Chapter 43

2 years ago

varshaoforange

@varshaoforange

—Sunday, February 6, 2022, 7:15PM—

Imlie came out of the shower, drying her hair, and noticed a box on the side table near the door that she hadn’t seen earlier. She walked towards it and realized with just one glance that Aditya must have come over to drop it off. She didn’t know if he’d wanted to meet her, or if he thought just these memories would be enough to hurt her. Or worse, if he thought these memories would convince her to come back.

Aryan passed by her room in the hallway, and noticed Imlie looking through one of the photo albums. He’d left the box in her room, irrationally hoping she’d have immediately tossed it all in the trash. He knocked slightly on the door and came in. Imlie looked up and jumped back, surprised. Then realizing she was only in her robe, she clasped the lapels of the robe together. Aryan looked at her, but refused to be awkward about it, he’d seen her dancing in her robe once, it was nothing new.

“Relax,” he said, sardonically, “I’m not some luchaa-lafangaa who’s trying to bother you. I have better things to do with my time.”

Imlie dropped her hand and made a face at him, “Tum kabhee nahin sudharoge. Aditya came over to drop this off, or was it someone else? And why didn’t you just give it to me, why come in my room when I’m not here?” (You’ll never change.)

Aryan walked towards her and pulled the photo album from her hands, “It’s my house, I can go where I want. Who are you to stop me?” He went through the pages of the album, it was mostly photos of Imlie and the other Tripathis, there weren’t that many photos of Aditya in it at all.

Imlie pulled the album out of his hands and shut it, “I pay rent for this room, so it’s my room. There is a basic expectation of privacy, even if this is your house.”

Aryan looked at her, trying to push that similar flower scent out of his nose and mind, “Yes, Aditya came to drop this off. Having fun reminiscing over your great love? Don’t tell me, his stupid attempt at getting you back is actually working?”

Imlie slammed the album on the table and stepped close to Aryan, getting in his face, “Agar Kaki Maa ne tumhe bachpan mein do theen thappad maari hothi na, then you would have learned to think before you spoke. Is that what you think about me, my resolve, my character?” (If Kaki Maa had properly slapped you twice or thrice in your childhood)

Aryan stepped back, “I just—I just meant that—”

Imlie interrupted him, the box had managed to put her in a worse mood than she initially thought, and now she had to deal with Aryan’s indirect accusations, “You meant to say that I’m weak willed. I’m someone who will get all doe-eyed because my ex-husband decided to drop over some photos I barely remember and clothes that I don’t even wear. And then, I’ll go running back to him, because I’m some bechaari who just wants a man to love her. Right? Well let me tell you something about myself, and all women, Mr. Aryan Singh Rathore.” Imlie stepped closer, Aryan took a step back, worried that he really had gone too far this time.

Imlie continued, “Pehli baat, mujhe kisi aadmi ke pyaar ya uski madad kee zaroorat nahin hai. Doosri baat, mujhe tumhare ‘gyaan’ ki zaroorat phi nahin hai, na apne lakshyon ya apne bhavishy ke baare mein, samjhe? Aur, tum toh teesri baat bhi jaante ho. Toh, tum ab bhi yahaan moorti kee tarah kyon khade ho?” (First, I don’t need a man’s love nor his help. Second, I don’t need your “knowledge” [it doesn’t have a positive connotation in this context], not about my goals or my future, understand? And you already know the third point. So why are you still standing here like a statue?)

Aryan looked stricken, he was fighting between running scared from Imlie and laughing at how adorable she looked when she was mad, “I’m—I’m sorry.” It was a genuine apology, though Aryan did say it mainly because he was afraid of the rage he saw in Imlie’s eyes, and the hurt hiding behind that rage. “Really, I am sorry,” he added, “You know I don’t particularly like Aditya, and you know why. I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes—”

Imlie raised her hands in exasperation, “Still with the same speech. Arre yaar, kabhi toh apne gyaan ki engine ko bandh karo! You love to give me all these lengthy lectures about women empowerment, and feminism, then have the sense to realize that all women, even me, know what’s best for themselves. If I were sitting here crying over these things, comfort me. If you’re not capable of that, then just mind your own business. If you saw me burning these things and the box in the dustbin, then stop me, because it’s best to set fires outside, not in a closed room. Just…let me be. Just trust that I know what I’m doing with my life. I’m not a kid.” Imlie had walked closer and closer to him again with each word, shaking her hands at him in exasperation. Aryan, meanwhile, was stepping back further and further until his back hit the door behind him. Finally he stopped her ranting, putting his hand over her mouth and turning her around.

“Fine! Ab tum mera sar khaana chhod do. Main tumhe aur gyaan nahin dunga, theek!?” He shot at her. (Fine, stop eating my head now. I won’t give you any more lectures, okay!?)

