Chapter Twelve
Chapter
Twelve
“If you don’t believe in love, what’s the point of living?”
—Ron Swanson, Parks and Recreation
Veer tried not to drag his feet as he followed Harsha into the train station. While she bought them two tickets, he looked around at the hubbub of people bumping into one another, then rushing off with no time to apologize. That was the hustle culture Mumbaikars had been born into and raised on, and it was also one of the reasons Veer preferred Bangalore. The city was growing at an alarming rate thanks to the tech boom, but it was still quieter and softer than Mumbai. That was home for him.
“All right, let’s go.” Harsha wound her arm around his—he told himself it was because of the crowd—and they walked to the nearest platform. The next train to Churchgate was two minutes away.
Harsha yawned and adjusted her Gucci tote bag over her shoulder, which she seemed to carry everywhere, the straps digging into her skin. “Hey,” Veer said, stretching out his hand, “can I carry that for you?”
She blinked in surprise. “Thank you.”
He took the tote bag and slung it over his shoulder. Some passersby stared, probably because they couldn’t deal with a man holding a woman’s bag, but all Veer thought about was how this bag was probably the most expensive thing he’d ever put on his body. Harsha had likely bought it before the falling-out with her parents.
The train arrived at the platform and they got into the general compartment and found two empty seats by the window. It was a little after three p.m. on a Saturday, so the train was mercifully not as packed as Veer had experienced during his acting days. The commute from his studio apartment in Worli to Goregaon, where his sitcom was filmed, had been brutal in the early hours of the morning. Veer would never forget the sight of men holding on to the edge of the train door for dear life because there wasn’t enough breathing room for all passengers to sit or stand comfortably.
“It’ll take us around half an hour,” Harsha said, yawning again as she settled into the seat. “I’m going to take a quick nap. Today’s been such a long day already.”
Veer nodded and carefully put the tote bag between his legs for safekeeping. “I’ll wake you when we’re close to Churchgate.”
She tied her hair up into a messy bun and rested her head against the window, closing her eyes. Veer watched stray strands of her hair flying around in the hot, sticky breeze, and how she swatted them away from her mouth every few seconds, her forehead wrinkling. He hesitated before saying, “Do you want to use my shoulder as a pillow?”
Harsha opened her eyes and stared at him, thinking, then rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you. I’m just so tired…” Seconds later, she was asleep, her face safe from the oncoming breeze. Veer smiled as he looked at her, doing his best to ignore the strong scent of whatever spicy floral shampoo she used and the desperate urge to kiss her forehead. He wanted to take a picture of this moment, one that would likely never come again. She was so pretty; he’d known and thought it since day one—but never before had he truly felt it in his bones.
Anyone would agree that Harsha was conventionally attractive with her perfect black curls, those gray eyes, and a wide smile that made people stop right in their tracks—but there were nuances to her beauty that gave her personality, ones he had only noticed up close. The small acne scars dotting her cheeks. The slight upturn of her long nose. And the way her plump red lips parted slightly as she breathed in and out—
Fuck it. Veer pulled his phone out from his pocket, careful not to wake her, and took a selfie: her head on his shoulder, his lips buried in her sweet-smelling hair…and the smallest of smiles on her face as she snuggled closer to him in her sleep.
He woke her up with regret when the train reached the station, from where they took an auto rickshaw and got off in front of Chowpatty beach, bustling with life and laughter.
Veer looked at the crowded beach in the distance, the people giddily playing in the sea and lounging on their towels as the sky grew cloudy. Harsha took off her heels, handed them to Veer, and pulled her phone out of her purse.
“What are you doing?” he asked as she turned on airplane mode.
“I don’t want my family bothering us,” she answered. She put the phone back inside and swung their arms together. “So, how long has it been since you last visited the beach?”
“Hmm…” Veer’s eyes slid away as he reminisced. “Over a year ago. Juhu Beach. We shot the final scene of my pilot episode there and—” Shit. He hadn’t told her about that yet.
Harsha yanked on his hand, forcing him to stop in his tracks. “Pilot episode? Like, for a television show? Veer, how could you not tell me? Where can I watch it?”
“It didn’t get picked up,” he said, hanging his head. “The producers pitched it to all the TV networks and streaming platforms, but nobody wanted it. My agent dumped me after that.”
“I’m sorry.” Her eyes shone. “Do you miss acting?”
