Chapter 4
Shilpa Sharma loved her son; a fact very clear to Nupur the moment she sat down.
She doted on him when he said or did something pleasing, scolded him when he acted like the Sharma prat Nupur was familiar with, and smiled proudly as he spoke (at her insistence and to his obvious annoyance) about his job and many accomplishments.
Nupur ate her crme brulee and tried to listen, but her thoughts were taking over. One afternoon. Four conversations with four classmates; all of whom had changed for the better. And where was Nupur? Still at the same place she was at twenty-two: lost, hurting, guilty, and lacking purpose.
Meanwhile, Mayank Sharma had grown from the ashes of an immature and condescending prejudiced bigot into a mature, but still overconfident man. Try as she may, she couldn't look at him as the slimy git from school; no, all she saw when she looked at him was the man, who used to be a boy—a boy who had been overshadowed by his father's identity for a long time, driven to fear and hiding during the revolution.
It was a terrible time for them all, she didn't forget about the rumours of the rebel's wrath on renowned families like the Sharmas and knew the woman and her son seated with her were lucky to have made it out with their lives—and freedom.
Nupur was glad to see that at least on some level, the revolution had changed them for the better.
"Can I have a spoonful of your Banoffee pie, Mayank, beta?" Mrs. Sharma asked with a smile.
The first twenty minutes after she joined them were spent idly chatting about various topics ranging from the beauty of ancient languages like Arabic and Sanskrit to the purpose of Rolexes. Above all the other emotions that swirled in her head at that time, Nupur was paranoid. After all, Sharma's invitation for dessert had to be a trap of some sorts, right? There was no telling what they were capable of. She silently and attentively waited for more than half an hour after sitting down for the mother and son duo to reveal their true intentions for their dessert invitation.
It took a while, but she ended up concluding that their intentions were probably honourable.
Nupur shifted in her seat. Even after realizing she wasn't
about to become mincemeat, she still felt tense and miserable. Despite the restlessness that resided in her belly after her conversation with Dia, the awkwardness she felt with the Sharmas, and the deep embarrassment the incident with Rean caused, Nupur kept her guard high and never let her true feelings show. Nupur spoke confidently when spoken to and put in her two-cents when asked, but remained pensive and quiet for the remainder of time. The brave front she'd put up was beginning to hurt.
"Please, beta?" Mrs. Sharma smiled.
"No," was Mayank's definite reply. He rolled his eyes and with perfect table manners, ate another spoonful of his pie.
The corners of her lips lost the fight to gravity and slid into a frown. "Why not?"
"Because every time I let you take a bite, you eat the rest of it."
If an astrologer told her just yesterday that in twenty-four hours she would be sitting in public with Shilpa and Mayank Sharma, eating a crme brulee while listening to them bicker about Sharma's refusal to let her have a spoonful of his Banoffee pie, she would've laughed in that person's face and labeled them insane. Was this seriously her life?
The response was always a strong and resounding, yes.
"Oh, you can't talk. Who ate the entire Opera cake before anyone else could have a piece?"
Despite her uneasy feelings, listening to them argue as if her presence didn't matter was comical.
Sharma frowned. "I was ten, Maa. Why do you insist on dredging up every memory and throwing it in my face?"
"Because," she replied with a hint of coyness in her voice and eyes, "That's what I do best."
He grunted, muttering something under his breath, likely impolite, before he focused on his dessert.
They were odd...and yet, so natural. Like a real family. A bittersweet pang hit her square in the chest and her slight smile waned into nothing when the painful realization hit that she didn't have a family anymore.
"Oh, don't be selfish, just one bite." Mrs. Sharma huffed.
They argued over pettiness and had immature moments, loved and respected one another, and had issues just like everyone else. The revolution had changed them, for the better, but they probably had their own reasons for said change. More than likely, the Sharmas had altered their elitist opinions and beliefs to help rebuild the family name in the now more tolerant society. It made sense. More sense than them changing because of some altruistic reason.
Altruism was highly overrated.
