FF: All the Right Moves - Chapter 14, page 129 - COMPLETE - Page 10

"You threw me out of bed, remember?"

"That will never happen again."

They both freeze at his words. Zoya's eyes widen and Asad's face flushes. He takes a step back and clears his throat.

"I mean, now you know it's my room," he clarifies. "And I know you. I'm used to you barging into my bed."

Zoya's mouth falls open.

"My room," he corrects quickly. "I'm used to you barging into my room."

Best part!! 👏🤣

Can't believe I had this update bookmarked for so long!

Absolutely amazing!! 👏

Please please please update soon!

CHAPTER THREE

The next morning, Zoya comes downstairs, still dressed in her nightwear, warm and sleepy from bed. She yawns and stretches, eyes shut against the brilliant morning sunlight. Asad opens the front door, fingers pressed to the pulse at his neck as he looks down at his wristwatch. He's dressed in a sweat-soaked t-shirt and jogging pants. Neither sees the other and they collide at the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh!" Zoya throws her arms around Asad's neck, holding on tight as she loses her balance.

Asad wraps his arms around her waist with the ease of frequent practice, automatically shifting his body to stabilize her without allowing her to be jarred by the impact. Their gazes meet and they are lost in each other, shimmering in the glowing morning light.

A shadow appears, blocking out the sun but they're still focused on each other. Rohan clears his throat - loudly. Zoya and Asad finally spring apart, faces flushed, eyes downcast and their bodies shifting away from each other.

"Good morning. I'm sorry to interrupt. I called out." Rohan looks from one to the other, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Several times, in fact, but you didn't hear me."

He raises his eyebrows, his beautiful pale blue eyes darkening with speculative interest. Zoya's flush deepens. She ducks her head and smoothes down her kameez with shaky hands. Asad moves in front of her, blocking her from Rohan's view.

"Yes," he says briskly. "What did you want?"

"Mr. Khan, he's our guest," Zoya chides gently.

Asad stiffens but nods. "Good morning. Now, what do you need?"

"May I have some towels?" Rohan doesn't appear offended, his grin still in place. "I didn't bring any with me as I'd planned to stay at a hotel."

"I'll get them," Zoya offers.

She hurries upstairs, leaving Asad and Rohan to take stock of each other. Asad remains stiff but Rohan is relaxed and easy. He glances at Asad's workout clothes.

"So, you've already worked up a sweat?" He grins knowingly. "You're the type who wakes up ready, huh?"

Asad grabs him by his shirtfront. "Meaning?"

"Nothing," Rohan insists, but his gaze shifts to the landing where Zoya disappeared. "I like to get in a good workout first thing in the morning, too."

Asad yanks Rohan closer until they are nearly nose-to-nose. Rohan jerks his head and meets Asad's angry eyes. He tries to tug Asad's hands away but his grip is unbreakable.

"Tread lightly," Asad advises, his voice soft and dangerous. "I know your type. If you say or do anything to make the ladies of this house uncomfortable, I will rip you apart."

"I meant no harm, Asad." Rohan puts up his hands in an appeasing gesture. "I assure you, I have nothing but respect for your ladies."

"Mr. Khan!" Zoya hurries down with the towels. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Asad calmly releases Rohan and steps back. "We were just getting to know each other."

Rohan takes the towels from Zoya and thanks her graciously. This time his smile is warm and open, without the sly innuendo that irritated Asad. Zoya smiles back and blushes prettily. Asad's features remain hard and cold as he watches Rohan retreat to his room.

Zoya turns on him as soon as Rohan shuts his door. "What was that, Mr. Khan? Were you trying to choke Rohan?"

"You misunderstood. I was just giving him some advice." Asad heads for his room. He stops when he sees the cabinet drawer. "Ms. Farooqui, there are papers sticking out of the drawer. Why can't you arrange things neatly?"

"I didn't take anything out of that drawer, Mr. Khan."

"It doesn't matter if you're taking things out or putting them away." Asad opens the drawer and straightens the papers. "It only takes a second to arrange properly."

"Allah miya, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan?" she demands. "It's only a piece of paper."

"A piece of paper here, half-empty coffee cup there. Soon you have utter chaos."

"Stray paper and coffee cups are your ideas of chaos, Mr. Khan? What if I open the door and some leaves sweep into the house? What would that be?" She raises her eyebrows. "The first sign of the coming apocalypse?"