He didn’t dare admit the truth to himself, so why would he admit it to her? Instead, he held up their interlocked hands. “Isn’t that what we’re doing now? Acting?”
Harsha’s lips thinned, and she pulled her hand away. “Sorry.”
“I’m kidding.” Veer took her hand again, pressing his fingers into the gaps between hers, relishing the cool touch of her palm. “Yeah, I miss acting, more than I’ll admit to anyone else. It lights me up. Or at least,” he chuckled sadly, “it used to.”
She was silent for a moment as they walked. Then she said, “When you talked about acting with Uncle Madhu, you were trying to get his attention, weren’t you?”
His eyes widened.
She shrugged. “I’m not mad. You were shooting your shot. But my uncle isn’t your only way back to your dream career, Veer. There’s a thriving cinema industry in Bangalore too. And there are new advertisements and webseries being filmed every day.”
“I went for an audition two weeks ago, and I didn’t get it.” Veer looked up at the blue sky, avoiding her gaze. “It’s not that easy to make it—”
“Nothing is, but you know you have to keep trying.”
He sighed as his heart clenched. “I do.”
“When we get back,” she said, “you’re going to try harder to get back to acting, not to prove a point to anyone, not even yourself or me, but to finally let your soul be happy.”
Veer kicked at the sand ahead of them, watching as it settled. “Working at Sunstag isn’t soul-sucking.”
“Then don’t quit your job there until you have your foot in the acting door.”
He nodded slowly, squeezing her hand. “All right.”
“So,” she asked, looking out toward the sea, “what scene were you filming at the beach for the pilot?”
Veer didn’t need to even think about it; he still had the script memorized. “My character had a bad first week at law school, so his friends took him to the beach, and they made sandcastles.”
“Really?” Harsha’s eyes glinted as she stopped in place. “Let’s do it, then.”
“Do…what, exactly?”
“Make sandcastles!” she exclaimed, now pulling him into the crowd.
Veer raised an eyebrow at that preposterous idea. “No way. We don’t have a bucket or shovel, and—”
She dragged him along to a corner where three kids between seven and ten years of age wrestled in the sand, their colorful buckets and shovels lying ignored next to them. “Hi,” she said to the kids, bending down. “Can we borrow your sandcastle toys for a little while?”
“Sure,” the oldest girl said as she pinned a screaming younger boy to the ground.
“See?” Harsha smiled smugly at Veer. She took her heels from his hand and gave him two buckets in shades of neon pink and green. “Fill these up with water. I’ll get some sand.”
“But—”
“Go!”
He walked to the water, racking his brain. He’d never imagined that this woman—with her Gucci bag and expensive manicures—would want to make sandcastles with him, all for nostalgia’s sake. But there she was, glowing in that yellow dress, two-inch heels in hand as she shoveled sand into another bucket.
Twenty minutes later, they had built the ugliest sandcastle to ever exist. Harsha took some pictures, but no amount of Photoshop could fix…this. The levels were uneven, the foundation shaky, and globs of wet sand dripped from the edges. When the kids came back for their toys, the youngest said, “Eww, that’s ugly!”
Even Harsha laughed in relief as the waves took the sandcastle away. They washed their muddy fingers in the sea, giggling and splashing water on each other. Then she took his hand in hers once more, and they walked along the shoreline. Minutes went by, and though their palms were getting slick with sweat in the humid, salty weather, neither of them let go.
It was nearly five p.m. now, and the beach was jam-packed with couples and friends alike. Hawkers and vendors walked here and there, enticing the visitors with everything from pani puri, masala chai, and cotton candy to plastic pinwheels and bubble blowers.
Veer was enjoying this a lot more than lunch, although there was a thought in the back of his mind that they shouldn’t have left early. Hopefully, Mr. Godbole would buy Aunt Pinky’s excuse instead of getting offended. Veer didn’t want any more bad blood between Harsha and her family.
But walking along the beach felt…cathartic. He didn’t know how he could miss Bangalore and his memories of Mumbai at the same time, but he did. Maybe he missed who he was when he had lived here—bright-eyed, hopeful, excited for a future where his sitcom would be an instant classic that propelled him into a lifelong career in cinema and television.
But it made no sense to miss a future that never had a shot at existing.