Nupur looked away and admitted something to herself. Despite her wariness and the fact that she knew Sharma's intentions were less than honourable, the Sharmas' invitation was probably one of the nicest things anyone had done for her since she'd been back.
"How is your crme brulee, Nupur?" The older woman asked.
She'd successfully stole a bite of her son's dessert and proceeded to confiscate the entire plate, as predicted.
Sharma was still grumbling bitterly under his breath while he sulked—in a manly way, of course.
"Wonderful, Mrs. Sharma."
"Oh, do call me Shilpa."
Nupur's eyes widened.
Sharma's brow disappeared into his hair.
All was silent for a few, tense moments.
She didn't care how real they were, there was no way in the world she would ever loosen up enough to call her Shilpa. She just couldn't do that. There were still some very clear lines between them. Lines she couldn't ignore simply for the sake of pleasantries. And the thought of being anything except reservedly proper to her was a definite 'no'. Unfortunately, Mrs. Sharma was staring at her expectantly.
"I would just like to thank you," She paused and stared at her plate for a moment, trying to calm her nerves before she finished. "Thank you for the invitation. It was very kind of you. You didn't have to."
"Oh," she waved her off with a smile. "Don't thank me, thank Mayank. It was his idea to invite you."
Sharma paled, stiffened, and dropped his spoon on the white tablecloth. The look on his face confirmed Mrs. Sharma's claim. Nupur's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets at his reaction: his nostrils had flared and his jaw instantly had fallen wide open. Luckily for her, she was between bites of her dessert, because if she weren't, she would've choked on her crme brulee.
Gradually, her eyes wandered over to the man sitting immediately to her left. She wasn't stupid. She couldn't (nor would she let herself) believe he invited her out the kindness of his heart; that would be too good to be true. He still was Mayank Sharma after all; the revolution made him tolerable and less of a jerk, but it hadn't turned him into a bloody saint. Not once had she lowered her defences around them and he was partly the reason. She knew his motives, knew them as soon as he had asked her to join them, and carefully watched her own words and actions conscientiously up until that point because she knew he was observing her like a doctor would his or her patient.
"Let's talk about who or what made you run to Italy."
Nupur didn't know whether to faint or vomit at those words and hoped he hadn't caught her panicked reaction before she buried her emotions deep in her belly and lashed out in a pathetic attempt to end the conversation. In fact, Nupur only agreed to join them for dessert to stop the assault, but she had a vague inkling that a bit of schmoozing with Sharma and his mother wasn't enough to divert his curiosity.
Today wasn't the end.
Only the beginning.
While she hid it perfectly behind a faade of confidence, she was anxious about every word she spoke and made sure her replies were vague enough so he wouldn't read too much into them, but not too vague so they'd know she was being vague. But, of course, she wiped that mortified look from her face quickly because she had a part to play and a slackened jaw wasn't exactly becoming. "But you—"
Of course he never let her finish.
Sharma shot a severe look that took Nupur back to second year of college when he called her a hypocritical prude. His words weren't as harsh as his look; in fact they were rather composed and sensible when she thought about it. "Do you honestly think you would've come if I said I'd invited you?"
Good point.
She would've bolted from the restaurant as if God himself were hot on her heels. "I suppose not."
"Are you glad you came to have dessert with us?" Shilpa oddly looked hopeful.
That was strange.
Nevertheless, for the first time in a long time, Nupur spoke honest words. "I was a little wary at first, I still am, but I don't regret accepting the invitation."
She looked pleased to the point where Sharma shot his mother a peculiar glance Nupur didn't recognize—not that she recognized any of his looks to begin with. The look seemed to instigate a non-verbal conversation between mother and son that she viewed suspiciously while polishing off the best crme brulee she'd ever had. It ended with a firm look from Shilpa that morphed into a smile when she looked over at Nupur.
"Well, it's been a pleasure having dessert with you as well, right Mayank?" she shot him a look.
"Right," he drawled uneasily.