Asad narrows his eyes at her. "I'm going to bathe and dress. I need to get to the office early."

Zoya grins as she watches him go into his room. Then she begins breakfast.

"Good morning!" Najma calls, her cheeks rosy and eyes sparkling. She crosses the living room with light, eager steps. "Is Rohan awake yet?"

"Yes, he is." Zoya sets the coffee maker. "He asked for towels so I think he's in the shower now."

"Towels!" Najma gasps, her eyes widening. "Oh, no! That meant he didn't have towels when he washed and brushed for bed. What did he do last night?"

Zoya pauses in the act of taking out the mixing bowl. "I don't know. Why didn't he ask last night? Mr. Khan was working in the living room and gave him water. He would have given Rohan towels, too."

"Water?" Najma frowns. "Oh, no! Rohan didn't like the water jug we selected for him."

Zoya laughs and hugs Najma to her side. "I don't think that's it. He probably forgot it was there."

"Or he wanted to have private time to talk to Bhaijaan," Najma suggests. "We didn't give them much of a chance to get to know each other during dinner."

"True." Zoya gathers breakfast ingredients. "But Rohan knows M.S. Dhoni personally. How could we pass up an opportunity to hear more about him?"

Najma giggles. "By him', did you mean Rohan or MSD?"

Zoya's eyes sparkle and she covers her mouth in a poor attempt to control her giggles. She and Najma lean into each other, sharing their laughter. Finally they stop and Najma reaches for the bowl.

"What are we making for breakfast, Zoya?"

"We are not making anything." Zoya takes the bowl from her. "I'm making pancakes. You're too busy preparing for your exams to make food."

"I don't mind," Najma insists. "I want to help."

"I know you do." Zoya turns her towards the sofa and give her a gentle push. "Your job is to study and do well in school. Nothing is more important than your education."

Najma sighs but goes into the living room to set up her books. Zoya smiles and assembles her ingredients. Asad's door opens a moment later.

"Ms. Farooqui, would you please come into my room for a moment?"

He's dressed for work in a dark suit with matching vest, dress shirt and tie. His arms are crossed and his mouth set, a sure sign that he's annoyed. Zoya and Najma exchange surprised glances. Zoya shrugs and goes to Asad's room. He steps aside to let her enter then shuts the door behind her.

"Ms. Farooqui, how many times have I told you not to come into my room without my permission?" he snaps.

Zoya's mouth drops open. It takes her a few seconds to find her voice. "Mr. Khan, you just ordered me to come into your room. How can you say I entered without your permission?"

He shoves his hands into his pants pockets. "Not now. I mean earlier."

"Earlier?" Her brows wrinkle with her confusion. "When?"

"When you went through my books." He gestures to the top bookshelf. "What were you looking for?"

She turns to look. The books are slightly uneven and tilted, unlike the rest of the shelves where the books are standing in precision-straight rows. She shakes her head.

"I didn't come into your room, Mr. Khan."

"Then who did?" he demands. "Who else has the habit of coming into my room anytime she wants?"

"I don't know." She puts her hands on her hips. "Maybe the maid did it when she cleaned yesterday."

"The books are dusty as well as disorganized." Asad shudders. "No one dusted the top shelf."

"This is why you called me in here? To complain about the bookshelf?" She sighs. "Mr. Khan, why don't you dust it yourself if you're so particular? I have to make breakfast. Rohan said he was looking forward to my pancakes!"

"Ms. Farooqui, you should control your intake of sugary, useless fluff. It's not good for you." Asad pauses meaningfully. "You shouldn't eat so many pancakes, either."

"Very funny, Mr. Khan. Just because Rohan is sweet doesn't make him useless. He's ranked as one of the top ten cricket players in the world. He'll be in the top five within another year if he keeps to his current level of play."

"And that's all it takes to be a good person in your eyes?" Asad steps so close to her she has to look up to meet his eyes. "All that matters is a man's ability to swing a cricket bat?"

She blinks. "Of course not, Mr. Khan. I'm not saying Rohan's a good person because of his cricket skills. I'm saying it because he's a good person off the field."

Asad snorts. "He smiles at you and Tamatar and that's all you need to judge him?"