Imlie’s eyes widened and stared at Aryan. What the hell did he think he was doing? She could feel his hand, which had been on her arm to spin her, on her waist. This close to her, Imlie could smell Aryan’s cologne, or whatever it was, that scent of leather, wood, and other intoxicating things overpowering her in the moment.

Aryan dropped his hand from her mouth and looked at Imlie, his other hand still on her waist, “Theek?” (Okay?) He asked this again in a softer tone than before.

Imlie nodded, trying to focus on anything but the way the dim light of the room danced in Aryan’s eyes.

After what seemed like ages, but it was only a few seconds, Aryan realized how close he was to Imlie and he stepped back, shoving his hand that was on her waist into his pocket. Then he put his other hand in his other pocket and clenched them, if he didn’t he felt they would find their way back to Imlie. There was a part of him that was dying to run his fingers through Imlie’s hair, to ask her what flower was in her shampoo, and then he’d buy hundreds of them to plant in the garden on his veranda. If he didn’t leave the room right now, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from pulling her close and kissing her, kissing those lips that looked so soft and beautiful up close. He shook his head and tried to snap out of it, what the hell was going on with him?

Imlie looked at the floor and started to fidget with her hands. She didn’t know why but the way her stomach did flips when Aryan was close to her, the way his eyes seemed to peer into her, made her feel naked and at the same time completely comfortable. Even after she’d given him this long rant on how she could make decisions for herself, and she didn’t have to explain them to him, she wanted to explain to him that these things that Aditya had dropped off meant nothing to her now. They were less than nothing. What mattered to her was what she remembered fondly, which was the actually happy moments she’d spent with her family, not the pain that Aditya had given her. She had to explain to Aryan that Aditya was nothing more than a slowly healing scar now, and she’d find a way to heal completely. Even more bizarre, Imlie felt…disappointment after Aryan stepped away from her. She felt suddenly sad and weirdly, angry, that she couldn’t smell his cologne anymore, that she couldn’t spend more time just staring into his brown eyes.

“I’m sorry, were you saying something.” Aryan said, looking at Imlie but then forcing himself to look somewhere else. He suddenly became very interested in the light fixture on the wall right above her.

Imlie stammered, “I was saying that…that, yes, I was broken. When Aditya and I divorced, when I left him before that. I was broken. And I didn’t know how to fix myself, I didn’t even know what needed fixing. It felt like my whole world had been pulled out from under me, and at that point you caught me. But now…well now, I’m figuring out how to fix myself. I think, no, I know I can live without him, and without love. I don’t need it. In fact, what my relationship was…it—it wasn’t love. It was always one-sided, from me. It was a one-sided relationship where I did all the work of trust, and love, and friendship. And I don’t want that anymore. So this stuff,” Imlie grabbed the box and shoved it in the dustbin, “I don’t need it.” It would have been a funny sight to anyone, because the box was comically too big for the dustbin. Imlie looked back at Aryan, and then despite herself, she started laughing.

Aryan raised his eyebrow, “You laugh at the weirdest times. And you don’t need to throw it out just to prove something to me.”

Imlie stopped laughing and looked confusedly at him, “What would I need to prove to you?”

Aryan stammered, “Nothing, never mind. I have some work, actually—pending work. I’m going to go.” Then he noticed a small rectangular box, wrapped with a bow on it, sitting on top of the new books Imlie had bought. “What’s that?”

Imlie followed his gaze and then smiled, skipping over to the box, “Oh, Shiv got it for me. He told me that his sister got him a sturdy and fancy pen after he graduated law school. And that since every reporter always should have a pen with her, he bought one for me too.” Imlie opened the box and showed the dark cobalt pen to Aryan. “Isn’t it pretty? I can’t wait to use it during my next interview.”

Aryan grimaced, “Right. It’s great. And he just gave it to you? No reason? He didn’t even know your birthday was coming up until later.”

Imlie looked at him quizzically, “Does every gift have to have a big occasion behind it? He gave it to me because he was congratulating me on my recent Pharma story. I’d gotten permission from my editor to share an early draft with Shiv. That’s all.”

Aryan said nothing, his eyes still on the pen.

Imlie narrowed her eyes, “What exactly is your issue with Shiv? Is it that he agreed to be Aditya’s lawyer? I mean I know you don’t like Aditya, but—”

Aryan interrupted her, “I have no issue. Night. I’m going to go.”

He almost ran out of the room. Only breathing deeply when he was securely back in the hallway, close to his own bedroom. ‘That was too close, Aryan,’ he told himself, ‘if you’d stayed there longer you would have said something even stupider than you usually do.’ He tried not to fume about Shiv and a stupid pen. It was just a pen, that’s it. He sat down in his chair and opened his laptop. He’d just focus on his work for the rest of the evening, that was what he needed. After a few minutes however, his thoughts drifted back to Imlie, and then to Shiv. To stop his blood boiling, he dialed a number he hadn’t called before, and waited for the answer.