Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
AMAY
“I was in the middle of a meeting dipshit,” Ishaan grumbled, heading straight for the kitchen. “What did Sangeetha Bai make today?”
“Palak paneer and roti.”
Ishaan froze midway to the kitchen and did an about turn. “Never mind. This seems like a good night to start intermittent fasting.”
Dhrithi laughed, surprising all of them. “You don’t like palak or paneer?”
“Both.” Ishaan grumbled.
“I can make you something.”
Ishaan eyed her with interest. “You can cook?”
“You can’t?” She smiled at him as she walked over to the kitchen. “What would you like?”
“What are my options?” He followed her like a lamb, the temptation of food always too much for Ishaan. Amay sighed and followed them.
Dhrithi riffled through the kitchen cabinets and pulled out a packet of pasta. “Does this work?”
“No.” Ishaan glared at the offending packet. “Ams, why the hell are you eating pasta? I thought we decided to eat clean.”
“I like pasta.” Amay grabbed the packet from Dhrithi’s hand and shoved it back in the cupboard before Ishaan could toss it in the trash. “It’s gluten free.”
“Is it?”
A devilish smirk lit his face as he reached behind Amay for the handle to the cupboard. Amay smacked his hand on the panel making sure it didn’t open. Ishaan tugged. Amay continued to hold it closed.
“Eat the damn paneer or go look for food in your house.”
“I can’t.” Ishaan sulked. “You ate all my corn chips.”
Before Amay could respond with something just as juvenile, the front door opened and Virat walked in. He took in the ridiculous scuffle in the kitchen with his usual calm, level expression.
“I brought corn chips,” he said, tossing a paper bag at Ishaan who let go of the door handle and caught it. Virat held up the bag in the other hand. “And Chinese.”
“You were always my best friend!” Ishaan proclaimed bounding across the room and smacking Virat on his back, almost sending the bag with the Chinese food flying.
“We’ll see how you feel the next time you have a cold and come to me honking like a goose,” Amay grumbled. “And Chinese food doesn’t qualify as eating clean!”
“Stuff it, Old Man.” Ishaan was already unpacking the food. “Want some Goody?” he asked Dhrithi who shook her head, a small smile playing on her face.
“I had the paneer earlier,” she said.
“Of course you did.” Ishaan groaned theatrically. “You’re as boring as your man.”
Your man.
The words landed like a rock and he saw Dhrithi start slightly as Ishaan uttered them. Her gaze fluttered to him, her pupils widening at whatever she saw in his face. She swallowed hard and looked away.
“So, what was the emergency summons about?” Ishaan asked around an obscene mouthful of noodles.
“The search at Varun’s home tomorrow,” Amay answered. “Dhrithi has a plan.”
And just like that the mood in the room sobered. With tacit consent, they settled down in the living room, Ishaan lugging the Chinese food with him as they went.
Dhrithi sat on a single chair, one leg crossed on the seat beneath the other. Amay chose to sit on the ground by her seat, his back resting against her leg. He watched both his friends clock the silent message behind his choice.
Virat held his gaze, his eyes searching for something in Amay’s. He clearly found whatever he wanted because he nodded. One simple, short nod of acceptance.
Ishaan swallowed his food and sighed. “Can’t say I didn’t see this coming.” Then he smiled, a shark to the end. “Welcome Goody. This idiot is your problem now.”
“What’s the plan?” Virat asked quietly, leaning back in his chair.
Amay noted the lines of strain on his friend’s face. He knew what etched them there and he also knew there was no point in asking after it. Virat guarded everyone’s secrets. His own? They were in a vault at the bottom of a ravine with a fire breathing dragon standing guard over it.
Dhrithi leaned forward, her hand brushing the back of Amay’s neck, an unconscious gesture of comfort. “Varun’s father has requested my presence at a puja for Varun’s soul.”
“The Devil hears prayers?” Ishaan asked.
Amay grinned. “Same thought, Bro.”
Dhrithi rolled her eyes at them. “It’s tomorrow at Varun’s old home.”
“Tomorrow?” Virat’s eyes sharpened as he leaned forward in the chair.
“Interesting timing,” Ishaan murmured, his food temporarily forgotten. “Aren’t these the same people who banned you from his funeral?”
“Not explicitly but yes,” Dhrithi answered. “They had it while I was still in hospital and didn’t allow my family to attend in my stead.”
“But they want her now.” Amay felt Dhrithi’s hand on the nape of his neck, tightening, an unconscious tell of the strain she kept hidden for the most part.
“They want the grieving widow in place when the police arrive,” Dhrithi corrected, her nails digging into Amay’s skin now.
“Well fuck them.” Ishaan dug into his noodles with renewed aggression.
“Yeah,” Dhrithi agreed. “Fuck them.”
“Cheers!” Ishaan held up a beer he’d produced from somewhere. His ingenuity knew no bounds. “Good you’re not going.”
“Oh, I’m definitely going.”
Ishaan’s beer stopped halfway to his lips. “Say that again.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Dammit Goody. I was just starting to understand you.”
“I’ll be there on time in the whitest outfit I can produce overnight.”
“What like the ghost in those terrible Hindi movies?”
“Exactly like that. They have no idea what’s coming back to haunt them.” She smiled sweetly even as her hand tightened painfully on Amay’s neck.
Virat met Amay’s eyes, a question in them. Amay nodded. Dhrithi had his full trust and support. Always.
And then, Virat looked at her, a small smile breaking through his stress and fatigue. “Talk to me,” he invited.
And she did, detailing her plan one step at a time.