"I'm not judging him on his smile," Zoya steps back. "I'm judging him on his actions. He didn't come to Bhopal to smile and have his picture taken. He gets that everywhere. He's here to promote and increase support for the orphanage. How can you find fault with that?"

"All he does is smile and have his picture taken." Asad takes a step back, too.

"That's not true," she insists. "Phupee told me he regularly sends the orphanage clothes and sports equipment."

Asad snorts again. "He gets them for free from his endorsement deals."

"He sends the children birthday cards and toys."

"He has an assistant sign the cards and mail out the parcels."

"He telephones into the orphanage staff meetings to keep up with current events."

"He has a secretary dial in and take notes for him."

"Stop it!" Zoya's voice rises. "Who cares if he gets the gifts for free or if he has a staff to help him? At least Rohan does that much!" She advances on Asad. "He's better than most people who see suffering and do nothing about it."

Asad takes a step back, startled by her vehemence. Zoya matches the step.

"Yes, it might be Rohan's assistant sending the packages or signing the checks but the children are still getting new clothes, clean toys and birthday cards. They know that somebody took the time out of their day to acknowledge their existence."

Zoya pokes Asad with her finger. He takes another step back. She matches it.

"Phupee says the children gain more self-worth and self-respect from that birthday card than from anything else. Do you know why, Mr. Khan?"

Asad shakes his head. Zoya's eyes glitter with angry tears.

"It's because it allows them to believe that, even though their parents have left them, there is still someone in the world who loves them enough to remember them, no matter where he is or what else he's doing."

Zoya wipes away her tears. Asad makes a distressed sound and reaches for her. She pushes his hands away.

"Rohan makes them feel important and valued and loved." Her voice breaks. "Do you think there's any orphan in the world that gets enough of that, Mr. Khan?"

Asad reaches for her again. "Ms. Farooqui, I didn't mean it like that."

Zoya skips out of his reach. "I don't care how you meant it. You may think I'm an idiot whose parents didn't teach her tameez and tazeeb but that's more than these children have. Some of them have never met their parents, never had a moment in their arms."

She's crying openly now, her tears coming faster than she can wipe away. Asad's face tightens and he tries to close the gap between them. Zoya stays out of his reach.

"I had a mother and still have my Appi and Jejju. I have a family. I have people who love me unconditionally and support me."

"You have more than your Appi and Jejju," Asad growls. "You also have us."

But Zoya is too upset to hear him. "Other than Phupee and the orphanage staff, Rohan is the only person who gives those kids that support and security. How dare you try to devalue it?"

"No, I wasn't," Asad protests, still trying to reach her. "Ms. Farooqui!"

Zoya turns and wrenches open the door, her sobs ragged and pain-soaked. She stops when she sees Najma and Rohan standing in front of Rohan's door. Rohan's hair is damp and he's dressed in a pristine white shirt and casual blue jeans. Najma holds the tray containing the water jug and glass. Both look at her with concern.

"Zoya?" Najma puts down the tray and hurries to her side. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She ducks her head. "I have something in my eye. I'll be right back. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes. Najma, please set the table for me."

Zoya rushes up the stairs, leaving Rohan and Najma staring after her, open-mouthed. Asad comes out of his room, his eyes very dark and downcast.

"Bhaijaan, what happened?" Najma turns to him. "Why was Zoya crying?"

"She'll be fine." Asad doesn't look at her as he marches to the front door. "I'll get the newspaper."

Najma and Rohan look at each other for a silent moment, bewildered. Najma wavers between turning for the staircase and the dish cabinet. Finally she goes to the cupboard.

"I should set the table." She brings out a stack of plates.

"I'll help you." Rohan takes the dishes from her. "I worked kitchen duty when I was at the orphanage." He lays down the plates in quick, efficient movements. "I can set a full table for fifty people in under three minutes." He lays silverware with impressive speed and precision.

"Very nice." Zoya comes back to join them. "If cricket doesn't work out, you can fall back on a career in the restaurant business."

She gives Rohan an approving smile. Her nose is still a little red but her eyes are clear and her face is fresh-scrubbed, free of tears. Najma and Rohan both smile in return. Najma comes to the table with coffee mugs. Rohan quickly takes them from her and adds them at each place setting.

"Najma." Zoya stretches out her name meaningfully and nods to the living room.

Najma sighs and goes back to her books.