She wanted to laugh at the awkward look on his face, but realised she felt exactly like he looked. But then Nupur found her attention drawn to Mayank Sharma for the first time since he approached her. Oddly enough. He'd never lost his infamous swagger all the girls drooled over at school, the formality in his voice, or the coolness in his eyes. The first thing she noticed, despite the fact that he looked older, was that he looked more like a human being and less like a monster she'd always imagined him to be. Casually dressed in beige slacks that perfectly contrasted his eyes and a short-sleeved cream polo shirt, Nupur couldn't help but think with a tiny shake of her head: prim and proper as always. He changed his hair to a style she'd seen on a male model in a magazine and it looked rather good on him—shockingly—he looked good, though she'd cut her own tongue out before she ever admitted it aloud. Of course, with the way he smirked at any female who passed by and gawked at him, he knew how good he looked.
Of course.
"So, Nupur, what do you do?" Mrs. Sharma asked.
"I work for Sierra. Are you familiar with the company?"
"Yes, I am. I hired them about quite a few years ago to break a code relating to a credit fraud. I hear they're extremely selective about the code breakers they hire so you must be very good at what you do."
She shrugged modestly. "I'm not terrible at it. Working at the Venetian bank really helped me hone my skills." She hadn't wanted to say that, but it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Everyone knew she worked at the bank in Italy apparently; it was no big secret.
Mrs. Sharma sighed. "I haven't been to Venice since I was a little girl. Did you swim in the sea?"
Nupur shook her head vehemently. "Oh, no. I can't swim."
"You can't?" she sounded surprised.
"No. I never learned. I never had a real reason to."
Or the time.
"You should give it a shot. My son is an excellent swimmer." She stated proudly, smirking at her brooding son. "Perhaps Mayank could," Nupur's eyes widened in horror, knowing what was coming next and dreading it all the same. "Teach you how to—"
Sharma promptly choked on his drink.
"Mayank!" Shilpa cried out fearfully, drawing a little attention to their table.
As he sputtered and coughed violently into his napkin, Nupur thudded on his back clearing his airway, Sharma stopped choking and shot her a grateful look as he mouthed, 'thanks'. The shock of his gratitude rendered her speechless. All she could do was nod dumbly.
"Are you all right?" his mother asked, genuinely concerned.
"Yes. A little water went down the wrong pipe. No worries, I'm perfectly fine," he replied convincingly to his vexed mother as onyx eyes shifted from her to Nupur as he asked, "So, what was it like to live in Italy?"
Nupur knew perfectly well what he was doing, and it was bloody brilliant. Changing the subject to anything except the ghastly swimming lessons topic was the best idea she wished she'd had.
What Nupur said next was the truth and it spilled from her lips with ease. "The city is absolutely beautiful and rich with history and even though I lived there almost five years, I don't think I saw it all. There was just too much and I never had time. The people are simply amazing; the people I worked with regularly were really patient with me while I learned Italian. I just think they were shocked I actually attempted it."
That snippet sparked Mrs. Sharma's interest, "Do you speak Italian well?"
"Fluently."
"Oh, please say something," she swooned while her son remained silent; the look on his face was almost pensive. Nupur knew that a pensive Sharma wasn't a good one.
With a nod, Nupur pushed the dread aside and obliged the older woman and started telling an Aesop's fable called The Fox and the Grapes in perfect Italian. The tale was about a fox that tried, without avail, to reach grapes that hung high on a vine. He gave up and retreated after saying, "The grapes are sour anyway!" Moral of the story: it is easy to despise what you cannot have. Her words came out rough and rusty at first; she hadn't spoken Italian aloud in over seven months, but she got back into the swing of things quickly, telling the quick story with confidence. She'd read it so many times that it was committed to memory.
All the while, she watched Shilpa's face glowing with interest and awe even though she had no idea what she was talking about. Nupur looked over at Sharma who looked to be following along, sort of. He looked confused at some of the words she said and asked her to repeat a few things. Sharma knew some Italian? That was new news to her. Everything he said and did, today, was new news to her. When she finished, she said in English, "The end."
