13. Ishaan
THIRTEEN
Ishaan
“Another drink?” Ishaan asked as he stepped out on to the balcony where Mayukhi stood, her back to the room, her face tipped up to the night sky. She shook her head, her mind clearly elsewhere.
She looked…ethereal. She wore a simple, black jumpsuit that clung to her toned, lithe body, large oxidised, dangling earrings and an oxidised chunky bracelet on one hand. At some point in their emotionally charged evening, she’d bundled her hair up into a messy bun, loose tendrils trailing down her neck and disappearing into the back of her jumpsuit.
His hand reached for one of those wavy strands, curling and falling away before he made contact. Ishaan swallowed hard as he looked away. He hated her, he reminded himself. Hated. But it was hard to remember that after this night, after watching her put herself on the line for them.
“You’re sure about this idea?” he asked.
“Well,” she said, exhaling hard. “It’s better than yours.”
He slanted a derisive look at her. “Really now? That’s what you’re going with?”
“ Your bright idea was to buy up my father’s company, imply the closure of mine, force me to marry you and infiltrate my friend’s circle.”
Ishaan pulled a cigarette out of a smashed packet he found in the depths of his pant pocket.
“And I pulled it off successfully.”
“They will never accept you,” she said, straightening and turning to face him, those cool eyes raking his face. “Whoever you marry, even if it’s Naveen himself.”
“Thanks but he’s not my type.”
The matter of fact words shouldn’t sting. He didn’t need acceptance from people who made evil look good. He didn’t even want it. He revelled in being hated by them especially since he hated them right back. And still, it hurt. Why did it hurt? Was he destined to forever be the scholarship boy who’d never be accepted? No matter how far he travelled in life, he never shook the past off.
“They will never believe that I fell in love with you. But they will believe that I’m being forced to marry you to save my father’s business. All of which is true as you know. I’m not in love with you and I am being forced to marry you to save my father’s business.”
Ishaan’s jaw tightened but other than that miniscule movement, he showed no reaction. If her words had regret and shame pooling in his heart and mind, he didn’t show it.
“But they will believe that I’m willing to help them, my friends, screw you, my father’s oppressor, over. They will believe that I could never love you.”
And on that note, she loosened her hair, smoothed the long waves over her shoulder and squared her shoulders.
“I’ll let you know next steps once I know them.”
She had her hand on the doorhandle when he spoke, his voice rough and gravelly, “Where are you going?”
“Home.” She turned the doorhandle and opened the door.
“I’ll take you.”
“No, thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder, hair trailing down till her waist in a glorious, wavy mess. “I’ll take a cab.”
“No-“
“I want to.” She turned away from him but he still heard her words, loud and clear. “I need the space.”
He stayed on the balcony, watching her say goodbye to his friends and leave. Dhrithi walked her to the door and the two women hugged, doing the little side sway before Mayukhi left and the door shut behind her.
He exhaled, his fist closing and crushing his unlit cigarette. He slipped off his shoes, allowing his toes to curl into the carpet that lined the wooden flooring of the balcony. The glass door slid open and Virat stepped out. He came to stand beside him, resting his elbow on the railing and looking out into the night, unconsciously mirroring Mayukhi’s earlier pose. Ishaan rubbed at his chest, the sharp pang in his heart unnecessary and uncomfortable.
“Dhrithi and Amay are heating up dinner.”
Ishaan grunted in response, his emotions still feeling ridiculously stormy.
“She has balls,” Virat said, his gaze on a rooftop restaurant across the street that looked to be hopping tonight.
“She does,” Ishaan agreed, his fingers worrying at the crushed cigarette in his pocket.
“She might just be the key to pulling this off.”
Ishaan said nothing. Time would tell where this went and exactly what Mayukhi achieved.
“We should show her the photograph we found.”
“You trust her now?”
“If she could fake that performance she put on in there,” Virat said, pointing to the living room. “Then she deserves an Oscar.”
“Maybe she’ll get one.” Ishaan wasn’t ready to give ground as yet. Wounded pride, stung ego, or hurting heart…it didn’t matter. For now, he needed to stay planted exactly where he was.
“We have nothing beyond that photograph.” Ishaan’s fingers worried the cigarette until it was in fragments in his pocket. “We’ve searched Dhrithi’s house multiple times and found nothing. We’ve found no further evidence of anything they might have been involved in. For now all we have is an orgy in masks. We have nothing.”
“I am well fucking aware we have nothing!”
Virat’s gritted comment was slightly louder than his normal tone and had the couple inside glancing over. A second later, Amay was sliding the door open and stepping outside. Dhrithi stayed at the dinner table though she kept casting worried looks in their direction.
“What’s going on?” Amay asked calmly.
Ishaan shrugged, wary eyes on Virat. “This time, it’s not me. It’s him.”
Virat shoved his hands in his hair, defeat lining his every move. “We have nothing,” he said again.
“We’ll get what we need, Vir,” Amay said quietly. “A little more patience is all we need. And with Mayukhi helping us, we’ve got a way in. We have a plan.”
“Our plan depends on one of their friends helping us. That’s where we are.” Virat shook his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell. How did it come to this?”
“We will make this happen.” Amay’s calm was a direct contrast to Virat’s rising ire.
“Vir’s right,” Ishaan said abruptly. “We may be fucked. We should just give up now.”
Virat’s head swung towards Ishaan like a creepy ghost in a horror movie. “He’s agreeing with me,” he told Amay.
“He is.” Amay fought a smile.
“That means I’m wrong.” Virat shoved away from the railing.
“I resent that!” Ishaan protested.
“Shut up Ish.” Virat smiled, a small smile but a smile nonetheless.
“And he’s back,” Amay drawled with a smile. “Shall we get dinner now?”
“Did you eat my corn chips?” Ishaan asked as he shouldered Amay aside.
“No,” Amay answered, throwing a hand over Virat’s shoulder and dragging him along. “But I did eat your tomatoes.”
Ishaan pointed a finger at him, flakes of cigarette paper drifting off the tip and to the floor. “You’re a dead man.”
“Can you kill him after dinner?” Dhrithi called out. “I’m starving.”
“Honestly Goody, you do know you can do far better than him right?” Ishaan took the seat beside Virat.
“Are you volunteering?” she asked, smiling as she handed him the bowl of butter chicken.
“My heart was always yours. Say the word and we can run away together.”
“Will you bring your school topper trophy with you?”
“No.”
“Then no,” she smiled sweetly back at him.
Ishaan laughed, the ache around his heart easing with the simple pleasure of friendship. “I could keep you in a lifetime of tomatoes.”
“Tomatoes, medical care.” She held her hands out pretending to weigh the two. “Sorry, Ish. It’s not an even contest. It’s the trophy that’s the clincher.”
They were still talking when Virat’s phone chimed. He picked it up and walked away from the table, his face a mask of concentration.
“The trophy,” Ishaan said. “Is never part of the deal. It’s too precious.”
“Guys.” Virat was back, his face an expressionless mask. “We have something.”