Rohan looks from one to the other. "What was that about?"

"Najma is preparing for exams," Zoya explains.

"Oh, I get it." Rohan nods in understanding. Then he lowers his voice. "Sorry. I'll be quiet."

Najma giggles. "There's no need. I can study anywhere, even in the middle of mess hall during meals."

The front door opens and Asad comes back inside, the newspaper in hand.

"Where were you?" Zoya asks.

"Outside getting the paper."

Rohan raises his eyebrows. "All this time?"

Asad glances at Zoya. "I needed to get some air."

Zoya's cheeks flush pink. She turns to the coffee maker. "Coffee's ready! Rohan, what would you like in yours?"

"A drop of milk and sugar, please." Rohan holds out his cup. "Just enough to take off the bitter edge."

Zoya brings over the coffee pot and milk jug. She fills Rohan's cup and places the milk near his plate. "The sugar bowl is the one with the pink flowers."

Rohan adds milk to his coffee and holds out the jug to Asad who sits at his usual place at the head of the table. Asad waves off the milk and watches Zoya intently as she fills his cup.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his voice soft and husky.

She nods and turns away from him without speaking.

Rohan puts down the milk jug. "You don't like milk or sugar in your coffee, Asad?"

"No, he prefers to be black and bitter." There is a slight edge in Zoya's voice.

Asad looks at her but doesn't comment. Rohan looks between them but also remains silent. Asad opens the paper and turns to the business section.

"May I have the sports section, please?" Rohan asks, taking the seat across from Asad.

Asad passes him the paper. For a few moments there is only the sound of pages turning and the sizzle of pancakes cooking. Dilshad comes down, beautifully dressed and coiffed, as usual.

"Good morning, everyone." She takes a deep breath. "Mmm, Zoya, breakfast smells wonderful." She presses a kiss against Zoya's temple before taking her seat.

"Perfect timing, Phupee." Zoya follows her to the table with a large platter. "Najma, breakfast is ready."

"So much variety." Rohan studies the array of griddle cakes on the platter.

Zoya comes back with bowls of fresh-cut fruit and whipped cream. "That's because everyone likes them differently." She places several thin, crispy cakes on Dilshad's plate. "Phupee likes them very thin with fresh fruit and sweet cream."

"Thank you." Dilshad smiles up at her.

Zoya stacks a pile of smaller, thicker cakes on Najma's plate. "Najma likes them thick and fluffy with lots of butter and syrup."

"Ohh, thank you, Zoya!" Najma gives her a quick hug as she sits down in her usual seat at Asad's right elbow.

Zoya offers the platter to Rohan. "Which do you prefer?"

"They both sound great." He watches, bright-eyed, as she serves him a generous portion of both. "What's your favorite?"

"I eat both along with lots of fruit and syrup." She winks at him. "And some sweet cream and butter."

"Some of everything." Rohan grins. "We think alike. Why limit ourselves?" He looks over to Asad. "How do you take your pancakes, Asad?"

Asad frowns. "I don't eat pancakes. They're just unnecessary sugar and calories with no nutritional value. I don't need that."

Zoya silently brings over Asad's cereal and protein liquid. He thanks her. She nods and goes to her seat beside Dilshad. Rohan looks around at the multiple breakfast options on the table.

"Yes, food fill our stomachs but this meal isn't about nutrition," he says quietly. "It's about how much Zoya loves you."

Everyone stares at Rohan.

"Our meals were only about nutrition when I lived at the orphanage. We had the same thing every day, roti with yogurt and mango aachar. We could only dream about treats like pancakes." He looks at Najma and Dilshad's plates. "And pancakes made specifically for me, exactly the way I liked them? I would have sold my soul for someone to give me that much love and care."

Dilshad puts down her fork and looks at Rohan with concern. Zoya and Najma exchange stricken glances. Asad frowns but says nothing as he opens his protein drink.

"Zoya didn't just make pancakes," Rohan continues. "She made exactly what she knew you liked. She shows how much she loves you by making what you want and not just what you need." He nods to Asad's plate. "You're more disciplined than I am, Asad. I could never choose nutrition over love."

Asad stops in the act of pouring cereal into his bowl. He looks at Zoya but she ducks her head, focusing on swirling butter over her mound of sweet cakes. Dilshad and Najma look at each other then at Asad and Zoya.

