Chapter Eight
Chapter
Eight
“I take all of your recommendations seriously. I want to know why you like stuff.”
—Gregory Eddie, Abbott Elementary
Harsha got out of her auto rickshaw with trembling legs and faced Veer’s building. It was an old five-story apartment building painted a dull yellow, nestled among a row of independent bungalows and surrounded by tall trees blooming with pink flowers. She craned her neck up at the blue sky and bright sunshine filtering in through the canopy of green. Beautiful. She took a quick photo with her phone, since she hadn’t thought to bring her camera.
This was her first time visiting Veer’s side of town, but Jayanagar seemed like a homely neighborhood. More homely than where she lived, at least. In the three months since she’d moved to Bangalore, she hadn’t invited a single person over. Not even Shashank, who rented a three-bedroom apartment in a gated community and probably would have dumped her much sooner if he knew just how humble her living situation was. Home décor could only take an apartment so far. Harsha wasn’t quite ready to burst Veer’s bubble, either, especially not with the money she was paying him, so meeting at his place made the most sense.
She greeted the security guard with a smile and took the lift to the fourth floor, fidgeting with the hair elastic on her wrist the whole time, and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply, until the lift doors opened.
Time for their first intimacy practice.
God, what had she gotten herself into?
Veer was already waiting for her, his head poking out of his front door at the far end of the hallway. “Hey,” he said.
Harsha had seen him every day at Sunstag since their date night, engaging in fake flirting and their usual banter, but now, as she joined him at the door and placed her sneakers in the small shoe rack, she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She stood, taking in the living room instead. The bright green walls clashed with the teal three-seater couch and the purple curtains along the walls. Harsha’s apartment might have been small and ratty, but at least her decorating skills were better than Veer’s. She turned to him and chuckled. “Did a four-year-old pick out your furniture?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m renting, and the place was already furnished. Everything else is all me, though. Want a tour?”
“Yeah.” She left her bag on the couch and followed him around the one-bedroom apartment, pausing occasionally to catch a glimpse of who her fake boyfriend was outside of Sunstag. In the kitchen, a row of black and white mugs sat beside a coffee machine. One shelf was littered with dusty spice bottles with labels in block letters, ranging from Haldi and Jeera Powder to Pav Bhaji Masala —probably given to him by his mother. The balcony was small and airy with Veer’s laundry on the drying rack, and it overlooked a children’s park. She smiled at the sounds of shrieks and giggles of toddlers playing in the sandbox.
“This is my room,” he said, gesturing for her to go inside. Harsha walked in, her mouth nearly dropping open. The paint was a bright, unflattering red; his bed had a rickety old frame with a thin mattress; but the stars of the show were the pictures gracing the walls. From posters of Bollywood movies like Sholay and Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani to Western sitcoms like Schitt’s Creek and Ted Lasso, Veer’s passion for acting was clearly deeper than Harsha had presumed.
There was also a large framed photograph of Veer next to a blue car with an elderly lady and a young man—his family, she guessed. The car was decorated with garlands, and his mother held a picture of a stylish woman in her hands as she beamed at the camera.
“Who’s that?” Harsha asked, pointing at the unknown woman.
Veer snorted. “That’s Nayanthara, my mother’s favorite South Indian actress. Mom insisted I name my car after her.”
Harsha smiled. “How cute.” She paused at the cupboard opposite his bed and held back a laugh. Taped on the door, beside the mirror, was Veer’s acting headshot. His hair was short and neat, his mouth pulling up to one side in a soft and thoroughly cute smile, his face clean-shaven unlike his usual sparse beard. The photo was black-and-white, but his dark eyes sparkled with hope. Harsha looked at him standing beside her, and her stomach turned. That glimmer of hope was no longer there—especially not when he saw what she was looking at.
“After I moved back to Bangalore, when I still thought I had a shot at being an actor, I put this headshot up so it would be the first thing I saw in the morning.” He scoffed, the lean muscles in his arms tensing as he rested his back against the mirror. “Manifestation is bullshit, but I can’t bring myself to take it down.”
“When was the last time you auditioned?” Harsha asked.
Veer looked away. “Not that long ago. I didn’t get it, obviously.”
She bit her lip. “Well, maybe if you—”
He straightened and moved away from the mirror, raking his hand through his hair. “Let’s get started with this practice session, shall we?”