Mrs. Sharma clapped. "Oh that was beautiful! I don't have the slightest idea of what you said, but it was marvellous. Do you think you could teach me Italian? I'm thinking of going on vacation down there next August and I want to be prepared."
"Sure," Nupur said without thinking. Oh no.
It could have been worse. She could be receiving swimming lessons from Mayank Sharma. Teaching Mrs. Sharma Italian was nothing in comparison. Besides, the more she talked, the more Nupur became partial to her. It hadn't built up to 'like', but knew it could with time. Mrs. Sharma was agreeable, polite, and the closest thing to a mother-figure she'd had around her in a long time.
So after shedding her initial regrets, she said, "Just let me know when you want to start and I'll be happy to start teaching you." Nupur wondered if Sharma knew how lucky he was to still have her in his life. Probably didn't. That saddened her. Looking to her left, she regarded the man with a strange look, "Do you speak Italian?"
Mayank made a face. "I know a lot of words and I can write it better than I understand it, but I'm far from being fluent."
"Who taught you?"
"Benji, but he's an awful teacher apparently," he offered with a quick glance.
After a moment of confusion as she tried to remember that name, she finally came on the right one, "Abraham? The Assistant Commissioner?"
He nodded. "Yes."
She'd seen him in The Office a few weeks ago, and he'd
actually struck up a conversation with her about life in Italy. He'd heard the rumours, and it was refreshing to talk about the country, instead of why she was there. He'd just gotten back from a classified mission in Poland and looked rather exhausted—and yet still attractive, according to several brazen catty females. Nupur would've never guessed in a million years that a snooty sidekick of Sharma like Benji Abraham would've turned out to be an exceptional Officer, but anything was possible, right?
Then she'd learned that he wasn't very snooty, not in the least.
In fact, he was rather nice to her during their conversation. He'd told her about his time in Ldz, well the part that he could talk about, and did a mini demonstration of the Polish he knew. It was very poor, but she'd smiled at his attempts. She had told him about her historical visit to Warsaw for an ambassador's summit her company had sent her on three years before. He seemed genuinely interested in her adventures in Poland and about her life in Venice, so interested that he invited her out for coffee to continue the conversation. She'd politely declined, stating that while she had business to tend to back in her office, he looked like he needed a nap.
"Did you plan on staying in Italy forever?"
Mrs. Sharma's question took her by surprise and she couldn't hide it, much to her own annoyance. Nupur had every intention on staying there forever, living out the rest of her days in beautiful Venice, but it seemed that fate wouldn't allow it and that hurt deeply. With two phone calls and a letter, she'd left Italy as abruptly as she left Britain after the revolution.
"Yes, I did, but things change."
__________________________________________________________________________
Mayank's mind was clouded with thoughts by the time they had parted ways with Nupur Rai. As he sat with his mother in his expensively-furnished living room after they had left her outside of Waterstones, his mind wandered aimlessly as she chattered on about the party they would be attending together tomorrow.
"…it's going to be marvellous…"
He had listened intently to every word Rai had uttered from the moment she sat down, trying to excavate the clues that she had tried to hide between the lines. So far he was absolutely sure he had no idea why she had left Britain or what had brought her back. Furthermore, not once did they mention Dia in conversation, so he couldn't at least find out how they knew each other. He just knew she'd kept Dia out of the conversation on purpose. Not surprising, but still brilliant on her part.
He wasn't fazed by his lack of knowledge, not in the least. He hadn't expected her to trust him enough to spill everything after one polite dessert. No, she had defensive walls built up around her; walls so high they probably were visible from the moon. And he didn't expect her to open up, not to him, especially with his mother present. He knew Rai was terribly uncomfortable around her; apprehension was written all over her face and heard in her voice when they initially sat down. On some level, even hours later, he was still stunned the three of them had managed a decent, if not pleasant, conversation where the revolution or past differences weren't brought up.
"...I think orange is a wonderful summer colour..."
