After Dil, Bhaang & More (PART I)
After Dil, Bhaang & More (PART II)
"Bhaijaan, she's gone!"
Asad frowned as he entered the house. Wha--
But in the next instant he knew. The bag of kachoris slipped from his hands and landed on the marble floor with a dull thud.
Zoya, no! Why did you have to--
He'd felt hopeful as he left work, eager to see her at the dinner table. On the way he spied a roadside vendor with a sign in Hindi saying: Garma-garam Kachoriyan! And he'd remembered her squealing the other day about how much she adored kachoris--the spicier the better. She'd made slurping and moaning sounds; her eyes had rolled back in her rearing head and she'd gathered herself in a hug after the briefest of shudders ...
He'd been hard all night.
Asad had braked a few meters ahead and run back to have some garma-garam kachoris packed. If she was that way with imaginary kachoris, how much more arousing would her orgasmic pleasure be when she ate real kachoris. He'd driven back home at break-neck speed barely missing a couple of red lights.
Gone?
Because of him?
His helpless fist clenched. He didn't realize that his jaw had grown grim.
"Najma, go beta and get Bhaijaan a glass of cold water," Asad heard Ammi instruct.
"Ammi, what happened?"
Dilshad sighed. "She texted and hour ago saying that she was fine and sorry to rush out without saying--"
"Show me her text," Asad cut her off.
Dilshad's eyebrows shot up but she handed him her phone without comment.
"Phuphi, I'm sooo sorry!" she'd written and added apologetic praying emojis. "I got a promising lead on my Abbu and had to check it out in Indore. My visa's expiring soon so I don't have much time. I'll be staying with Aapi's cousin and fly out to NY from there. I'll call soon. Please don't be mad at me for not waiting to say bye. You know I love you so much. I couldn't bear to start crying. I love you sooo much!!!"
More heart emojis followed.
Asad handed the phone back to his mother, his face dark and unscrutable.
"I tried calling but she's not picking up," Dilshad said after a long pause.
Asad turned away to walk to his room, the fallen bag of greasy kachoris forgotten at the door.
Dilshad picked it up and peeked inside. She clicked her tongue in impatience. She was reading all the signs and they screamed one thing alone: her son was smitten. He had never in his life allowed street food in the house. Najma sneaked her dose of junk food at college and sometimes the two of them would steal a mother-daughter chaat binge when they went shopping. And yet Asad refused to acknowledge even to himself that he was in love.
In his room Asad removed his tie and undressed with economic precision in the dark. He didn't want to see his face in the mirror. He didn't want to see the hollow longing in his eyes. The regret ... the nostalgia for forbidden food orgasms ...
... the truth.
The truth he'd been hiding from himself all these days. The truth that he was a fool. A scared fool who didn't have the guts to ...
Even now his mind refused to think the words, string them together into a sentence. Because if he did think the words, it would be real. If it was real, then he'd have to act. If he acted--
Zoya's flight must mean that she was running from the truth too. They had felt something deep and hard for each other. A spark had flared into a wildfire ... Under the untethered influence of bhaang, their hungry bodies had homed in to devour each other
Asad squeezed his eyes shut.
But that was a mistake too. Blue films played inside the screen of his lids. He watched his mouth taste her ... his hands stroke and cup her as she wiggled and sighed in his arms. She arched her back and dug her nails in his shoulder. Her hitching hips cradled him as he rocked them.
She moaned. She called out his name
Asad swore. That punch to his gut and the rush of blood much lower made him taut with unslaked desire.
Zoya!
Earlier in the day he had thought he'd be able to work her out of his system, root out this madness. They weren't right for each other. How could he let her get under his skin so? Wasn't it a good thing that she'd made this decision for both of them?
But now that resolve crumbled. Had she run for the same reason? Was she tearing herself away from the same sexual temptation? And did she relive the same po*rn inside her eyes? Did she slow it down or speed it up in her head as he did, every other minute? Did she curse herself for the stabs of yearning? For wanting someone so bad that you went rigid with pain? Did she see herself riding him, scratching his chest as he pistoned into her?