"Zoya knows how much we love and appreciate her." Dilshad wraps her arm around Zoya's shoulders and hugs her close. "And we all understand that Asad doesn't like sweets. It doesn't change how he feels about Zoya or about any of us."

Zoya offers Rohan the syrup. He grins and pours with the delight of a little kid. Then she and Rohan laugh their way through breakfast, trying their pancakes with different combinations of toppings. Najma dissolves into giggles when Rohan makes a smiley face with fruit and cream and offers it to her. Dilshad enjoy her meal quietly, smiling indulgently as she watches them.

Asad keeps his paper to his face, hiding his expression as he takes occasional bites of cold cereal and sips of bitter coffee. Suddenly he goes into a choking fit.

"Asad!"

"Mr. Khan!"

"Bhaijaan!"

All three ladies jump out of their seats, Zoya with so much haste that her chair topples backwards. Asad waves them away with one hand while covering his mouth with the other. His face is very red as he struggles to breath.

"What. Is. This. Filth?" He points to the paper.

The ladies look down at the newspaper spread out in front of Asad's plate. Their eyes widen with shock at the full-color advertisement covering both center pages. It shows Rohan on his knees reaching for a sports drink held in a woman's hand. Only the woman's fingers and bright-red nail polish are shown but nearly all of Rohan is displayed. His body is barely covered in bits of torn cloth, strategically placed to keep the image from being illegal. Reach for the maXXX...sportsmaXXX is written in matching blood-red ink over the picture.

"Allah miya," Zoya gasps.

Najma backs away from the table, her eyes wide as she looks between Asad, still red and now shaking with rage, and Rohan who stares at them in clueless confusion. Dilshad turns to Rohan.

"What's this?" she demands. "Rohan, is this your idea of positive promotion for the orphanage?"

Rohan's brow wrinkles in bewilderment. Asad throws the paper at him. Rohan looks at the advertisement and his mouth drops open. He turns to Dilshad and shakes his head.

"I don't know, Dilshad-ji. I did not pose for this picture. I swear it!"

Zoya pulls the picture closer and studies it.

"Ms. Farooqui, throw that filth away," Asad orders.

"I'm not looking at the picture, Mr. Khan," she explains. "I'm checking out the graphics. See here." She turns the paper and points to spot in the image near Rohan's naked hip. "You can see that the image lines don't match up perfectly."

Rohan leans closer to study the image. "What does that mean?"

"It means they spliced or put together different images," Zoya explains. "Did you change your clothes while the cameras were still rolling?"

"Yes." Rohan nods. "My time was very limited and they were all professionals on the set."

"And then you signed a release for all the images taken during that shoot, didn't you?" Zoya concludes.

"Yes, but how can they do this? They're distorting my image." Rohan slaps the paper shut and turns to Dilshad. "I'm so sorry, Dilshad-ji. I never meant to bring shame to you or to the orphanage."

"But you did," Asad snarls, snatching up the paper and tearing it to shreds. "This is a decent house. We're respectable people. I will not allow this po*nography near my family."

"It's not that bad, Mr. Khan," Zoya soothes. "It's no worse than those underwear models for--"

"Ms. Farooqui, keep quiet!" Asad's voice is so high he's practically shrieking. "I'll handle this."

Zoya ducks her head and hugs herself at his harsh tone. Rohan turns on Asad, his own face flushed with color.

"It's my image that's being hurt," he points out. "Why are you screaming?"

Asad's head jerks as Rohan's words hit him with the force of a slap across the face. He see Zoya hunched over, her arms wrapped protectively around her midsection. His eyes widen and the angry color suddenly drains from his cheeks.

"No, I...I..." Asad shuts his eyes as fierce emotions war across his face. He takes a deep breath. "Ms. Farooqui, I didn't mean...I...I wouldn't..."

His hands curl into fists and his mouth tightens with frustration as words fail him. Zoya looks away, rejecting his fumbling attempt.

Rohan turns to Dilshad. "I will fix this, Dilshad-ji. I'll talk to my agent and demand a retraction and an apology. I'll make sure this doesn't reflect badly on the orphanage." He put his hands together and raises them to her. "I promise you."

Dilshad nods and gestures for him to put down his hands. "I know you will, Rohan. Please, do it as soon as possible?"