Somehow he gathered a few clues about the time she spent in Italy, but she deliberately kept her words vague.
"…I think the gazebo idea is an over the top, but splendid…"
If there was one thing that was made perfectly clear today, it was that he shouldn't underestimate Nupur Rai. She was nothing like those brainless moronic women Mayank dealt with on a regular basis, as much as it pained him to admit. She was smarter and craftier than he'd anticipated; she should've been a lawyer with the adeptness she had used to converse with them. She'd made it obvious without even making it obvious, that she didn't want him to try and figure her out.
Little did she know that that only made his interest swell.
"…and I think white is so unbecoming…"
He saw a few flickers of emotions in her eyes at certain parts of the chat; mainly when his mother asked her if she had planned on living in Venice forever. He saw the hurt and pain briefly before she shut her emotions away and Mayank found he was especially curious about her life in Venice. Something was there.
"…I think you should drop by the mansion in the morning before we go, is that fine, Mayank?"
"Yes," was his absent and noncommittal reply; his mind continued on his track.
To say that he was merely surprised to find that Rai was far more genuine than he ever expected (or gave her credit for) was a strong understatement; he was flabbergasted, not just by her words, but by her apparent lack of judgment. She was polite to his mother after being slighted by her in the past, pleasant to him after their obviously rocky history, and he didn't detect one shred of phoniness in her voice or her actions. He learned more about her in an hour than he had in two years of college: she had a dry wit about her, spoke Venetian and Italian fluently and German with trouble, only listened to classical music, couldn't swim, liked to travel and learn about the history of each place she visited, and lived near a large lake.
"…I think they have tight security present so we shouldn't be worried."
Also, Rai had managed to do something no female outside of Dia Singhania had ever done. She had impressed his mother.
"…Dia told me that she was wearing a lavender gown…"
Mayank was thrown by a few of his mother's curve balls:
When she asked her if she was glad she came to sit with them. He was positive she was using Rai to better them in society; after all, it would've been a brilliant move. He soon found he was wrong about that accusation. And then, when she had almost offered his services to teach Rai how to swim. Mayank couldn't even believe his mother would do something like that. If he didn't know better he would say she was trying to push them together, but that was the most ludicrous thought he'd ever have. No, his mother wouldn't do that to him.
It simply had to be because she liked Rai and wanted to see her more often.
Yes, that was it. It made more sense.
Furthermore, Shilpa raved about her for the better part of an hour after they left Oxford Street; a clear sign of her newfound attachment to the young, defensive lady. Shilpa never talked about them—or even remembered their names—if she wasn't fond of them. Another sign of her regard: plans to meet with her at a restaurant next Saturday to work on Italian and chat over lunch. He didn't miss the fleeting look of shock that flashed across Rai's face. It was much like watching an insolvent man being given a van full of cash. She seemed rather grateful for Shilpa's humanity and thanked them both in her own way for dessert and conversation. Shilpa walked off after giving her a smile and a promise to write her within the week to set a time to meet. Mayank followed after a pitifully awkward goodbye.
Pitifully awkward was an understatement and he knew it.
It was horrendous.
"Err, it was, umm, well, interesting to see you again, Sharma."
He just nodded briefly, spun on his heels, and hurried—gracefully—after his mother without glancing back.
"…I was thinking about maybe a blue…"
If he didn't know any better, he'd say Rai was lonelier than she was apprehensive.
"Mayank?" Shilpa snapped her fingers in front of his face repeated.
He blinked about ten times before looking over at his mother,
"What?"
"Did you hear anything that I said?"
"I'm sorry, but not much. I was thinking about a project for work," he apologised sincerely and finished it off with a lie as he took a long drink of tea.
"Oh, it's all right. I suppose I was boring you to bits anyway." She smoothed down her chiffon sari, "So, what do you think of Nupur Rai?"
For the second time in one day, Mayank nearly choked, thanks to her. Where the hell did that come from? He shouldn't have been so surprised by her bluntness. Maa didn't beat around the bush, so to speak, but he was. "She's okay, I suppose," his answer lacked emotion, but it was the truth.