Asad slammed a fist into the wall.
They both had stayed too stubborn to say out loud the words that crept like mice in their minds. Those unsaid words that they swept out of sight in starved sighs ... How much longer could he go on without--
His hands stilled and unclenched.
Asad reached out to flip on the lights. Stalking to the mirror he stared into his face. The blade of his chin angled higher. His eyes blazed brighter than the recessed lights overhead.
No.
No more running the same loop on this endless treadmill. Did he have to punish his heart for wanting things his mind said no to?
He snapped a fresh shirt off its hanger and slipped it on. A fresh pair of jeans and he was ready to face his life head on.
Five minutes later he was on the phone and headed to Zoya's room. ... Her former room. And former room it would always remain if he had his way.
Dilshad and Najma were watching TV in the living room.
In her room Asad came to an abrupt halt and looked around curiously. It felt empty too. Faded. As if the oxygen had been sucked out of it leaving it sepia-toned. Asad squared his shoulders. It was her revenge. She'd left the room pristine to remove all traces of herself from his life. His house. She'd left the room to taunt him for that neat-freak stick-up-his-ass. And to give him a taste of what he was missing.
Asad grinned suddenly. No more, Ms. Farooqui.
He saw the trash can next to the dresser. That's what he'd come for. To find even the slightest clue. He didn't believe her overlong text to Ammi. All that nonsense about being in Indore, staying with Aapi's cousin was all hogwash--to cover up why she'd fled. Ammi might be convinced but he wasn't. He rummaged through the torn papers in the bin. The investigator had told him to look for anything that might lead them to her.
Asad had little hope. These days with everything online and app-based would there be a paper trail at all? Zoya had everything on her iPad--would she even bother with paper?
Crumpled yellow sticky notes caught his eye. He smoothed them open. Initials and--thank god, a series of phone numbers! The internet must've been too slow or something. He sent up another silent prayer of gratitude.
Asad tapped in the first number.
"Metro Taxi!"
"Did you pick up a fare at this address today?" Asad rattled off their home address.
"We're sorry sir. We don't give out that information."
Asad swore under his breath. "Please, this is an emergency!"
"Sor--"
"Look, this is a sincere request--it's a matter of life and death ..." It was. He wasn't lying.
It must have been his lucky day. Or his luck was changing. The dispatcher must not have been in the mood for more drama. He asked Asad to hold and came back a few minutes later.
"What was that address?"
Asad repeated it.
"What time?"
"Around ... 4 this afternoon." Najma had told him that they'd returned from her college an hour before that.
"No, we don't show any record of a car going out to that address."
"Any time before that?"
"Sorry, Sir."
Asad sighed in frustration.
He tried the next few numbers and hit paydirt on the fourth one.
Getting through the front desk at The Courtyard by Marriot was not as easy though. At least she'd chosen a more reputable hotel. Asad shuddered to think what could happen to a single young woman in seedier hotels.
Mutiple bribes, threats punctuated with some desk-pounding, and a Police intervention later, he hesistated before rapping his knuckles on Zoya's door on the 3rd floor. He heard the chain slip on before she opened it an inch. Good girl.
Her eyes widened.
He drank her in. That sliver of a view showed her wrapped in a snowy robe. Asad nearly groaned aloud.
"Mr. Khan, aap? How--" Zoya asked.
"I'll wait out here. You can get changed and then we'll talk."
"But--"
"Zoya, please."
Thank god she didn't stay to argue with him any more. She could have. He'd seen that familiar flare of her eyes and the pout of her mouth ready to go up at him for one more round.
He heard the door whisper close and paced in the hallway.
It was a good thing he'd asked to wait outside. Inside, with her in that robe and nothing on underneath it ... He'd have swallowed his tongue in lust and not been able to squeak out a word. Wait, why the hell did she open the door to a stranger just in a robe? He'd have to talk to her about safety first.
A few minutes later he saw her head poke out.
"May I come in?" he asked.