“Sure,” Harsha said, her shoulders sinking as they returned to the living room. So his walls were still up. She couldn’t blame him—they barely knew each other outside of their barista-customer dynamic—but if their fake dating ploy was to work, they had to be comfortable with each other.
Since it was Veer’s house, she decided to let him take the lead, though this had been her idea. He sat down on the far end of the teal couch, one foot crossed over the other, then gave Harsha a sideways glance and patted the couch. “Uh, join me?”
“Sure.” She bit down on her nervousness—and perhaps anticipation—and sat beside him, near enough that their thighs touched. “Let’s do this.”
“I’m going to put my arm around you,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Okay.”
Veer exhaled through his mouth and wrapped one arm around her shoulder. His hand was callused, his fingers warm against her bare skin, just like she remembered from their date night. Harsha cleared her throat and scooted closer to him. “See, this isn’t so hard.”
Veer’s gaze was steadily on the floor as he swallowed. “Mm-hmm. Not hard at all.”
She tucked her head under his chin, one hand on his thigh, and said, if only to distract herself from the gentle graze of his stubble on her forehead, “I hope you remember the ground rules from the contract?”
“Uh…could you remind me?” Veer turned his face toward her, and when she stared up at him, his parted lips were one head-tilt away, hidden beneath that dark beard.
“Ground rules, like…” Where was she supposed to look? At his intense gaze? At that full mouth? At the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the shirt she’d bought him? Instead, she closed her eyes, begging herself to hold it together. “Like, we won’t be kissing on the lips, since my family wouldn’t find that appropriate, but other kinds of kiss—”
Before she finished her sentence, Veer’s lips were on her forehead. “That’s fine by me,” he rumbled against her skin. When his hand moved down her shoulder to the side of her waist, his fingers curling around her top, she almost moaned, her eyes still shut.
“Harsha, look at me,” he whispered.
She did as he said and met his eyes as her body trembled. “I—This is just—”
“Awkward, I know,” he said, taking her palm and resting it on his heart, which was beating fast. “But we have to get past that.”
She nodded, although “awkward” was the last word she’d have associated with this situation that had only been her doing. “Agonizing” might have been a better way to phrase it. She pushed down her hesitation and tugged on his shirt, pulling him in closer. Her lips rested close to his neck, breathing in his scent, and then she kissed his cheek as she exhaled.
Veer let out a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a gasp, those fingers now stroking the skin between her top and jean shorts. “I…” he started, his lips an inch away from hers—
Harsha’s phone buzzed in her back pocket, and she sprang away from him like lightning had struck between them. Veer stood up, turning away from her, and said, “I’ll get us some water.”
“Sure!” she squeaked.
That was—that—god, what were words?
She held back a sigh and checked her phone. The text message was from her dormant WhatsApp group chat with her parents, finally come to life now that she’d agreed to attend the anniversary party.
Maa:
Beta u said Veer was a district manager right?
She groaned softly, quite certain she knew where this was going. Sure enough, another text popped up on her screen.
How much does he make every month?
Harsha had no idea how much Sunstag district managers earned, but it was definitely not something her folks would think was “enough” for a Godbole.
Harsha:
It’s rude to ask that question, Maa.
Now her father chimed in.
Papa:
Not when he could be your life partner…Beta just think about whether he can give you a comfortable life like we did…
Maa:
Especially since ur not working right now
Harsha’s thumbs hovered over the keypad, her throat tightening.
Before she could defend herself, another message came up.
Also beta what’s his caste? Google search results on his last name were confusing, so just make sure before u get too serious with him
Harsha seethed. Seriously? Caste might have been a big deal when it came to many marriages and relationships, given the regressive mindset most Indians conformed to, but her parents were supposed to be modern, educated, and smart. The only thing they ought to care about was whether Harsha was with someone who loved and cherished her. Then again, how could she have expected anything different from them?
She stood up and shoved the phone into her tote bag, ignoring the persistent buzzing of new messages. Veer came into view with two tall glasses of water. “Here,” he said.
“Thanks.” She took a sip of water and sat back down, crossing her arms over her chest.
He finished his glass and joined her on the couch, studying her. “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He chuckled weakly. “As your boyfriend, I think I’d know when you’re upset?”
