a waste.

She dropped her hands to step away when she was jostled by another passer-by.

Back she went. Into his arms again.

This time her palms splayed over his taut abdomen. She heard his breath catch. Her mind flashed to how he had appeared at the door yesterday evening. In that white towel.

Lifting both her hands into the air, to ensure that she would not encounter any more of his manly form, she started to move away from the bank. But made no progress. In fact, she made reverse progress. With the crowd surging forward, she advanced one step for every three which carried her back.

Advay caught her wrist, and made his way through the pressing crush, dragging her along behind him. The crowds parted for him, as the sea parts for a prophet, and as he was making headway, she did not resist. Some of the crowd followed them with curious eyes as they moved past. Very likely wondering whose hand the Mahant's daughter was holding. Recognizing her; not recognizing him. But most were only interested in pushing forward, hoping to occupy the space they left vacant.

Advay did not yield until they reached the steps of the colonnade.

And when he released her wrist, she gave a perfunctory good-night and turned to climb the steps. Her first intention was to get away from him, but also to get to higher elevation from where she might spot her sister.

BUT ONCE AGAIN SHE WAS PREVENTED. He had released her wrist only to catch her hand.

Chandni looked back, her eyes demanding an explanation.

"What suspicion brought you to my hotel last night?" he asked, his head tilting, his eyes expectant. "And don't give me a story of a silly bet between sisters. I know that only a serious conviction would have brought you."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you," she replied. "It was not a silly bet but it was a silly whim. I had a sensation that you were not who you said you were----"

"----That I was an imposter?"

She gave a rueful nod.

"What did you base that on?" He asked as though he was prepared for a revelation.

"Nothing. I had nothing but a feeling." she admitted. "I'm sorry."

As she said the word "sorry' her body relaxed and she turned fully towards him. And repeated her apology, more sincerely. Despite everything, Chandni knew she owed him an apology, and she was not one of those who found it painful to express genuine contrition.

She said, "I am truly sorry. Had I known that you were adopted, then I would not have spoken as I did. I have faults enough but I'm not cruel."

His brow lifted as though he doubted her statement, and the corner of his mouth went up scornfully.

It unleashed something in her. And the sincere regret she had just expressed was replaced with ire. She stepped towards him and fired, "What is your problem, Mr Raizada? You pretend you know me. That you have some insights into my character----but you have no idea who I am."

"I know enough."

"Based upon what? Half a dozen brief encounters?"

His lips tightened. She sensed that he had just stopped himself from speaking----

----And then she understood.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "I see. You've determined my character by listening to town gossip." She nodded as the pieces fell into place, continuing with, "It makes perfect sense now. First you woo me on the terrace because you thought a girl like me would be easily seduced. Then you try to molest me because a girl who enters a man's hotel room is obviously sending a signal of availability----"

He interrupted her, "----That's complete nonsense. I already told you this morning that I lost control. And I apologized for it. That kiss. It was not planned!"

"Kiss? You call that a kiss?"

"No. No, of course not----I meant----"

"That was an assault!"

"Assault!? Don't be ridiculous!"

Most men know enough not to tell a Heroine she is being ridiculous. But Advay was not very experienced with that gender. He tugged her hand, bringing her forward. "If you believe that it was an assault----why then did you not report it? You didn't even tell your sister that I answered the hotel door. That we met. And spoke. Why did you hide it?"

"Had I told Shikha what happened she would have caused a scene in the hotel lobby," Chandni enlarged, in clipped tones. "She would have summoned the authorities. Demanded your arrest. And you, the man who now owns the finest house in this City, would have become a long-term resident of Allahabad Central Jail."

"You lied to your sister in order to save me? I'm flattered. And moved by your concern," he said, derisively.

"Don't be. It was to save myself. I have had enough scurrilous attention to last me seven lifetimes." She added, "But unless you release my hand right now, I will risk further scandal and have you charged for assault."

He appeared to have forgotten that he still had her hand. He looked down. At the same time, she pulled away. The sudden violent movement made him lose balance----and for a brief frantic moment!----she thought he would tumble down the stairs. She grabbed his collar in both fists, and drew him to her bosom.

As it happened, Advay didn't need rescue.

He looked down at her, and said, "Now this is an assault." There was laughter in his tone.

With such ease he moved between moods. Hostility one moment; humour the next.

She sniffed at his attempt at levity, and uncurled her fists, releasing him. She turned away, but was stopped.

