A/N: Not much happens - but it will! Thank you for reading. Your comments keep me going ❤️
Part 3
The routine kept him focused.
Raghav moved the strip of cotton around his knuckles, between each finger, looped it around his thumb. He flexed his hands, satisfied, and slipped them into his gloves.
He approached the bag warily, shifting his weight on the balls of his feet.
The first punch connected with a satisfying thwack.
There was his father, begging for money. Pop.
His younger brother, still and lifeless on the ground. Pop-pop.
His mother, forbidding even his shadow from darkening her doorstep. Whump.
Pallavi, eyeing him as if he were two-bit gangster scum.
The punching bag rattled on its chain from the force of his blow.
The images cycled through his mind. They taunted him, unmoved by his repeated strikes. He exhaled forcefully, his lungs burning. Sweat dripped down his face.
What did the opinion of some average middle-class girl really matter?
What did she know about his sacrifices? Every day, coming home to an empty one room flat, an even emptier mansion – how could she know what it really meant to be alone?
This wasn’t the first time he had thought about her since that night. Memories of her had surfaced unbidden over the years – scattered across his consciousness like broken shells peeking through the sand, only revealed when the ocean waves rolled into the shoreline.
Sometimes it was the smell of jasmine that brought him back to her luxuriously soft hair.
Sometimes it was a piece of chocolate cake, which despite its sweet decadence paled in comparison to the one he had tasted on her lips.
And sometimes he would watch a newly married couple walk hand-in-hand into one of his stores, and he would wonder – was she that happy?
Harmless fantasies, of someone he would never actually see again.
Raghav ripped off his gloves. If that was really what Pallavi Deshmukh thought of him, who was he to disappoint?
_______
Pallavi sighed and rubbed her eyes as she ran through the numbers again. Even with the sale of the premium stock she was able to salvage, the shop was well short of meeting its operating expenses for the quarter. She could no longer rely on the wedding season to drive sales, and the next two months were sparse on major holidays that might inspire a shopping spree.
She needed funds – but going to the bank meant going through her father-in-law for his approval. Dread formed in the pit of her stomach. What could she do?
She was so engrossed in her ledger that she failed to notice the customer until she heard a low whistle.
“Sorry, we’re closed,” she said automatically, trailing off as she looked up and found none other than Raghav Rao taking the seat across from her. He shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it on her desk, making himself comfortable.
“Now is that any way to speak to a customer?” He grinned, lacing his fingers behind his head.
Pallavi nearly jumped out of her chair. “You! Get. Out.” She punctuated each word with a jab of her finger towards the door and took a moment to glance towards the deserted street. There was not a soul in sight. It struck her that this was the first time they were alone since…well, since…
His smile disappeared. “I’ll rephrase,” he said slowly. “Is that any way to speak to your landlord?”
“What are you talking about? My landlord is – ”
“An interesting guy,” finished Raghav. “Idiotic, to accept such a low offer, but interesting nonetheless.” He glanced around for eavesdroppers, continuing his absurd farce. “Gambling debts,” he added in a mock whisper.
Pallavi felt her anger start to simmer. If his Mafioso tactics, his drunken shenanigans hadn’t yet sealed the deal, then this was definite proof – what a fool she had been.
How naïve – to lay awake at night thinking of him. To remember the rumble of his voice in her ear, the feel of his calloused fingers on her skin.
And when she faltered in the face of her unrelenting loneliness, to evoke the thrill he had awakened with his touch. To wonder, what if…
She marched to the front of the desk and scowled. “What do you want?”
“Once again, Saree Ka Dukaan, you assume the worst. I’m here to help you,” he said almost lazily, leering at her figure.
She could almost hear the sound of her palm connecting with his face, but instead ignored his bait. “Get to the point.”
And just as a lion eventually tires of toying with its prey, his body language shifted as he rose to his full height and moved towards her, not stopping until she had to crane her neck to meet his angry eyes.
“Here’s the deal – stay out of my business and I’ll stay out of yours. Or I guarantee you…you won't like the consequences.”
Pallavi glared and opened her mouth to reply. She watched his eyes drop to her lips— and for one crazy moment she thought she recognized that look, the same one he had given her just before –
“Ardhamainda?” he growled.
She could only watch him walk away while she stood frozen where he left her, her heart pounding.
______________
It hadn’t been his imagination. She had stood in front of him – in her husband’s saree shop, with her husband’s name – with no mangalsutra hanging around her neck, no sindoor in her parted hair.
And when she looked at him, just for that moment – her eyes doing the talking instead of her smart mouth –
Raghav shifted his car into gear and took off, glancing at his rearview mirror as Deshmukh Saree Emporium retreated into the distance.
There – that would be the end of it. He would go his way, and Pallavi Deshmukh would go hers.
Or his name wasn't Raghav Rao.
TBC
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