Shilpa made a face he didn't like; it was a conniving one.
"She's a gem: intelligent and poised. Sure she was a bit on the defensive side, but who wouldn't be, if they were in her situation? I think she handled the situation with Gupta the best she could. I think you should try getting to know her better."
Mayank agreed, albeit silently, with everything she said until that last sentence. He could literally hear the wheels in her head as they rolled; the wheels and her words made him suddenly very uncomfortable. Try to get to know Rai? His brow blended in with his hair at the mere thought. "Excuse me?"
Clearly, he'd been hearing and seeing things.
Mayank didn't mind that his mother liked Rai; he just wanted to be kept out of it. Getting to know her better would screw with that plan to find out what happened to 'The Dream Team' and move on.
For some reason, he had a strong feeling it was easier said than done.
"You heard me, Mayank. It may be worth your while."
His reply was in the midst of a snorted laugh. "Obviously, you've taken leave of your senses, Maa."
Shilpa just smiled, not evilly, just good-humoured, and rose from her spot. "I have to go. Psychiatrists are coming by to observe your father and change some of his medicines. Be at the Sharma Household by eleven tomorrow morning so we can leave together for the event."
He looked at her a little alarmed. Psychiatrists? In the mansion? "Do you need help with father tonight?" Aggressive nights always followed psychiatric visits and adjustments to his daily regimen of medication.
"Not at all," she patted his shoulder, "Nothing to worry about. All of them are as strong as they are discreet. There are no worries about any of this getting out and they are staying for the next two nights to see that he adjusts to the medication well."
"But—"
"I've got it all under control, Mayank, I'll text you if I need assistance," Shilpa dropped a kiss on her only son's cheek and left him with his thoughts that were no longer on the mysteries behind Rai's faade, but on the man who'd been an important part of who he was as a person.
To say Mayank idolized his father while growing up was a gross understatement. He literally worshipped the man, the awe and admiration always evident in his eyes for one of the most successful businessmen in the UK. At a pliable age, Mayank had placed him on a platform, openly fostering desires to be just like him when he grew up – a hard-hitting, no-nonsense Mogul. The staggering wealth his father had amassed was another issue altogether. Mayank as a child experienced no discomfort whatsoever in terms of luxury. Everything was provided at his every whim and command, his every wish was met with, all his desires were fulfilled. You'd think he would want nothing else in his happy little life wouldn't you? However, he had everything, but yet nothing.
The very father who meant the world to Mayank had hardly or almost no interest in him. Work kept him busy in the day and women in the night time. Mayank didn't understand infidelity at such a tender young age and thought all those pretty young 'aunties' were just part of his father's more attractive clientele. As Mayank grew, he saw the sorrow and resignation in his mother's eyes and silently comprehended her grief and pain. Seeing his mother in that state drove him over the edge. No longer a hero in his son's eyes, Akash Sharma had fallen from grace. Mayank still respected him, now only in the way a son should respect his father...oh but believe it took him a long time to erase the bitterness and neglect he had faced for so long.
Seeing his father in his current state and insanity was especially hard for his inner child to witness. The rebels had tormented, tortured and ripped his father off his every shred of reality and coerced him into transferring all his assets into their 'great cause' via subterfuge. Possessing none of his former charm or glory, Akash Sharma slowly but steadily descended into madness and this painful downfall was observed by none other than his family members. Shilpa, his mother, a woman of substance and compassion had forgotten all the past atrocities her husband had committed on her and devoted her time in caring for her handicapped spouse. She was so engrossed in treating him, she had even ignored her son in the process, causing Mayank to scorn his father even more.
Of course, that little spark materialised into something much greater when Akash began showing signs of violence. Violence barring its marks on his mother. That was it. Mayank couldn't handle it any longer. Mayank Sharma had gone from respecting to hating his father in about twelve seconds despite knowing his mental limitations. Pure hatred directed at his father swiftly rose in his chest and raged through him like a wildfire. Viewing his father as something less than strong, fearless man had forced Mayank to lose all respect for him.