This time by his words.

He said, "You are so fluent with what the law offers in the protection of women. In five minutes you threatened me with charges of stalking, molestation, and assault----how is it then that your abductor roams free? Why have you never pressed charges against him?"

She turned slowly to face him.

He continued, "I looked into the matter this afternoon, and you have not even filed a case. Without filing a case, technically and legally, you were never abducted. You resent the town gossip, but if you yourself do not acknowledge that a crime was committed, why should this town believe you?"

Chandni swallowed at the shock of hearing his stark words. Her eyes filled with angry tears. She swallowed, again and again, but could not speak. In all these months, nobody had dared to state this verdict in such unvarnished language. The police had implied it. The public had insinuated it. But nobody had articulated the words.

"Admit it, Chandni. You were not abducted," he said. "You eloped with that man you mentioned yesterday----the one whom your heart belongs to----and then either he left you or you left him----so you made up the abduction story to facilitate your return home."

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EPISODE 14

A SUDDEN BREEZE LIFTED OFF THE RIVER and rushed up the colonnade steps. Chandni's dupatta flew off her shoulders, billowing into the air, ready to take flight----! But Advay caught it before it escaped his reach. With the voile crumpled in his fist, he lowered his arm. And saw that her hair had blown across her face, blinding her temporarily. Another gust of wind hit her directly, molding the embroidered choli to the curves of her body, presenting every detail of her full bosom. Her lengha clung to her, revealing the sleek curve of hips.

In all their encounters this past week, Advay had failed to see Chandni in the light which most men would first confess to: That Miss Vashishth fulfilled their idea of a desirable woman.

Understandably, in their first few meetings he had been conscious only of old grief and seething anger. And, yes, these past three occasions, he had allowed that she had grown into a captivating beauty. But this beauty he had not admired. His thoughts had been resentful. Advay resented that the pretty features of her childhood had developed into the finer attributes which could actually inspire universal appreciation.

We cannot blame him for this view. Advay did not know many women, but those he knew were of his own household----and in them beauty came united with the highest personal qualities.

Qualities he believed Chandni devoid of.

But this was something quite different, wasn't it? In this moment, he became aware that not only was she infuriatingly beautiful, but that Chandni had the power to arouse him.

And as you can imagine, this was most disturbing to a man determined to loathe her with every fibre of his being for every day of his life.

When they had separated, he had been a boy of twelve. She, only eight. There had been no element of this in their equation. It was a pure love. She admired him; he adored her. She depended on him; he was devoted to her.

Advay was comfortable admitting that he had once treasured her. He was now comfortable despising her. But he was not at all comfortable desiring her.

Without knowing what he did, his fingers reached to pull back the curtain of tresses which lay over her face.

She started. And looked up at him. Her eyes flooded with angry hurt.

"Don't you dare touch me!" she warned with an outstretched finger. Her voice trembled with rage. She continued, her words coming out breathlessly, fighting emotion, "Who do you think you are!? Are you some unaccounted member of my family? Who authorized you to look into matters pertaining to my personal life?"

He attempted to reply. He had a legitimate explanation, Sisters. And I assure you [Lipschtik-ki-kasam!] he had not gone to the police precinct with the intention to pry. He had gone to obtain a licence for a firearm. But fortune had provided him with an attending officer who was amenable to banter and gossip. The officer had noted his new address and entered into a conversation about the alleged abduction-by-knifepoint of the Mahant's daughter. If Advay was guilty of anything, it was that he had asked strategic questions encouraging the loquacious officer to share more than was appropriate.

However, it was clear that Chandni was not interested at this time in his justifications. She wanted to speak.

So Advay fell silent. And listened.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, as speedily as her words flowed. It was impossible to interrupt her. It was a long monologue standing in for a dialogue. She posed questions which she answered herself. She attributed to him feelings he had not expressed. All punctuated with jabs at his chest and much finger-waving:

