Originally posted by: aryapdane
Author's note[1]: A big thank you to everyone who has commented and liked and read this story. Your support is the biggest motivation to me.
All disclaimers apply.
The character of Buaa will be duly changed to Masi, in accordance with the show.
Chapter Three-- Commonplace Miracles (Part Two)
A tree house, a free house,
A secret you and me house,
A high up in the leafy branches
Cozy as can be house.
A street house, a neat house,
Be sure to wipe your feet house
Is not my kind of house at all-
Let's go live in a tree house.
--Shel Silverstein
He shows no signs of stopping or slowing down, even as they approach the woods.
Prerna steals another side long glance of him, her mind trying to tally this side of Mr. Bajaj with the man she has known for a year and a half. He's a man of many parts. She has seen the ruthless businessman he is, the predator without a shred of mercy for his prey. She has also seen the devoted son he is to his Masi and the besotted father he is to his daughter, ready to do anything in his considerable power to make Sneha smile. Now she's discovering this hopelessly romantic side of him, the side that points out butterflies and beehives for her, and the bird nests tucked away in tree branches and all these other common place miracles. The man who stops mid stride to gather wildflowers for her in the pocket of his jacket. It's addictive, being a recipient of this sort of attention from him.
He has draped his jacket over his arm and the sleeves of his black turtleneck are pulled to his elbows revealing his tattoos and lines of veins, making her fingers itch to touch them, trace them. The smile on his lips is causing her to grin foolishly. He transfers the bag he had acquired from the kitchens before they had set out, to the other hand and cups her elbow with the free one to ensure her balance as they step onto a carpet of fallen leaves. The touch of his bare skin on hers is incendiary.
"Where are we going?" And she quietly thanks all the gods that the words come out in a normal, unaffected tone. "I think we've been walking for almost half an hour."
"If you were tired, you could've said so."
"I'm not tired," she says with a frown. "I'm just asking where you're taking me and how long it will take to reach there."
"Patience, Miss Sharma. Good things come to those who wait. Although in this case it's the other way around as we're going to it. But I dare say you'll like the place."
Before Prerna can frame another query, he gestures to the top of a hill where a row of oaks stand proudly. But what captures her attention is the tiny treehouse built in one of them.
She swivels towards him in surprised delight.
"Legend has it..." he says and Prerna recognises his tone instantly. His storytelling tone. She has spent hours listening to him read Tolkien and C. S. Lewis and Rowling to Sneha, complete with sound effects and voice modulation for each character, infusing the words on paper with life, too riveted to move. "...that the beloved sister of Shiv's Nanaji, Mr. Ashok Randhawa loved a gardener. It was during those times, you know, when the gaps between classes and castes were almost unbridgeable and such a love affair would be impossible, unfathomable."
He glances back at her, as they are ascending the hill and Prerna is mesmerized by the amusement lurking in his eyes. With the sunlight catching in his hair, giving him his own personal halo, he is too handsome to be true.
"They long for eachother but in a household full of family and servants, and a judgemental society keeping a close watch, being together is impossible. So the gardener finds a solution to their dilemma. He discovers a perfect oak for a small treehouse in a part of the estate that is not visited by anyone.
"He can't afford to be seen. He can't afford to raise anyone's suspicions. So he wakes up an hour before dawn everyday to build a sanctuary for his love, a secluded haven where the stars governing their fates are realigned in their favour. It takes him months to complete it."
Prerna is so caught up in the story now that she didn't realise when they've reached the top.
"What happens then?" she asks.
"He tells her about the treehouse. They're ecstatic. The night of their union is finally at hand. They can be together at last. She promises to meet him after the household has gone to sleep. That night, he waits for her breathlessly, impatiently, a lit candle left on the window sill to help her find his way to him. And she does."
"How does she get up there?" Prerna asks with a pointed look at the wooden structure. There is no ladder at sight. "Don't tell me she climbed up that tree."
"Woman of little faith," Mr. Bajaj admonishes playfully. "Of course not."
Handing her the items he's been holding, he proceeds to climb the tree himself. Jumping to catch a low branch, he lifts his body up effortlessly. She can't imagine such a movement can be executed with the kind of grace that he exhibits but his movements are deft and graceful as he swings to another branch and lifts himself onto the little platform, outside the entrance to the treehouse. His strength, his movements have a certain primal energy. It's wildly attractive. He motions for her to step back, then throws down a ladder made of ropes and logs.