Zoya bowed her head and held the door open for him.
Damn, the room was a mess. She'd tried her best to cram things in the tiny closet before letting him in. It was fairly decent by her standards. But his? It must be a post-Cat 5 hurricane disaster by his standards. His germ-detection radar must have pinged to let him know she was being messy in another zip code. That's why he was here. Must be. But her heart was still stuck somewhere in her throat; her hands felt jello-ey.
Zoya, please?
What was that all about? He was calling her by her first name now? How did he find her and what was he doing here? A sudden thought--
"Is everything OK?" Zoya asked in a high-pitched voice. "Phuphi? Najma? Please Mr. Khan, tell me that everyone's OK!"
"They're both fine." He saw her discarded robe on the back of the chair and tamped down that lick of desire. "I needed to talk to you. It's important." His heart had warmed at her concern for Ammi and Tamatar.
"Have a sea--"
Zoya snatched up the robe from the chair embarrassed that she'd missed that in her cleaning frenzy. When he took the chair she plonked herself down on the bed, nervous fingers kneading the plush terry cloth. Her eyes darted around the room. She couldn't look at him ... her face might betray too much.
Something important, he'd said. She didn't want to think past those words.
Asad watched her fidget. He nearly smiled. He'd never seen her this nervous before him. Usually she was a militant Amazon when it came to him; locked and loaded, ready to knock him on his ass for being a 17th century relic.
"Umm, Ms. Farooqui--" He saw her wince and caught himself. "I mean, Zoya ..."
She looked at him then. Some of her nervousness seemed to seep away. But then she saw that familiar frown and her heart sank down to her toes.
"Why did you open the door right now without asking who it was? And that too dressed in that ... that robe? Don't you kniw how dangerous this city can be for young women?"
Zoya gritted her teeth. This guy. Always finding fault in her.
She crossed her arms. "So this is why you're here? To scold me yet again for how irresponsible I am? Gee thanks, Mr. Khan! How would I ever survive without your mansplaining and running commentary on my life!"
"I didn't mean it that way!"
"Really? Then how did you mean it exactly?" She was so blistering mad at him for raising her hopes and then dashing them to dust. "I'm dead sure you didn't mean to say, Ms. Farooqui, I know you can take care of yourself but I still worry about you!' No, right? Because there's something about me that seems to bring your raging sexism out!" She took a deep breath. "Hurry this up, please. Why are you really here?"
She watched his shoulders slump and felt a pang. The downward twitch of his mouth made her feel worse. But then she squared her shoulders. What, did my words hurt you, Mr. Khan? See, what it feels like? You've only been doing that to me since the first day we met!
"But it could have been anybody at the door!"
Dang, he still hadn't let go of his protectiveness. And too late. She'd already lobbed the bathrobe at his face.
"Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan! Do you ever let up? Why don't you get off my back!" and mind your own damn business, she would've added. Should have added.
He was throttling the robe in front of him right now.
When it had hit him smack in the face he's inhaled the scent of soap and lotion--something fruity and citrusy. But then his eyes had nearly rolled back in his head at the "get off my back." Suddenly all he could see was a naked back that he was peppering with open-mouth kisses. No, he did not want to get off that back.
Asad shook his head. He positioned the robe to better cover himself.
"I ... I'm sorry. I needed to talk to you about ... about us."
Zoya gasped, and he nearly jumped out of his chair. There was so much he wanted to say. So much he wanted to confess. He rose and stalked over to the bank of windows to stare out at the city. Asad jammed his hands in his pockets. But not before arranging the robe perfectly on the back of the chair.
Aww this guy, Zoya thought. He drives me crazy with his prehistoric sense of chivalry and then he drives me crazy with this cute-as-a-buttonness. She watched the denim drag across his butt as he stuffed his hands deeper into the pockets. If she wasn't dreading his words she'd actually be drooling over that vision of sculpted perfection--that piece of fine ass.
But wait, us, he'd said?
There's an "us?