And then it just deteriorated from there.
It made hatred bubble and scaled his skin.
It made his hands shake vehemently and his breathing change.
It made him realise things about his father he'd never realise before.
Akash Sharma was a selfish bas***d. He didn't give a damn about what would happen to his son or his wife when he agreed to do all the dirty work for the rebels. He didn't give a damn about how it ruined and altered their lives forever. He didn't give a damn about the repercussions of his actions. He didn't give a damn about anything. No, he just did what he wanted, damn the consequences, damn him and his mother, damn it all to hell. He'd certainly damned them for the longest time, not just in society, but in their own minds. And now his father had the nerve to crack under the pressure and be a burden in all their lives?
Bullshit.
All of it.
And Mr Akash Sharma?
He leaked bullshit.
Mayank wanted to haul off and punch him in that moment more than four years ago, because the hell they lived in the following year, the hell he'd been through that year; all of that was his fault. Planning to flee the country leaving his family to the mercy of the rebels – this was not something Mayank was pleased with at all. But of course, the rebels caught up with his father's devious schemes and the action taken against him, Shilpa and Mayank were just...horrendous. Oh, how he resented his father for dragging them all down with him; for setting the path that led Mayank to being used as a f**king guinea pig in a sadistic man's games, a mission that nearly cost him his life and his sanity.
In a burst of fury, Dia Singhania stepped into the living room foyer from the main entrance. As the woman flicked a speck of dust from her coat, he observed her curiously. What was she doing here? He didn't have to wait long for his answer.
Dia looked around before she coolly asked, "I thought your mother would still be here, is she?" before she hung her coat on the coat rack and ran a hand down her blue dress to smooth out the invisible wrinkles.
"She left about twenty minutes ago."
Dia picked her coat back up, preparing to drive over to the manor. "Well, I guess I'll be—"
"Stay."
"I don't think I should."
Mayank rose from his seat on the couch, crossed the room, and stood inches in front of his friend, "What? Are you scared of me now?" he questioned in gentler tones. The last thing he needed was for her to be fearful of him. Not after everything they'd gone through together as friends.
Dia stared at the floor. "No, of course not."
He ignored the slight feeling of relief that coursed through him. "Then why won't you look at me?"
"I don't trust being alone with you right now."
There was nothing said for the longest time because honestly he didn't know what to say. Having her here went against his plans to give her a few days to calm down and approach her about the Rai situation over a pleasant lunch and a few drinks. Dia always loosened up over drinks. It was a brilliant plan, but now he had to start from scratch. "Is this about Rai?"
"Yes."
Evenly, as if he didn't care but wanted to understand, he asked, "Why are you protecting her? I just don't understand."
Dia backed away from Mayank. "Someone has to."
"It's not like you to be self-sacrificing, and you know it. Her burdens aren't yours to carry."
The light that set her temper ablaze was turned on. "Look at her, Mayank! Really, take a look at her! She's wasting away because she can't even carry her own burdens! I don't know everything that's happened to her, I don't know the secrets she's kept from me, but she's a lot worse off than when I saw her seven months ago—" with a small gasp, Dia's hand flew over her mouth and her eyes went wide.
She'd obviously spoken too much. His mind spun with the new information he'd been unintentionally given. Dia had seen Rai seven months before. In Italy, he assumed.
In full interrogation mode, his next question came out rapidly, "Why were you in Italy?"
"I can't tell you."
"When did you see her?"
"Don't ask me questions I can't answer."
"What does she have on you?"
"She has nothing on me."
"Then why are you protecting her?"
"I already told you."
Mayank's face twisted into a nasty scowl, "You're lying to me, and I hate being lied to."
"What does it matter? You lie to me all the time! You say this thing with your father doesn't upset you, and it does!" Dia shouted. "Why do you care about her? You're not going to help her. That's highly unlike you." Mayank opened his mouth to argue, but she didn't let him say a word. "You're a selfish bas***d, just like your father! You don't care about anyone other than yourself, Mayank! I know this, you know this, Benji knows this, and your mother even knows this, so why start caring for others now?"