"Don't worry. It has been reinforced in the recent past. It'll hold your weight."
She bites her lower lip before making up her mind. She's never been one to back down from his challenges. And she's not going to start now. She throws the bag she's holding in his direction which he catches with ease, then proceeds to climb the ladder. When she reaches the last few rungs, he takes her hand to help her up.
"Can you imagine it?" he whispers when she's on her feet again, his voice low and intimate. "How it had been like for them, when he had helped her up, that first time?"
*
An alarm is shrieking inside him. Long and loud.
Prerna is standing in the centre of the structure, taking in the shabby interior. The childlike excitement she displays is endearing to say the least.
His fingers are itching for a cigar. He wants, needs to feel the nicotine rush to his head. The roof of the treehouse is too low for him to hold his head upright, and the house is too small to afford them a polite distance from eachother. As such, he is drawing in clean, smoke free air into his lungs, mixed with the lavender wafting from her hair with each deep breath. And the alarm goes on and on.
You absolute idiot.
He needs to wrestle back his control. Regroup. Re-erect his defenses. Find the brain he seems to have lost in between last night and now.
Prerna scrunches her nose as she bends down to look out the small window and he's besieged with a sudden urge to kiss that nose.
You absolute, f*cking idiot.
"You were wrong. I don't just like this place, I love it."
His eyes are fixed on her lips, riveted by the sight of her mouth forming the word love. In the light of the setting sun, she's entirely too lovely.
You simple-minded fool.
He needs to find balance. Some semblance of normalcy. Some respite from the fit of madness that he is experiencing. To distract himself, he unzips the bag and pulls out the steel cannister and two cups. Pouring the tea in both, he extends one to her.
"Tea!" she squeals before taking it. "Tell me, where have you kept Rishabh Bajaj captive?"
He rolls his eyes and motions for her to drink up.
"No, really. I think I'm wholly unused to the idea of you not glowering at me for so long. First you give me a tour of the estate, then bring me to this beautiful place, make up a story to make the experience even more exciting--"
"I might've taken a little artistic liberty but I didn't make the story up."
She is giving him that infuriating expression that she usually gives when she's humouring him or thinks she knows better and Rishabh finds himself compelled to point out a wooden plank that forms the part of a wall. Two names have been scratched on it. Aarti and Mukesh. Prerna traces the names with her fingers before they find another. Scratched on the next plank is his own name. He feels the movement of her fingers like a caress on his bare skin and shudders in response.
You thick-headed halfwit.
Prerna turns around purposefully. Her eyes are scanning the floorboards, looking for something.
"What do you want?" he asks.
"Something...like this." She bends down and brandishes a rusty nail. She returns to her spot and then, in a loopy script, she proceeds to write her name next to his. Prerna Sharma. "There. Although I'm surprised the walls are not covered with the names of all the other girls you've brought here."
Rishabh's eyes rake her face. With a different girl, he'd have seen the words as a transparent attempt to get assurance that she was special. But Prerna had never needed such assurance. Not from him at any rate. And it's because she's never wanted it that he finds himself saying:
"It's original purpose notwithstanding, I have always found this place perfect for reading, finishing up assignments, planning. And you know me, Prerna. I never mix business with pleasure."
"Hmmm. So you've brought me to the place where Bajaj Enterprises was conceived?" She traces the carved letters once more before taking a sip of her tea. "Sneha would love it here, no?"
He can only nod. The words reach him from a distance it seems. Like his head is wrapped in cotton wool. All his attention is fixed on their names on the wall. Her next words have the effect of a cold bucket of water thrown over his head.
"Mr. Bajaj, can I speak to Sneha once? Maybe a video call perhaps. I miss her."
The tear stained face of his daughter comes to his mind. She had been inconsolable in those first few months of his separation with Prerna. It was just recently that Sneha had forgiven him and had began to smile again. He couldn't, wouldn't subject her to that pain. Never again.
"It would be better for all of us if you didn't." His voice is as neutral as he can make it. "She'll want to be with you. And I can't let her get attached to you once again. Letting it happen the first time had been a big mistake on my part."
Her face falls but she nods in understanding.
"More tea?" A shake of her head. "No? Then let's start towards home. It's going to get dark soon."