Harsha was laughing as she told him about her friendship with Sasha, and although he was listening, his thoughts went to his friends back home. Deepika and Raunak. He would have to come clean to them soon enough, no matter the risks. Not just because this was a huge secret to keep, but because he was on the brink of…feeling things. And he really, really, really didn’t know what to do about it.
Harsha let go of his hand, and his heart dropped, wondering if she’d somehow overheard his thoughts. But all she did was smile apologetically at him, wipe her sweaty hand on her dress, and take his palm in hers again.
“Sasha’s like the sister I always wanted,” Harsha told him, her hair blowing away from her face in the seaside breeze. “I don’t have a lot of friends, honestly. I’ve never been good at making them. But I just know she and I are forever.”
“That’s how I feel about Deepika and Raunak,” Veer admitted. “We met at Sunstag, and they’re like family to me, especially Deepika. She’s the straight-headed one among us.”
Harsha nodded. “She always seems so into her work at the café.”
“She is,” he told her. “She has big dreams of starting her own coffee shop once she has enough savings, and she’s hoping to get promoted next year to store manager and build a network of contacts. Maybe after that, she’ll be an actual district manager.” He chuckled. “I know she’ll make it.”
“How would you feel about that?” Harsha studied him. “I mean, she’s your friend, but she’d become your boss.”
“She deserves it the most out of all of us.” Veer stopped. They were nearly at the edge of the beach, and the crowd had dwindled at this point. The rushing of the waves, the cool air punctuated with some sort of heat that emanated from their bodies, and the gentle twanging of someone’s guitar in the distance…it was almost romantic.
No, scratch that. It was romantic.
Veer pulled his hand out of her grasp and feigned checking his wristwatch. “You should turn your phone back on, in case your dad texted you about us leaving.”
She switched her phone back on, waited for it to load, then smirked, holding her phone out for him to see. No messages. No calls. No WhatsApp texts.
“They don’t care about me,” Harsha said, sounding the slightest bit disappointed even as she laughed. “Maa must be catching up on the latest gossip with Neha, and Papa probably doesn’t even care that we’re gone.”
“Then they’re assholes.” Veer bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“They mean well,” Harsha said. “But we don’t have that sort of bond. Papa thinks love equals money, so he’s pretty much just tried to buy my love all my life. Maa…I’m sure she cares about me, but doesn’t know how to show it.”
“What about your uncle, aunt, and Neha?”
Harsha hesitated. “Aunt Pinky and I are quite close. She bought me my first bicycle and my first lipstick, and we still talk on the phone every few weeks. Uncle Madhu’s always been busy traveling for his job, so she and I kept each other company when I lived here. We even traveled to Europe together. And Neha”—she exhaled—“we’ve always butted heads about the most random things, and that’s led to a lot of tension between us over the years.”
Veer cringed. “I’m sorry.”
“If it weren’t for Aunt Pinky trying to pacify the situation at lunch, I probably would have gotten into an argument with Papa.” She blinked back tears, tilting her neck to the other side, and Veer knew she was trying to hide her face from him. “I can’t remember the last conversation I had with my parents that didn’t end in some sort of fight.”
“That really sucks. Do you know why they’re like that?” he asked.
Harsha looked up at the afternoon sun bathing the beach in warm light. “I think it’s because they were raised by parents who didn’t know better. And they passed that experience on to me. I hope I can change that pattern for my future kids.”
“Of course you will,” he said, as something softened in his chest. “You’re gonna make a great mother someday. I mean, well, if you want that for yourself.”
She faced him, her cheeks reddening almost as much as her cherry lips. “I do want it—if I ever meet someone who’ll want to have kids with me.”
“It’ll happen,” Veer said, and he meant it. “Only a fool would say no to you.”
Harsha rolled her eyes. “You’re the best fake boyfriend, you know that?”
“Thank you.” He felt the slightest hint of color peek through his own face. He pressed her hand to his lips before he knew what he was doing. “You’re pretty good too.”
She didn’t seem to mind—in fact, she curtsied. “Why, thank you.”
Her hand was still near his lips, so he slowly let go and turned the other way. “Shall we walk back?”
“Yep,” she agreed. She took his arm now, resting some of her body weight along his side, and Veer noted something that felt both light and heavy: He wasn’t on the brink anymore. He’d caught feelings. Oh, he’d caught feelings real bad.