"What is your obsession with me? Huh? I dismissed your words on the terrace yesterday as nonsense----but I wonder now if I was mistaken? Do you really believe yourself in love with me? If so, then let me be abundantly clear! I have no interest in you. Absolutely none. Zero. That is a term a mathematician should understand. Oh, please don't be offended, Professor. It's not personal. I have no interest in any man. And----no!----don't go imagining that I hold a torch for a secret lover. I did not elope. I did not run away. What would induce me to do so? You must have studied logic. So----tell me----by what logic would I, heiress to the most illustrious Mahantship in our nation, leave behind everything I aspire to? I have spent the past sixteen years of my life preparing for my eventual role. To serve my congregation. To elevate my City. My sole ambition in life is to make my tenure as Mahantni of Allahabad as one which fulfills the legacy of the Mahants of the past. And you think I would throw all that aside for some ridiculous romantic notion? You claim to know me but anyone who spends a minute with me knows I am not romantic. I was taken by force from my bedroom by a man I had never before seen in my life. We weren't playing love games with handcuffs when I acquired these----"

She lifted up her arms, so her churiyas tinkled upon each other, falling to her elbows to reveal criss-cross scarring on her wrists. The kind of scars formed when shallow cuts are not allowed to heal but are repeatedly disturbed.

"----It was not a romantic three-week honeymoon." Her voice was now bordering upon hysteria, and it faltered, yet she continued, "I was not a cherished bride. I was a prisoner. Kept in a----a----cage. A cage in which circus animals are kept. Left in the dark for days. Wearing the same clothes. Sleeping next to my own filth----"

----She abruptly stopped speaking. Her head dropped between her shoulders, her hands fell on her hips, and he could hear her struggling to draw anxious shallow breaths.

"Chandni----?" he asked, too terrified to touch her. "Tum theek ho?" he pressed.

And then her head lifted towards the sky, her eyes rolled back, and she lost consciousness. His arm caught her waist just as she would have fallen back.

IF SOMEONE WAS OBSERVING THEM from a distance----unable to hear their words----it would appear that they were as they appeared. A single man [of good fortune]. A beautiful [yet penniless] heiress. In intimate conversation. A conversation which began with them holding hands and quickly escalated to an explosive clash.

That is what Indrani saw from her vantage point at the top of the stairs. And she remained in that position for the full duration, quietly watching, measuring, plotting. When Chandni fainted she felt obliged to make her presence known.

Advay had just lifted Chandni into his arms.

"What happened?" Indrani asked, injecting anxious concern into her voice.

"She fainted----" Advay began.

Indrani interrupted, "----Let's get her to the car."

This was superior to all the Mahantni's expectations. For the promenade was still crowded and she was aware that many would see [and relay to dozens more] that they had witnessed the Mahant's daughter carried in the arms of a tall handsome stranger. And a few may even connect him to that day when he saved the murti from tumbling. Every association made between her step-daughter and this wealthy young man was now to her advantage.

IT ALL HAPPENED VERY QUICKLY. Advay carried her to the temple, where the Vashishth's Driver waited with their vehicle. He laid her down on the back seat, straightened her lengha and then draped her dupatta over her like a blanket.

Indrani was occupied on her phone. Calling Kajal and Shikha to instruct them to immediately return to the car. Shikha had left her phone in the car, so the Driver was sent off on foot to locate her.

Chandni was so still. So pallid. Advay wondered if she was cold. He removed his jacket and placed it over her. There was a small cushion on the seat; he made a pillow of it and placed it under her head. Should he rub her hands to bring blood to her extremities? Should he sprinkle water on her face to invigorate her?

Why had he not studied medicine!? His own education appeared so utterly useless to him in this moment.

Indrani came to his side. "Don't be alarmed, Mr Raizada----"

"----A doctor! I'll find a doctor," he interrupted, rising tall.

"That's not necessary," Indrani smiled, tenderly. "She'll be fine. Chandni often faints. A physician can do nothing for her. She will come to on her own accord."

"She didn't----" he had almost exposed himself, Sisters----he had nearly said "'she didn't faint when she was younger' and then corrected himself to say, "----she seemed to be struggling to draw breath."

Indrani nodded, "Yes. That is how it usually begins, with a panic attack." Pausing for a moment, she asked, "May I ask what you were discussing when it happened?"

He did not hesitate. "Her abduction."

She gave a knowing sigh, and said, "That subject always triggers these attacks." And then with a sidelong look, she said, "You must be exceptionally gifted."

Advay frowned. It was a comment incongruous to the moment. "Sorry?"

Pointing towards the limp, lifeless form of her step-daughter, she elaborated, "You appear to have gained her confidence in a very short period of time. Chandni would never speak of that experience with anyone whom she did not trust explicitly. Clearly she sees something special in you. She is very careful in whom she bestows her trust."