She bit her lip and stared out of the glass doors of the balcony. She owed it to him to be honest about what was bothering her, but maybe not all of it. “My parents are hounding me about you. They’re making assumptions about how much you make, or how little, that is.”
The breath he let out was audible. “Right. Maybe my character can get a new job somewhere. Like a big corporation or a bank.”
She scoffed, massaging her temples, which had started to throb. “That’s too big a lie to pull off, especially if your actual manager finds out.”
“And this isn’t?” Veer put his hand on hers. “We’ll figure it out. Your uncle and aunt’s wedding anniversary is coming up soon. I’ll charm them.”
“Yeah.” She blinked back the dampness in her eyes and nodded at him. “I hope so.”
Veer wiped the one stray tear falling down her cheek, his breath warming her face. “Hey. It’ll be fine.”
She looked away when he cupped her face with one hand, his touch sparking something fluttery in her stomach. “I promise,” he said. “We’re going to pull this off, and pull it off well.”
“You’re an actor. I’m not,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to act like anyone but yourself, Harsha.” His fingers grazed her skin, and she sighed softly, closing her eyes and sinking her face farther into his caress. Why did his touch feel so safe already? So familiar?
“Let’s go out,” Veer said, helping her up, and the moment passed. “Are you hungry?”
She patted her stomach, thinking. “I am, actually. Why don’t you take me to that CTR place you love? I checked it out on Google.”
Although it hadn’t looked like a place she would have frequented with either Shashank or her family, especially seeing as she didn’t quite get the appeal of South Indian breakfast food, she was still intrigued. Veer had insisted it was his favorite place, and she needed to peel back the layers and know who he really was.
Because she had to be a believable fake girlfriend, obviously. No other reason.
His eyes nearly bulged out. “Really? Okay…” He led the way outside his building to the dusty blue car—Nayanthara, as he’d called her—and they got in. Harsha tried not to look at the tensing muscles of his forearms as he expertly navigated through traffic. Those fingers had touched her face. Her shoulder. Her waist.
If this charade was to work, Harsha would have to get used to the warmth of his rough stubble against her lips and how good it had felt—and the musky scent of his cologne that still hung in the air between them as he drove.
Shit, shit, shit. She looked out the window, trying to ignore the rapid pace of her heart and thinking about how—if she wasn’t more careful—this act could really, really, really get out of hand.
After fifteen minutes of waiting at the restaurant, during which Veer answered Harsha’s relationship history pop quiz, they were finally directed to a table that had just emptied. The place was packed, with no music playing, just the cacophony of fellow hungry strangers catching up amid the clinking and clanging of plates and bowls.
This was what Veer loved about CTR. It teemed with life. People didn’t have to talk in hushed whispers, wear something that fit a dress code, or yell to be heard over the thrum of electronic music. They could just be.
A couple of servers flitted about, but Veer decided to order at the counter to save them some time. Plus, he needed a moment away from Harsha to process what had happened in his apartment.
He didn’t know what hidden confidence had come over him when he made the first move of pressing his lips to her forehead, but once he’d done it, it had felt next to impossible to stop. If her phone hadn’t buzzed, interrupting the moment, he would have swept her up onto his lap and kissed her—which she’d already specified was off the table—until her lips were bruised and swollen. Because god, she was irresistible. Had she, too, felt that crackle between them, like magnets pulling each other in?
Or was this all just in Veer’s head?
He snuck a backward glance at Harsha sitting alone at their table while the cashier rang up his order. She’d put her hair up while they were waiting in the heat, but now she had let her curls out of the bun, and they fell down to her waist like an endless black river.
“Sir, how are you paying?”
He tore his eyes away from Harsha and handed the man some cash. The delectable aromas of butter and spice wafted into his nostrils as a server passed by with a tray of food. Veer grinned; he couldn’t wait to make Harsha try everything. When he returned to their table, he debated sitting across from her, but finally decided to pull his chair up adjacent to hers. That was how couples sat, right? So they could be close? He owed it to her to stay in character.
“What did you order?” she asked.
He smiled. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she said, biting her lip, “but I don’t eat a lot of South Indian food.”
“Have a little bit of faith in my favorite restaurant.” He shifted his chair closer to her, bumping their knees together, and when she didn’t pull away, he added, “Have a little bit of faith in me .”
