“I’m not alone,” she insisted, turning away from where her team could still see her. She walked farther inside where rows upon rows of sarees, kurtas and dresses hung on the clotheslines above, dyed in a rainbow of brilliant hues. “I have you, I don’t need anyone else.”
Unbidden, an image of Vihaan winking at her as he passed by her desk flashed across her mind and her lips curved up automatically.
“I w-won’t be a-around forever.”
Instantly, the buoyancy she’d felt transformed into a dense lump in her throat, making it hard to speak.
“Don’t say things like that. I’ll visit you tomorrow, ok? I’ll bring you some of those samosas from Kishorilal Sweets. You love those.”
“W-who?”
“The family-run business next to the old apartments we were in? Their grandson used to come over for help with his homework in the evenings.”
The glaze in his eyes told Vera that he was undergoing a bout of memory lapse. Yet another indicator of Ambernath’s Parkinson’s progressing. It had started slow but his forgetfulness with items had eventually transitioned to forgetting events, even people. Time would always stand still for Vera in those moments because Nanu looking at her like she was a stranger had felt like someone had reached into her chest and squeezed her lungs too tight.
“I. . . I don’t know what we’re talking about,” Nanu stammered, his expressions twisting in confusion, a slight flare of panic on his face.
“It’s ok. I’ll bring pictures,” she reassured him, weaving in between two long fluttering pieces of clothing. “And then—”
With an oomph, she crashed into the person standing hidden behind the last row. Her phone clattered to the ground, and she would have joined suit, had it not been for a pair of firm hands gripping her by the arm and pulling her close.
A familiar woodsy scent filled her senses, spicy and warm. Wood and musk.
She glanced up, and sure enough, Vihaan was there, dressed no differently for this little outdoor shoot than he would have been for a busy day at Ethos. The navy coat, black loafers and dark aviators made him look every bit the media magnate he was stated to be.
They’d not been this close and alone since they’d spent the night together, and their sudden proximity had her stomach twisting nervously. Her heart raced, feeling his firm muscles jump under her palms where they rested upon his chest.
His fitted jackets would be the death of her. What was it about the aesthetic of power through a well-stitched suit that made a man look so desirable? Was it the illusion of competence or her knowledge that it wasn’t a facade with Vihaan that made her feel this way? She had the insane urge to run her hands up his lapels, loop them around his neckand—
Nanu’s muffled voice coming through the speaker broke her trance. Before she could retrieve her phone, Vihaan bent down and swiped it up. The instant he realised who it was, he smiled.
“Hi Nanaji,” he greeted happily. “How have you been?”
“F-fine.”
Vera put her hand out for her phone, angrily huffing when Vihaan turned away.
“I can’t believe I’m getting to speak with you today. I have been wanting to come see you. Can I?”
“No!” Vera barked, snatching her phone back. She wished her grandfather a hurried goodbye before facing Vihaan again, pretending that the thought of him meeting Nanu hadn’t sent her into a panic.
“When did you get here?” she asked.
“A little while ago. You were busy.”
“I didn’t think you’d be coming,” she admitted.
“I didn’t realise you thought about me at all.”Do you?The look he shot her spoke volumes.
“I don’t,” she lied, trying to control the waver in her voice. “Because I don’t like you.”
“Get that tattooed somewhere. Then you won’t have to keep repeating it,” he sneered.
“MisterOb—”
“Why did you look like you were going to cry?” he interrupted impatiently.
“I wasn’t.”