Chapter 3

2 years ago

varshaoforange

@varshaoforange

Imlie started to return to those feelings of dread, pain, and guilt as dinner ended. She had managed to distract herself by cooking and drafting the piece she was going to write about the brothel in her head. But sitting in one place for this long, silently nodding along to Arpita Didi and Narmada Kaki’s conversations, was making it easier for her thoughts to drift back to the pain, humiliation, and exhaustion of the past month. No, not just the past month, the past year and a half of her life. Ever since she had decided to take Aditya to that temple so many months ago, on that rainy night, that was when the pain had begun. That was when her life had veered completely off course, and even after today, it felt like her life was a wild horse, it could never be controlled. It would never be safe.

Though she was lost in her thoughts, she could feel someone’s eyes on her. She looked up from her plate and saw Aryan, glaring at her as if he wanted to scream at her until her eardrums broke. His eyes always managed to frighten her at first glance, but then if she spent even more than three seconds looking at them, she could see the feelings he seemed to be hiding under the surface. She didn’t know why he hid them, but she knew he had been through major loss. If loss and pain were a scent that people gave off, Aryan Singh Rathore would stink of it. Right now, however, it was clear he wasn’t looking at her because he was thinking about his pain, but because he was just waiting to yell at her to get off her ass and finish writing her reports.

“Narmada Kaki, I’m done, let me just clear these plates, and I’ll go finish my report. If I don’t start on them soon, I think your son’s gaze will burn a hole right through my head.”

Aryan shook his head, but recovered quickly, “No.”

Imlie looked at him, dumfounded, “No? I don’t have to write the report?”

Aryan stood up in frustration, “I meant no, don’t clear the table. What the hell do you think we pay the staff for? To sit around and twiddle their thumbs? If your goal was to be a domestic worker, why the hell did you come to Bhaskar Times? Why finish college? Just because your precious Babu—"

Imlie put up her hand and stopped him, “I have told you not once, but many times. Mr. Aditya Kumar Tripathi has no role in my goals, and he doesn’t even have a role in my life anymore. My dream of being a journalist does not depend on anyone, not even you, Mr. Aryan Singh Rathore. And there’s nothing wrong with doing work around the house, especially considering I rent a room here. Is there? Also, there’s nothing wrong with being a domestic worker, either.” She stood up and grabbed her plate, walked around the table and picked up Narmada Kaki’s and Arpita Didi’s plates too. Then she stood right in front of Aryan, not leaving his gaze, which was obviously not amused, and picked up his plate. “I hope after today, you won’t try to question my work ethic or my intentions, about anything. You know exactly what happens when someone questions my capabilities.” She turned on her heel and walked to the kitchen. That should teach him to pull that crap again, Imlie thought to herself, He had no right to keep bringing up Aditya, Aditya didn’t even work at the newspaper anymore. Why didn’t Aryan understand why she had to reveal Malian’s actions to everyone. It wasn’t for Aditya. It may have started out that way, but it ended completely differently.

As she put the last of the dried dishes in the cabinet, Imlie’s phone rang. She looked at the number, it was Amma. Her smile creeped back to her lips.

Aryan stared at Imlie as she walked to the kitchen. That girl never ceased to surprise him. He had yet to meet someone who was so unafraid to look him in the eye and argue with him. It was infuriating, but impressive nonetheless. However, there was no way he could believe she had left Aditya behind. First, Imlie forgave everyone, for everything. There probably would even be a day she’d forgive her sister, Malini, for everything. Imlie was an idiot that way. Second, she still felt connected, even responsible for, the Tripathi family. That was a responsibility Imlie would never give up, even if the whole family were to turn their backs on her tomorrow. He could fault her for the first character trait, being forgiving was a weakness, nothing more. But how could he fault her for caring about others? It made her responsible and helpful. No, Aryan told himself, there was a limit to being caring, to having responsibility. A certain amount of responsibility everyone had to themselves. Everyone needed to be selfish about their wellbeing. One day, her caring nature would hurt her. Again.

There was also the fact that both her tendency to forgive and her responsibility to others, even strangers for god’s sake, both would set her up to fall once again into Aditya Kumar Tripathi’s trap. Aditya would beg, cry, say whatever lie it took to convince Imlie to come back to him. He’d use his family as bait if it came to it. Aryan shook his head, Ugh, why am I even thinking about this? I have work to do.

“Aru,” Narmada called, “I’m telling you again, beta, go easier on Imlie, she’s been through so much—“

Aryan interrupted his mother, which he rarely did, “Maa, sorry but Imlie’s feelings aren’t important to me. What’s important to me is whether my employees are doing good work. That’s all. If their personal issues are getting in the way of their work, I have no use for them.”

Arpita smiled, “Aru, if you hate your employees’ personal issues so much, why did you go to such lengths to help Imlie today?” Arpita knew the answer, but she also knew her brother would never admit it.

Aryan was flustered, “Didi—that was just because—"

Narmada piped in, “because?” She was grinning.

Arpita started laughing, “Do tell us Aru. Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“Didi, that jungli didn’t show up to the right location for the story, I had to go get her because she wasn’t answering her phone, and then it was because of her antics that I was basically dragged around Delhi and then back to that damned Tripathi house to tell the truth about that stupid Malini Chaturvedi. I didn’t actually want to help her at all. I have work to do. Good night.”

Aryan left the table and walked upstairs to his room. He slammed the door and pulled open his laptop. Luckily, he didn’t open it so hard it snapped because it could have. He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to concentrate on the budget reports for Bhaskar Times. Come on Aryan, he told himself, get a goddamn grip. If you spend all day thinking about her and what she does and what she thinks, you won’t get anything done at all.