Back at the hotel, Harsha peered at the YouTube tutorial on her phone, which was propped up against the desk, then looked down at the long cloth she’d wrapped around herself like a cocoon. “Ugh!” she yelled. She started the video over and unraveled the fabric, trying to figure out where she was going wrong.
“What happened?” Veer asked as he ambled out of the bathroom, looking handsome in a black suit and baby blue tie. He paused in place when he saw her standing in the corner of the room, dressed in just a thin petticoat and sleeveless blouse. “Oh, um—” He whirled around. “Sorry, I can come back—”
She groaned loudly. “This isn’t the time for your gentlemanly nonsense. We’re already late, and I can’t figure out how to drape this stupid saree. If Maa was here—” She huffed at the long-gone memory of her mother helping her get dressed for her high school graduation, where all the girls had to wear sarees. “Forget it.”
Veer walked to the desk and put the video on 0.5x speed. “Let’s see if this helps.”
Together, they got to work, pleating and folding the midnight blue fabric and tucking it into the petticoat. Harsha was thankful she could chalk up the tensing of her body and the hitching of her breaths to her anxious nerves, not to the gentle grip of Veer’s fingers on her bare waist as he helped her pin the saree in place. He placed the pallu over her shoulder, his hand grazing along that sensitive spot on her neck, and she shut her eyes and nearly hissed through her teeth. Fuck. He was not supposed to have this effect on her.
This is fake. This is fake. This is fake, she repeated on a loop in her head.
When the video ended, Veer took a step back to admire Harsha, who put her hands on her hips, still feeling the ghost of Veer’s touch. “What do you think?” she said, posing.
He beamed. “Gorgeous. And the saree doesn’t look half bad, either.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Let me check my makeup before we leave,” she said, walking past him into the bathroom. Veer’s phone was still on the counter, and it buzzed with a text from a WhatsApp group titled Barista Bitches while she was swiping some more mascara along her lashes. She couldn’t help but look at the screen.
Raunak:
Wait, there are gonna be celebrities there???? Broooo, you’ve hit the dating jackpot with Harsha lol
Harsha averted her gaze to the mirror and ignored the subsequent buzzing from whoever else was on that group chat. Veer must have told them about Uncle Madhu’s anniversary party. They were no doubt starstruck; she was surprised how coolly Veer had taken all of this, considering he went to acting school. She pushed down the shame quelling in her belly. From what she knew of Veer, he’d grown up poor, and his friends likely had the same kind of lifestyle as him—and no matter how much Harsha tried to pretend she wasn’t like the rest of the Godboles, she would never be able to relate to Veer or his barista friends, either.
No wonder Harsha’s parents were disapproving of their relationship. It wouldn’t have made sense to anyone.
She exited the bathroom, Veer’s phone in hand. “You left your phone in there.”
He took it from her, smirking as he swiped through his notifications. “My friends are freaking out about this party. Raunak thinks you’re a total catch”—he winked at Harsha, who couldn’t bring herself to smile—“and Deepika wants me to send her pictures of all the celebrities who’ll be there.”
Harsha put on her favorite Jimmy Choo stiletto heels from two years ago. Thank god her shoe size didn’t change. “What is your mom saying?” she asked as she fastened the strap over her ankle. “She knows we’re here together, doesn’t she?”
Veer ran a hand across his beard, wincing. “I told her I’m here to meet some friends from acting school. If I mentioned you were bringing me here to see your family, she’d want to meet you sometime too, and I know you’re not okay with that.”
Harsha nodded. This charade was ending in a handful of weeks, and then they’d have no reason to continue their relationship beyond barista and customer. Why should he get his mother’s hopes up about a relationship that made no sense and had no future?
Because it didn’t, she reminded herself as they headed downstairs. It had no chance at lasting outside of the contract. It was surprising, though, how three weeks of this fake relationship felt so much more fun than anything with Shashank.
She rubbed along the goosebumps sprouting up her arms at the thought, even in this sweltering nighttime heat. Veer must have noticed, because when they got into their Uber, he pressed his fingertips into the spaces between her knuckles. “The worst is over,” he reminded her. “Just try to breathe. You look amazing.”
“Thank you.” Harsha looked away, pretending to scroll Instagram on her phone. All that ran through her mind was: If Veer was this caring as a fake boyfriend, how much love would he have shown her as a real one?