Rage bubbled inside him, his body went red hot, and his eyes darkened. Mayank had stalked back to the other side of the room to stop himself from lashing out at her. His hands shook; he wanted to slap her so bad it made him ache. But that wasn't who he was. He wasn't a woman-beater. He didn't strike women. He wasn't abusive. His father had been all of those things from time to time. Not him. Right. Not him.
"Nothing to say?" she inquired angrily.
And that set him back off. "Oh, I have something to say, Dia. How dare you compare me to him? I thought you knew me better than that! Damnit Dia, I'm nothing, nothing like him! I'm nothing like—"
"You are, Mayank! You try not to be, you try to act better, you try and try and try, Mayank, but you are! You're just like him!"
"No, I'm not!" he yelled; the desperation in his voice was shielded by the blazing anger residing in his chest.
"Yes, you are! You can sit here all day and deny it, but you are. While you're not abusive like your father, you're manipulative and you sure as hell don't care about anyone other than yourself. You want something from her, and you'll stop at nothing to get it. Sound familiar? It should." She put her hands on her hip. "You can get mad at me, you can throw me out, you can even refuse to speak to me, but the sooner you accept the truth, the better off you'll be."
Mayank wanted to hit the hell out of her because deep down he knew she was right and he hated her for it.
It muffled his anger.
Slightly.
"Go to hell, Dia," he seethed.
It was another painfully long silence before she muttered,
"I'm sorry, Mayank. That was out of line."
"Damn right it was."
"I just want you to leave Nupur alone," Dia told him coolly.
"So it's Nupur?" he spat distastefully, "Is she your new best friend, now?"
"It's nothing like that," she shook her head slowly, still flushed from the argument, "We're not even friends. She doesn't even like the word."
"Then why protect her?"
When she sighed, he knew he'd worn her down. "I don't want to fight you."
She hated it when they fought almost as much as he did.
"You're keeping things from me, Dia. I thought we were beyond that."
"Mayank," she said weakly, eyes locked with his. The young man watched in mild shock as the woman before him lost her cool composure. "There is a lot that I'm keeping from you."
"Then tell me."
"I can't." Her shoulders shook and eyes watered; it'd been so long since he'd seen her display some sort of emotion that showed just how vulnerable she was. Mayank almost wanted to hug her, but she wasn't big on comfort. And neither was he. So, he stood there and watched as she fell apart right in front of him, feeling horribly guilty. "I want to tell you everything, but I can't."
"Dia." There was a touch of empathy in his tone that made her look at him.
Mayank didn't like seeing her hurt; and that was the startling difference between him and his father. While his father didn't hesitate to kick Maa down for spoiling him too much and he didn't think twice before kicking Mayank down for "un-Sharma behaviour" as a child, Mayank himself, refused to kick Dia down. He refused to repeat history because he'd learned from it. After all, there was only so much someone could stand before they grew weary and the thought of Dia ever growing weary with him left him with an uneasy feeling in his stomach.
So, he refused to hurt her with words just because she had hurt him with hers. Hell, he refused to hurt her at all. Ever. In fact, he'd done everything in his power to assuage her pain after her father's murder.
Heavens only knew how long it had taken her to get to the point where she was today. And it wasn't time for a relapse.
"Don't force it out of me, Mayank," she pleaded through tears,
"Just trust me when I say that what she's hiding is something you really don't want to get involved in. I wish that fate had a better plan for me."
There was another pause before he asked, "What do you mean?"
She chuckled ruefully and dried her tears. "What I mean is I'd sleep better at night if I didn't know at least part of what she's been through, part of what plagues her. I'd sleep better if I didn't see her horror-stricken face in my worst memories or her cries in my dreams. I'd sleep better if I wasn't the only person who knew the reason she left Britain over five years ago."
Cricket
Bigg Boss 19
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