She hands him her empty cup and walks towards the door. He closes his eyes, finally feeling the reality of their situation trickle back to his consciousness. She is engaged, for God's sake. And not asking her about Anurag Basu or her family in Kolkata wouldn't make them go away. They're always going to be there. Just as she's going to be there for them. More than she could ever be for him and his family. No, he can't afford to let her back into Sneha's life. His life. He doesn't need the heartache that that would cause.
But he'll be damned if he didn't admit how right her name next to his, feels. Tracing it one last time, he follows her out.
*
It's illogical of course. Mr. Bajaj had only been joking. But she can't sleep now, because all the ghost stories she has ever heard is coming back to her and the haunting notes of a piano being played somewhere in the house isn't helping at all. Worst still, this sleeplessness is causing her to think. And she could really do without thinking.
Firstly, there's the matter of Anurag. She hasn't spoken to him since the time she had hung up. He hasn't called or dropped a text or shown any sign of regret for his behaviour. And Prerna has decided that she'll not call him until he apologizes. He might be right, a snide voice whispers in her head. A voice that sounds horribly similar to that of Mohini Basu's.
And that is the second problem. What if Shiv had hired her because he had known she was the ex-Mrs Bajaj? She doesn't remember if he had looked surprised at the discovery of her association with his brother. Her eyes had been fixed on Mr. Bajaj. And she knows how good her ex-husband is at acting surprised. Something tells her Shiv wouldn't be any different.
And then there's Mr. Bajaj.
Charmed though she is by his mannerisms, the afternoon's events has hammered one truth in her mind. She has no place in his life anymore. He might give her tours of the estate, pluck flowers or take her to secret treehouses, but that was him being polite. She can never get access to his world anymore. Or ever see Sneha again. And the pain that that thought causes is unbearable.
She feels guilt too. For relegating Anurag and Basu Badi and Sharma Niwas to the back of her mind when she's with him.
And that infernal piano won't stop.
The digital clock on her bedside table reads 00:19 a.m. Grabbing her robe, she ties the knot around her waist, determined to find this insomniac pianist, whether dead or alive, and tell them to stop.
She follows the sound, making her way down the stairs, past the library and Shiv's study. The music stops, causing her to stop in her tracks too. When it resumes again, a different tune this time, it starts like a magical incantation that invokes thunderstorms and strong winds. It is infused with a sense of urgency. She moves towards the drawing room in curiosity, her ire long forgotten. Although she has as much knowledge about the western classical music as an owl has about daytime, she can recognise from the avalanche of notes that this tune must be very hard.
She stops in the doorway of the drawing room, more outside than in and finds the dark head of Shiv Randhawa bent as he executes a particularly difficult portion of the tune. He's in his shirtsleeves, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. Prerna has never seen him this dishevelled.
Instead of the man she had wanted to see however, Laksh stands near the grand piano, fingers curled around a glass of golden liquid. She tries not to think about the disappointment that fills her at this sight.
Shiv ends with a flourish and regards his friend with a smirk so full of smugness that Prerna thinks it shouldn't be allowed.
"Show off," Laksh accuses with a scowl as he moves to take the seat Shiv has recently vacated.
Prerna is surprised that she knows the next tune. Beethoven's Für Elise. Shiv snorts and turns to pick up his own drink. The movement however, gives away her presence. He motions for her to join them with a smile.
Laksh acknowledges her with a nod as he continues moving his fingers across the keyboard.
"Ha!" Shiv exclaims after a moment and Prerna can see his smirk is widening as Laksh continues without sparing the other man a glance. By the end of the tune, Shiv is quietly laughing.
"I thought it was brilliant." Prerna feels a compulsion to make excuses for her employer's lack of appreciation of Laksh's performance.
"Please, Miss Sharma. There's a dark place reserved in hell for people who lie, just as there's a special place reserved for those who butcher Beethoven in that manner."
"Oh do shut up!" Laksh drains his glass. "Besides, it's hardly a fair fight when you only challenge me to things you're better at."
"Ah, but you see, Laksh," Shiv says, his smile saccharine. "There's nothing you can do that I can't do better."
Laksh turns to her. "Prerna, do tell me how you manage to bear such a level of self-congratulation? On a daily basis, no less."