Rohan nods vigorously. "I have a meeting with my agent this afternoon. It will be my first priority."

They're interrupted by a knock on the front door. Dilshad looks down at her wristwatch. "That's my driver. We have a meeting to go over the final items for the charity auction."

Rohan nods. "I'm ready." He turns to Zoya. "Thank you for the wonderful breakfast, Zoya." He shifts his warm smile to Najma. "Have a good day at college, Najma."

His gaze falls on Asad and his smile dies. He nods coolly. Asad returns the icy gesture, impotent rage still seething behind his eyes. Rohan and Dilshad gather their belongings and leave. Najma glances nervously at Asad then goes back to the sofa to continue her study. Asad turns to Zoya.

"Ms. Farooqui, I didn't mean to yell at you." His voice is soft and rough.

He reaches out to touch her arm but Zoya pulls away. She marches towards the stairs. He follows after her.

"Ms. Farooqui, I'm not finished."

"I am," she snaps. "I have a headache, Mr. Khan. I'd like to rest for a while, unless you have a problem with that, too?"

She doesn't wait for his reply as she rushes up the stairs and into Najma's bedroom. For a moment, she's so angry all she can do is squeeze her hands into fists as she leans against the glass panels. Then she paces the room.

"Who does he think he is?" she demands out loud. "He screams and insults everyone as though no one has feelings. He's such a big man when he's yelling at me. Then, when no one is looking, he mumbles a few words and thinks that's an apology! I'm supposed to forgive him for that?"

There is a soft knock on the door. She turns and glares at it.

"Go away!"

"Zoya, are you okay?" Najma's concern transmits clearly through the glass.

Zoya sighs and opens the door. "I'm sorry, Tamatar. I didn't know it was you."

Najma nods. "Bhaijaan left for work." She pauses. "He looked really upset."

"Good," Zoya snaps.

Najma's eyes widen. Zoya forces herself to relax and hugs her.

"I'm sorry, again. I know I have no right to take my anger out on you." Bitterness creeps into her words. "Unlike some people."

Najma returns her hug. "It's okay. I'm used to Bhaijaan's temper."

Zoya follows her back to the living room. "We all are but that doesn't mean it's right. Rohan said he didn't authorize that picture and he'll fix the problem. How did Mr. Khan's screaming help anything?"

Najma sits back at her books. "But Bhaijaan stopped yelling when Rohan pointed out he was unfairly targeting you. That's progress."

"Rohan shouldn't have had to point it out." Zoya sits down on the sofa beside her. "Mr. Khan should respect us, too."

Najma nods sympathetically then goes back to her study notes. Zoya leans forward.

"Najma, is that my iPad?"

"Yes." Najma hands it over to her. "Do you need it?"

Zoya takes it from her. "Where was it?"

Najma nods to the side table. "On the charging station."

Zoya stares at the table. "Are you sure?"

"Uh-huh," Najma nods.

Zoya walks over and opens the drawer. The papers are neatly stacked. She opens the next drawer and finds a mess of jumbled files, folders and electronic equipment. "Zoya, what are you doing?" Najma cranes her neck to see.

"I'm looking for a connector cable. I..."

She has a flashback to her earlier conversation with Asad.

"Ms. Farooqui, there are papers sticking out of the drawer. Why can't you arrange things neatly?"

"I didn't take anything out of that drawer, Mr. Khan."

"It doesn't matter if you're taking things out or putting them away." Asad opens the drawer and straightens the papers. "It only takes a second to arrange properly."

"Zoya?" Najma's voice brings her back.

Zoya checks the rest of the cabinet. She opens the next drawer and the lower doors. All the contents are messy and out of place.

"This cabinet is a mess." She steps aside so Najma can see the jumbled contents. "Were you looking for something?"

Najma shakes her head. "No, not me. Perhaps Ammi did it?"

Zoya shuts the doors. "Phupee wouldn't have left the cabinet in this condition."

She puts her hands on her hips and looks around. Her gaze falls on her tablet. She powers it up. "Najma, there's no password on here anymore."

"I lent it to my friend Seema while I was in class," Najma explains. "She loved using it as a second monitor but I know she's forgetful so I took off the password. She was very careful and gave it back to me right after class."

Zoya nods. She rummages around for a moment and finds the connector cable. "May I borrow your laptop?"