“Okay,” she let out, looking away. One arm was by her side and the other on the table, so close to his hand that their little fingers nearly touched. If he just moved his pinky finger half an inch to the right—
Harsha snapped the hair elastic on her wrist, and it brought him back to reality, back to this conversation. “Are you nervous?” he asked.
She gulped. “Why—why would I be nervous?”
“This.” Veer tugged on her hair elastic and let go. “You always do this when you’re anxious or thinking too much.” He pulled his lips up into a smile. “Are you so afraid that I have bad taste?”
“No,” Harsha said. “I’m just not used to this.”
Veer wondered if she meant the intimacy practice or the restaurant, but he only chuckled. “Sometimes, it’s nice to pig out on good food and not have it empty your wallet. Not that you’d ever have to worry about that.”
Harsha’s eyes shifted back and forth as she nodded. “Right.”
They looked up at the sound of footsteps. The waiter set two small brass tumblers in the center of their table, brimming with frothy bubbles and the rich aroma of coffee.
Veer handed her one and picked his own tumbler up as a toast. “To filter coffee, which will forever be superior to Sunstag’s overpriced lattes. But don’t tell my manager I said that.”
She giggled. “Cheers to that.”
The hot coffee was delicious and milky as always, leaving a subtly sweet aftertaste in Veer’s mouth without the sugar rush Sunstag’s flavored coffees often delivered. The star of the show, though, was the benne masala dosa, brown and crispy on the outside and packed with yellow potato on the inside, served with coconut and red chutneys. As Veer watched Harsha lick every bit of butter, spice, and chutney off her fingers, his heart swelled three times larger in his chest. She burped, then covered her mouth, her eyes widening, but he only chuckled.
“I loved it,” Harsha admitted. “A lot of places in Mumbai sell dosas, but none as good as this.”
He rested his head on his hand and studied her. “Do you miss Mumbai?”
“Sometimes. I miss the beach and the nightlife, of course, but I like Bangalore too.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” He gestured to the restaurant at large with his hands. “It’s the best city in the world.”
“Now, that’s a reach—”
A waiter came by to shoo them away and make room for the people still waiting for a table. Since Veer had already paid at the counter, they returned to his car.
He regretfully put on his seat belt. The day had gone by way too fast, and he had a shift to get to. He started the engine and asked, “Can I drop you home?”
“The metro station is fine,” Harsha answered promptly.
He shot her a confused look. Why was she so hell-bent on taking the train?
As they were on their way to the metro station, Harsha perused her phone and gasped.
“What?” Veer asked, looking toward her as he drove.
Squealing, Harsha read the email out loud. It was from a potential client who needed to hire a last-minute photographer. He planned to propose to his girlfriend tomorrow at Nandi Hills, but his original photographer quit on him.
Veer might have been cynical about marriage for himself, but he smiled anyway. “That’s cute. I wonder if the girlfriend is expecting it.”
“I hope she wears waterproof mascara tomorrow,” Harsha said as she eagerly tapped the keypad on her phone, presumably replying to the client. “If not, I’ll fix it during editing.”
“Nandi Hills is quite the trek, though,” Veer pointed out, knowing Harsha probably hadn’t been there yet. “No wonder that photographer canceled.”
But Harsha only squealed. “Even better. Now I can prove myself. Engagement photo shoots always go viral. This could lead to more bookings!”
Chuckling, Veer pulled up in front of the metro station. “You sure I can’t drop you home? Are you worried the security guards will find out your boyfriend drives an old, beat-up car and snitch to your family?”
“Don’t say that out loud,” Harsha said, patting the dashboard. “You’re going to upset poor Nayanthara.”
Veer snorted. “Seriously, though, I don’t mind driving—”
“I’ll be fine.” Harsha got out of the car, her tote bag slung over one shoulder. “Thank you for a fantastic fake date,” she called out as she shut the car door. “Drive safe.”
“Text me when you get home, and good luck tomorrow!” Veer said before pulling back onto the main road and driving home to get dressed for his shift at Sunstag. It was only when he unlocked the door to his apartment, which still smelled faintly like strawberries, that his thoughts returned to the intimacy practice…and the upcoming anniversary party. Five days until his acting skills would be put to the test in front of Harsha’s entire family, and some Bollywood celebrities, probably. Unlike every moment up until now, though, it wasn’t panic or fear bubbling in the pit of his stomach—itwas anticipation.