There's no way she can answer that question without acknowledging the charge Laksh has levied upon Shiv and denying the charge would be a lie. Although the words are at the tip of her tongue. I've had practice from my association with Mr. Bajaj. But she says nothing and Laksh's smile is knowing.
"I'll leave you in the company of Prerna. I think I've stroked your ego for long enough today. Good night, Shiv. Prerna. "
"Good night," they call out in unison at the retreating figure of Laksh.
Shiv walks towards the jacket he had thrown over the back of an armchair, saying, "Miss Sharma, I think I owe you an apology."
Prerna's eyes followed his movements as he picks up the garment. Her heart has dropped into her stomach. So Shiv was admitting she hadn't been hired for the reasons she had thought she was. Anger, long forgotten anger at Mr. Bajaj returns. He had once again taken something from her that he had no right to.
Shiv is extending a rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper towards her. "I hope you'll forgive me."
"Is this a family trait then?" Her tone is biting. "Trying to buy back favour with gifts. You should've told me who you were, Mr. Randhawa. I would've chosen to work for someone else. I wanted to get a job for my abilities. Not because I was somebody's former wife."
He gives her a look of pure bewilderment, his eyebrows furrowed in a frown "Ah! If you truly believe that was why you were hired than I owe you two apologies." Placing the package on the armrest of the sofa, he turns to regard her with the full force of his gaze. In this light, they're more amber than green. "I didn't know who you were. You were vetted by others. I was told you were clean and that was it. Beyond that, I didn't need to know.
"The only reason you got hired that day was because the few boys who had applied for the post were sickeningly sycophantic. And all the girls were eyeing me like a choice piece of candy, perhaps imagining a torrid office romance. Women, I tell you! But you were refreshingly disinterested... and you disagreed with me twice during the interview and held your ground. No sycophancy. No fawning. And a backbone of steel. That's all the qualifications you required. That's why you got hired. Although I think you should complete your education, if you want to be anything more than an assistant."
Shiv sips his whiskey before asking, "Wherever did you get the idea that you were hired for anything other than your abilities? Do you see Meneka Bose working in my office? No? Then, rest assured that being an ex-Mrs Bajaj isn't a prerequisite for being my assistant, Miss Sharma."
Prerna smiles sheepishly. When he put it like that, her entire accusation does sound a little preposterous.
"As for the other apology, we'll have to head back to Kolkata tomorrow or rather, later this morning so meeting Mr. Bond is not possible anymore. I however got you this."
This time she takes the package from him. At his gesture, she tears open the wrapper to discover a copy of The Blue Umbrella.
"First edition and autographed by the author of course. Please don't tell me you can't accept it or something of that ilk."
"But I can't," Prerna says.
"Okay, we'll continue this conversation in the flight tomorrow. I'm too tired to argue right now. Get some rest, Miss Sharma. We have a long day ahead."
She blurts the question that comes to her mind without thinking. "Is Mr. Bajaj coming with us?"
His eyes glint with a hint of green and undisguised interest. "You don't know? He's already left for Delhi."
Oh.
TBC
Author's note [2]: I don't know why Mr. Bajaj is turning so fluffy. I think I have to write a BajRag scene soon to reassure myself that he can still be a right bast**d.
Oh my God! It was raw, fluffy, sweet, enigmatic, brewing in romance until the reality walked in reminding them of equations they share. The tree house sequence was ecstatic to read and get my imaginative brain indulge into. I feel like slurping smooth vanilla ice cream as the scenes moved forward unveiling depth of their emotions as the left for home.
The piano scene literally felt like stealing a classic novel from 1940's where piano counted for flourished mannerism and wealty taste. Though I am unknown of the tune that Laksh played but it felt laugh worthy as Shiv described. He is a poignant, enigmatic character if I try to read between the lines.
Prerna's insecurities were palpable and relatable on greater note, our insecurities get to peaks when someone in the family points out to it. The disturbance in her sleep and Rishabh's fake story came rushing in my mind too, gosh it was slightly humourous before turned into the twist of walking in 1940's.
Mussoorie in your fiction has created an image of No-Wi-fi-Place I would love to visit. This is fiction is so well done that I would wish to get it published nationally with changed names.
Your writing is so beautiful that words would fail to define what I have felt while we coursed through this. Trust me, I am already flattened for you, Appy!❤️
Fan Fictions
Hindi TV Shows
Hollywood