He had no choice but to stay silent. But he felt the discomfort of accepting something which did not belong to him. It was not confidence but anger and resentment which had led to Chandni's disclosure.

And she had not disclosed as a gesture of trust, but because he had left her with no choice.

Yes, Advay had deliberately staged that conversation. After learning what he had from Veer this morning and from the police officer this afternoon, he decided to goad her into admitting that she was a fraud. To force her to confess her lie.

You and I might wonder why Advay had pursued this matter. What did shaming Chandni have to do with his personal agenda? Indeed, if he intended to make her his wife, was it not a better tactic to flatter and succour?

No.

Because Advay had learnt from their recent encounters that Chandni could not be flattered into submission. That botched-up filmi scene on the terrace had taught him so. He knew that if he intended to become Mahant----and that was his sole ambition!----he had to coerce her into marriage. And to do so, he had to have some evidence with which to influence her.

Very well, Sisters. I permit you to substitute the word "'blackmail' for the word "'influence' in the above sentence.

Earlier this evening Advay had paid to acquire the footage from the hotel cameras which showed Chandni entering the suite of a half-naked man. And this evening he had engineered and recorded their conversation on the steps. Enough evidence to prove to her that he could discredit her publicly and disgrace her family. But mark this----it was evidence he never intended to publicize. It was not in his interest to expose his future wife as a characterless woman. It was all gathered solely for leverage.

Of course, he had ended up recording quite the opposite of what he had anticipated. It was not the confession of a runaway. It was a speech of a future Mahantni. He had managed to record something----which if exposed----would win Chandni the love and admiration of the entire City.

By this time Kajal had arrived on the scene. Indrani was no longer alone, and it was pointless for him to stand about in this useless manner. He gave Chandni a parting look, and said, "Mrs Vashishth, if there is nothing more that I can do for you and your family, will you excuse me?"

Indrani thanked him again and again; and with a sweetness of address which always attended her when she was in the heat of pursuit. In an equally gracious fashion, he expressed the hope she would allow him the honour of calling tomorrow to inquire after Miss Vashishth. The honour was readily granted, and he then departed.*

HE STRODE AWAY FROM THE RIVERFRONT determined to return to the hotel by the shortest possible route. There was much to think and plan. Though the confrontation with Chandni had backfired, he had established that Indrani would not be an obstacle when he coerced Chandni into marriage. She already appeared to be hopeful of it. If he played Indrani well, she might even be his greatest ally in resolving the Chandni problem.

I would not wish to leave you, Sisters, with the impression that Chandni's disclosure had not impacted Advay. I am not prepared to say that it changed anything fundamentally, but what she had stated about her abduction had stirred his compassion. In essence, he now believed her.

He was also left thoughtful by her remarks regarding the Mahantship. In his research prior to arriving in Allahabad, he had become aware that Chandni was active in her duties as the Mahant's daughter. But he had not realized until this evening that she was deeply committed to the role. And that she looked forward to embracing the full potential of what that role demanded.

It gave him pause. For it meant that he and Chandni both wanted the same thing. To exalt the Mahantship. The difference was this: It was his role and right to do so. She was nothing more than an earnest usurper.

Advay had just entered an alley which promised a shortcut when he collided with Veer.

Veer stopped. He was obviously surprised. His hand extended for his usual fist bump and his mouth offered a ready smile, but then almost immediately he became wary.

And Advay understood why.

Directly behind him, trailed Shikha----her small hand tucked into his. It was clear that the couple had stolen into the alley for some privacy away from the crowds.

Advay noted that they did not unclasp hands, as most furtive young lovers might. They held their ground and owned their activity.

"Professor," Veer greeted, his tone cautious.

Shikha echoed the greeting.

"Are you free to meet for coffee tomorrow morning?" Advay asked Veer.

"Of course," Veer beamed. "Same time. Same place."

Advay nodded and continued on his way, but spoke over his shoulder. "Your family is waiting for you at the car, Shikha. And the Driver has been sent to look for you."

^{*Adapted from Jane Austen's -Sense & Sensibility-.}

Fantastic updates
Thank u for continuing here as well

I've read the first two lines of this FF and I knew who you are and that I'll enjoy this one like I enjoyed "khushi" ... I missed you so much and I am very happy you came back with this wonderful story. Thanks a lot! I'll check every Sunday for your Updates... oh well today is a Sunday how fancy!
Lots of love,
Chanya from Switzerland

I am just loving the story

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wonderful updates till now
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