Then I turned to her. “Now you’re coming with me.” I caught her by the elbow and gently dragged her away from the crowd. “Give me your address. I’m taking you home.”
“I don’t remember,” she slurred, stumbling. “Leave me!” She jerked her arm free, trying to disappear back into the crowd, but I grabbed her again before she could.
“Kavya.” My voice hardened. “Tell me the address.” My grip tightened slightly around her soft skin. She froze.
A second later, a tiny tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
Then another.
Only then did I really look at her.
Her eyes were red. Not from alcohol alone but from crying. From something heavier. Her forced defiance crumbled, revealing something raw and exhausted underneath.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, the edge leaving my voice.
She quickly wiped her eyes, nodding, pasting a weak smile. But it didn’t reach her eyes. My chest twisted.
“Is everything okay, Kavya?” I repeated more quietly.
Her lips trembled. “I just… I want to be at peace for a few hours,” she whispered. “There are so many things running through my head and I don’t know where to start, who to tell, or how to run.” Her hands shook as she spoke. “I feel trapped in this body. I want to get away. I want to get out of this world.”
The words were soft but the meaning was not.
I watched her chin quiver as she fought to hold back a sob. At that moment, she didn’t look drunk or dramatic but she looked broken.
I stayed silent for a few seconds, staring at her as tears finally rolled down her cheeks. Her nose reddened. So did her face.
Damn it.
I had no idea how to comfort women. I didn’t know what to say, what to do when they cried. I knew people hugged in moments like this but I didn’t like being touched, and I didn’t trust myself to touch her right. So instead, I pulled out my handkerchief and held it out. She took it without a word and wiped her face.
“You want peace for a few hours?” I asked.
She nodded weakly.
“Then come with me.”
“Where?” she murmured.
“Come.”
I led her out of the club and opened the passenger door of my car. She settled in, still quiet, staring at nothing. I walked around to the driver’s side, slid behind the wheel, and started driving.
I didn’t take her home.
I took her to the lake.
We sat there for a long time, the water dark and still, reflecting scattered city lights. She talked about random things like her childhood memories, stupid stories, things that didn’t really matter and yet somehow mattered a lot. She blabbered constantly, her words tangled and messy, and I simply listened.
I found her unpleasantly attractive.
Not in a physical way alone, but in the way broken things sometimes draw your eyes more than perfect ones.
Later, I took her to a small desi restaurant. She barely ate, poking at the food, still tipsy, her head heavy. I bought her a painkiller and made her take it for the headache.
She didn’t protest.
By the end of the night, she looked calmer, quieter and emptier. So I invited her to my villa. And at that time, I had no idea…that inviting her would become the biggest mistake of my life.