7. Ishaan
SEVEN
Ishaan
The Porsche hummed as they slid through the late night traffic. Neither Mayukhi nor he had been interested in staying any longer at the event, and had left, the tacit understanding between them both unsettling and comforting. There was not meant to be any understanding between them, tacit or otherwise. And yet, the memory of that kiss travelled with them, a living entity that seemed to be breathing down his neck.
Mayukhi stared out of the car window, her head resting against the glass, looking almost hypnotised by the mundane scenes flashing by. Ishaan glanced at her set profile, her jaw clenched, her brow furrowed.
“Thinking deep thoughts?” he asked, changing lanes to overtake the water tanker in front of him.
He saw her visibly work on smoothening out the worry on her face before turning to him, her face a mask of calm. “Deep thoughts? Me? Don’t be insulting, Adajania,” she murmured.
Ishaan laughed. “Kraken, nobody could accuse you of being dumb. Playing dumb maybe but never being dumb.”
“Listen Scholarship Boy, I remember all the times you made fun of my grades.”
“Well.” Ishaan smiled, his dimples deepening. “It’s not every day you see someone flunk English.”
Mayukhi rolled her eyes at him, her own lips twitching reluctantly. “I thought it was the grammar paper. I didn’t expect to have to decode Shakespeare instead.”
Ishaan laughed out loud. “Do you feel like some ice cream?” he asked her.
“Ice cream?” she repeated.
“You know the sweet, creamy, cold thing you scoop out of a cup or lick on a cone? Come on, Kraken, even someone who failed English would know what ice cream is.”
He pulled up in front of a tiny family run ice cream outlet that boasted all natural, fruit flavoured ice cream. Mayukhi wrinkled her nose at the sight of it.
“If I’m having ice cream,” she drawled. “I want the unhealthy, tasty kind.”
“Give me some credit,” Ishaan retorted, opening his door and gesturing for her to follow. “I promise you’ll never find ice cream that tastes better than this.”
Mayukhi heaved a very put upon sigh and exited the car, ignoring the hand he held out to help her across the road. Ishaan put his rejected hand into his pocket and followed her into the little ice cream parlour.
“What would you like?” he asked Mayukhi as she pouted and scanned the menu for the choices.
“Strawberry,” she mumbled finally, slapping the plastic covered menu onto the counter with a grimace.
“I’ll have fig and honey, Ajji,” Ishaan told the elderly woman behind the counter who was glaring at Mayukhi like she was peeing inside her shop.
They took their little cups and tiny, pink plastic spoons and sat down at a little, round table in the corner. Ishaan’s knees bumped into Mayukhi’s as they tried to fit themselves into the limited space. He noticed her pointedly pulling her legs away so they didn’t touch. So, he decided to manspread and stretch his long legs out even further. The red silk of her dress brushed against his black trousers, a blood coloured splash that reminded him of all the reasons why he was buying this woman ice cream.
Never mind this tiny ice cream parlour, there was nowhere Mayukhi Chatterjee could hide that he wouldn’t find her. She could roam the entire universe and she still wouldn’t be able to put space between them.
“Terrible ice cream right?” he prompted, his own blood ice cold, as he watched her demolish her strawberry ice cream.
“It’s good,” she muttered grudgingly, practically licking her little cup clean.
“Some more?” He glanced away, the sight of her pink tongue poking out to get every last speck of ice cream making him shift in his seat.
“No, thank you,” she said huskily. “I’m good.”
Ishaan finished his own and walked over to the counter to pay for the ice cream. By the time he was done, Mayukhi had already stepped out of the parlour and was standing on the sidewalk. He took a moment to watch her. She had her hands wrapped around her waist, almost like she needed to hold herself together. As he watched, she released her grip, one hand going to perch on her hip.
She was beautiful, poetry in motion really. But it wasn’t just her looks that got your attention, it was the attitude she lined it with. Stubborn, fierce, alive, he figured this was what warrior princesses looked like back in the day. Too bad for this one, she wasn’t going to win this battle.