Silently Najma hands it over and watches as Zoya connects the laptop to her tablet. She accesses the internet and goes to her private website. A moment later, she brings up her tablet's browser history.

Najma leans closer, her eyes wide. "Zoya, I thought tablets deleted their web history as soon as the user logged off the browser."

Zoya gives her a sly smile. "No, that's not true. Most people don't know how to get to it but we hackers can find anything."

Najma shakes her head admiringly. Zoya scrolls through the history until she comes to the records from the previous day.

"Someone used my tablet last night, after we went to bed." She runs her finger along the list of websites. "All these searches are about Mr. Khan and me. These are all newspaper articles about the shooting at the K7 Enterprises office."

Najma stares at the screen then looks at Zoya. "You said Bhaijaan was up late last night. Why would he want to look up the shooting? He was there."

"I don't think Mr. Khan used my tablet," Zoya says thoughtfully.

"You think Rohan did it?"

"You and I were in bed, Phupee doesn't use computers and Mr. Khan was on his laptop," Zoya points out. "Who else was here?"

Najma considers for a moment. "Okay. That makes sense. Rohan doesn't know us, except for Ammi. Perhaps he was making sure he wasn't staying with serial killers."

Zoya's mouth twists. "Well then, the K7 shooting articles wouldn't reassure him. He probably thinks we all sleep with guns under our pillows."

The girls giggle at that. There is a knock on the front door. Zoya glances at the clock and jumps up from the sofa.

"Najma, it's Phupee's driver. It's time for you to go to school."

Najma gathers her books and computer supplies as Zoya opens the door for the driver. After Najma leaves, Zoya is alone in the house. She cleans up the table and takes the dishes to the sink. She sees the extra glass from the previous night. Thoughtfully, she looks around and finds the water jug and drinking glass on the counter where Najma left them. The water has not been touched.

"Maybe Najma is right. Maybe Rohan asked for a glass of water as an excuse to talk to Mr. Khan last night." She empties the water jug and washes the breakfast dishes. "Maybe Rohan is smart to check up on us. He doesn't know us. Not only could we be serial killers, we could be publicity hounds who'll steal his possessions and sell them on e-Bay. But why would he need to search the living room? What did he expect to find? Guns? Machetes? Live hand grenades?"

Suddenly she freezes and flashes back to meeting in Asad's room.

"You went through my books." He gestures to the top bookshelf. "What were you looking for?"

She turns to look. The books are slightly uneven and tilted, unlike the rest of the shelves where the books are standing in precision-straight rows. She shakes her head.

"I didn't come into your room, Mr. Khan."

"Then who did?"

Zoya dries her hands and rushes into Asad's room. The top bookshelf is now neat with the books again standing in a precision-straight row.

"Mr. Khan would have noticed the disorganized books the second he came into the room. His OCD wouldn't have allowed him to sleep if he'd seen the books last night.." Her eyes widen. "That means his books were moved this morning. The only time that could have happen was when he was out running."

She hurries to her bedroom, now Rohan's room.

"It has to be Rohan. That's why he was so interested in a tour of the house - so he could to learn the layout. And that's why he came out of his room during the night. He didn't need water. He wanted to snoop around but had to make up an excuse to Mr. Khan." She stops in the middle of the room. "What is he looking for?"

She inspects the room carefully and her eyes widen. The bed is neatly made-up with the crisp blue-and-white bedding Najma selected the night before. Zoya snatches up a pristine white pillow and buries her face in it. She breathes deeply.

"What are you doing?"

Zoya whirls around, the pillow still clutched incriminatingly in her hands, guilt etched over her face.

She is caught, red-handed.

Author's Notes: As always, all mistakes are mine and made accidentally. This story is not intended to hurt anyone's feelings, culture or beliefs. Much thanks to my wonderful beta readers for keeping me on the straight and narrow.

Also, thank you to everyone who posted replies, sent me buddy request and wrote private messages. Please feel free to join if you would like me to let you know when new chapters are posted.

For those of you following my original-character novel, I have not posted an update yet. I'll get on that soon! The next chapter is pivotal as it explains Aasha's backstory and how others treat her:

http://palygirl.livejournal.com/

Again, I've locked the actual story postings since this is original work and not fanfiction. You will need to sign up for a free account if you want to read that story.

I hope you're enjoying my work. Thank you for reading.

Paly