“He has a bike,” she mumbled, not realising that he could hear her.
“It'll be faster to weave through traffic with this.”
She barely heard him. She’d woken up that morning after yet another raunchy dream featuring her oblivious housemate, frustrated that she was unable to find anything about him that would turn her off. His immediate support of her at his restaurant had only amped up whatever she’d already been feeling. Now, with the image of his strong, jean-clad thighs straddling a motorcycle, his defined biceps flexing as he adjusted his black jacket on himself, he’d just gotten exponentially sexier. How was she supposed to get over her crush like this?
A sudden thought struck her, a mischievous little cackle resounding in her brain.
“Will you let me drive?” she asked.Say no, say no, say no. Be mean. Let me find one reason to dislike you just a little, please!
Rian extended his keys towards her and the indetectable smile she’d sported dropped.
Well, fuck you very much.
“You’re just going to give it to me?” Her dull reaction caused his brows to knit, confusion flickering across his handsome face.
“Is this a trick question?”
“Aren’t you scared I’m going to crash your expensive bike?” she asked, almost hoping he’d change his mind.
“You were riding one when we met in Velas. If you have problems with mine, I’m right here to help you.” He shuffled back, making space for her in the front.
To his consternation, Aditi declined. “Some other day. Besides, I don't know where we are going.”
She tossed him the keys, her feelings regarding the man she now sat behind ranging from disbelief over his sweetness to utter annoyance over the exact same thing. It was like someone had read the book-boyfriend manual and created Rian Shetty in that image.
It was impossible to remain vexed with him, she ruefully accepted. She observed him joke and tease the owner of the beachside stall he'd brought her to, throwing a friendly arm over one of the server boys as he introduced her to them. The joy with which these people had greeted Rian told her that he was a dear friend.
It never failed to impress her that despite being an heir to millions, Rian had the most normal life imaginable. It made him approachable in ways she had not expected.
His modest life, his behaviour, and commitment to his work had made more sense once he'd divulged that he'd not accepted his inheritance. It had been clear enough that there were familial tensions making it imperative for him to find his own path in life. Aditi recalled reading that the Shettys held major market shares in multiple businesses, the value of which kept them listed amongst the wealthiest families in India.
No one seeing him thus would have guessed that he came from such opulence.
She watched him engage with Chandan Lal, the owner of the most visited Pav Bhaji stall on this strip of Juhu Beach. The scent of seawater and spices made her mouth water, her stomach grumbling in anticipation of her meal. With the ocean waves swooshing on one side mixed with the sizzling sounds of vegetables being pan-fried nearby, she felt one with the energetic throng of hungry and happy beachgoers. Slowly, Aditi felt the tensions of her day beginning to fade away.
She giggled, good-naturedly joining Chandan Lal and Rian behind the counter, trying her hand at sauteing and mashing the vegetables on his massive cast-iron pan.
“You’re going to come back here everyday, Bhabhi,” Chandan joked, plating a generous portion for her. “Rian bhaiyya is always trying to steal my recipe but I will tell it to you for free.”
Aditi bit her lower lip, looking at Rian for direction when his friend addressed her as bhabhi, obviously under the misconception that they were a couple. To her surprise, he didn’t seem perturbed by this, busy forcing payment on a reluctant Chandan instead.
“Why did you not let me pay for our meal?” They took their plates and found seating outside, choosing to sit side by side so that they could watch the sunset while they ate.
“That’s never going to happen. When you’re with me, I pay. No arguments.”
“I don’t know if my feminism will survive you,” she teased, chuckling when he grumbled under his breath like an old man. “What? Was I meant to say ‘yes, Chef’ and roll over?”
Rian almost choked on his tongue, his entire body reacting to her calling him chef.
“How did you meet Chandan?” Aditi asked, blessedly giving him something else to focus on.
“I ate here often when I was roaming Mumbai for inspiration for the restaurant. Became friends with Chandan over time.” Rian motioned for her to take a bite.
Aditi pulled apart the fluffy buns that had been provided, a little sceptical about the copious amounts of butter that had been used to roast them. Maybe her misgivings showed on her face because Rian reached over and plucked the bread off her fingers, dipped it in the bhaji, and brought it to her lips.
Without a second thought, Aditi accepted the morsel of food, only realising how intimate the gesture was when her lips closed around his fingers. Her eyes darted to his, but all she saw in him was a curious excitement. A second later, his anticipation made sense. A world of flavours exploded in her mouth—spicy, salty, tangy, sharp. The soft bun made a perfect vehicle for the kaleidoscope of textureswithin the bhaji. The brightness of the cilantro and lime, and the heat of the chillis warred for recognition while butter enhanced the indulgence of the dish.
“Oh my god,” she moaned, closing her eyes, one hand unknowingly resting upon her heart as she tried to make sense of what she was tasting.