He joined her on the pavement, fishing out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He popped one between his lips and was still patting himself for his lighter when he heard the snick of one and a tiny flame flared near the tip of his cigarette. He inhaled, letting the tip catch and burn before nodding his thanks to her. She shut it with a flick of her wrist and put it back in the snazzy clutch she was carrying.
“This isn’t about the news article, is it?” she asked, looking out over the emptying streets. A couple walked past them giggling and holding hands.
“What isn’t?” Ishaan asked, looking down at the top of her head. Every strand of perfectly set hair had stayed in place the whole evening, almost as if they were scared of defying her or she kept it in place by sheer force of will.
“This. You and me.”
She looked up at him, her gaze snagging his and holding it. The memory of that kiss flared to life, heat swarming him and reflecting in her beautiful eyes.
“This is about the DD’s and whatever went down between Dhrithi and Varun.”
She might have had problems with Shakespeare but Mayukhi Chatterjee was smarter than most people he’d come across. Smarter than she let people realise.
“You want something from me,” she said now. “Something you can’t get from anyone else. What is it?”
Ishaan didn’t bother with a response. He brought the cigarette to his lips and took a drag instead.
“What is the real reason behind this supposed engagement?” Mayukhi turned on her heel, folding her arms across her chest and tilting her head to one side to look up at him.
“There is nothing supposed about our engagement,” he said roughly, his cigarette dangling uselessly from his fingers.
“I don’t see a ring.” She raised her hands up, fingers spread like she was examining them for this nonexistent ring.
“I’ll get you one,” he snapped.
“Make it a round, brilliant cut solitaire and nothing less than ten carats please. Anything other than that is just embarrassing.”
Ishaan gritted his teeth. “Noted.”
“Whatever it is, I’m going to find out,” she told him sotto voice. “En Garde Adajania.”
Ishaan dropped his unfinished cigarette to the road and ground it out with the heel of his shoe.
“I’ve lived my entire life En Garde, Kraken.” He held out a hand, gesturing to her to precede him across the road to the car. “Don’t forget I’ve got your father’s business balls in my fist.”
“Oh I haven’t forgotten anything.” She tossed her hair and sauntered across the street. Ishaan followed. “The problem is,” she continued. “You don’t seem to remember what I am capable of. You want to take me down, Adajania? I’ll make sure you go down with me.”
She put her hand on the handle of the car door, staring down at it for a moment before looking up. “One more thing.”
“One more?” Ishaan drawled. “Honestly Kraken, the empty threats are getting tedious.”
She smiled, a smile tipped with venom. “Don’t you ever kiss me against my will again.”
“Against your will?” Outrage and fury poured through him. “You were leaning into me, not shoving me away.”
“Consent Adjania is a thing. Neanderthals like you might not understand it but here’s a little lesson for your skewed world view. You want to kiss a girl? You need to ask the girl if she wants to be kissed first. Or at least date her long enough to get the right signals from her, the ones where she tells you she wants you to kiss her. I gave you no signals. You asked me no questions. Do that again and I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to you.”
And on that note, she opened the door and slid into the car, her furious gaze spearing into the night through the windshield. Ishaan got in on the other side, his blood churning, bile rising at the back of his throat. He drove, quick and efficient, to her home a few minutes away, pulling up to the curb and leaving the car idling as he got out and opened the door for her.
Mayukhi got out, murmured a thank you and walked into the entrance of the apartment with her head held high. He watched her go, regret and shame a toxic cocktail in his gut.
“Mayukhi,” he called out when she was almost to the elevators.
She turned, her dress fluttering around her, a burning flame against the darkness that consumed him.
“I apologise,” he said, loud and clear. “I was wrong. You have my word that it will never happen again.”
He saw her smile, a small curve of her lips. “Don’t worry about it Adajania. I’m sure you’ll be wrong again. Often.”
And with that she disappeared into the elevator leaving him alone in the darkness.