A wild hope bloomed but she was quick to quash it. No, Zoya. No way is that happening. Get ready to be dumped formally. He's here to let you know, as gently as possible, why there can never be an "us.
She tried to breathe in but started to cough instead. Her lungs weren't prepared for that deep gulp of air. They were too petrified to react.
Asad lunged to reach the mini fridge and handed her the chilled water bottle. He wanted to stroke her back to ease her hacking. He shoved his hands back into his pockets. But he didn't move away from her. He stood, just a couple of feet away.
"Are you OK?"
Something snapped in her. "Yes thank you very much, I'm OK, Mr. Khan! But I don't understand why you're here! What is it that you want?"
"I want to know why you left," she heard him snap back.
"Oh really? And why does that matter?"
Zoya stood hoping to put some distance between them but he grabbed her elbow to stop her. She looked up at him, gaze narrowed and breath huffy; he dropped her arm.
"Tell me," he urged.
She wanted to be mad at him. Because if she was mad at him she wouldn't fall at his feet.
"I left ... because--"
I couldn't bear this thing between us, she wanted to say. Bear for you to think I'm not good enough for you despite your obvious attraction to me ... Because maybe I'm not good enough for you ...
"Because?"
"Nothing," she bowed her head. There really wasn't anything to say. She couldn't fake anger. Misery made her heart constrict.
"Zoya please, tell me!"
"Why? Why is it so important to you? Isn't it a relief to see me gone, to be free of me? You won't have to look at me or my messes everyday! You can go back to your perfect life with just you and Phuphi and Tamatar ..."
OK, she was supposed to be lashing out at him but why was she so near tears with each statement? She wanted to be in his life. In that house she'd fallen in love with.
Asad remained quiet. Quiet for so long that she was forced to look at him after a good self-scolding. He sighed deeply but wasn't pinching his brows between his fingers as she'd expected him to.
Asad looked at her, his eyes unreadable.
"What?" she was forced to ask.
He held up a hand and started to count off on his fingers. "Let's see how many things are wrong with what you just said. Number one: it is important to me to know why you left--you are important to me.
Zoya's eyes widened and her heart dared not believe his words.
Asad held up another finger, "two: no, it won't be a relief to see you gone." I'd die, is what he really wanted to say.
"It ... it won't? Zoya stuttered, hope surging high yet feeling an eensy-weensy bit scared to trust.
With the visions playing in his head he needed to be clear about his intentions. She wouldn't take anything less. He couldn't give her anything more.
Asad cleared his throat. "I ... Voh, actually ... he saw her puff in annoyance and stopped. Her fists rose to rest on her hips and her lips thinned.
"Zoya ..."
She looked up at the change in his voice. It had dipped and become intimate.
"Why do you think I'm here?" he asked.
Because you think you're attracted to me but don't want to be?
She wanted so much for him to say that he loved her. A big part of her was hoping that he'd found her, come here all this way to declare from the rooftops that he was in love with her. But she also knew that even if he did admit that he loved her, he would hate himself for it. She loved him, would walk to the ends of the earth for him, but she wouldn't accept a conditional love--a love where he wanted her to change for him, where he couldn't accept her for who she was. Where he'd always wonder that she was a bad influence on Najma. She'd walk away without ever looking back. Even if it killed her.
Damn, she was such a cliche.
But she had walked away today, hadn't she? And it hadn't killed her.
The shards of loss glinted in Zoya's eyes. But she used the pain to stiffen her spine.
No, it didn't kill me to walk away from you, Mr. Khan. And it won't. I won't let it kill me.
Hey klondy when r u goint to update? Counting seconds.
I can't say when I'll be updating this. Only half written as yet. In the meanwhile why not enjoy another ASYA adventure?
| topics | author | replies | views | reply |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| --Aishwarya-- | 8 | 811 | ||
| Vintage_flow | 21 | 1683 | ||
| asyaarshilover | 940 | 107003 | ||
| melodyofflowers | 30 | 4118 | ||
| melodyofflowers | 59 | 5094 |
comment:
p_commentcount