Chapter Sixteen
Chapter
Sixteen
“I’m really tough. And when I do stumble, I have the most amazing mom who is always right there to pick me up.”
—Elena Alvarez, One Day at a Time
It was day three of being ignored by Veer, and in an attempt to distract herself, Harsha sat at her usual warm and cozy desk at Sunstag. She uploaded Daman and Gauri’s engagement pictures to her website along with their official testimonial and sat back, grinning at her slowly growing online portfolio. The next project she had lined up was a teen influencer’s sweet sixteen birthday party.
She was slowly starting to fall in love with this career path. She’d initially thought freelance photography would be a side hustle until she figured out her shit, but what if this was Harsha’s real purpose? To celebrate people’s big moments with them and help them document it forevermore?
Her parents might never approve, but Harsha had a feeling she’d finally found her calling.
When her phone chirped with an incoming video call notification, she blinked and shifted her focus from work. It was nearly three p.m. ; Sasha would be fast asleep now. Who else could it be? Veer? Oh, please let it be Veer, she thought as she turned her phone over.
It wasn’t Veer. It was Neha.
“Why is she calling me?” Harsha mumbled under her breath, then took the call. “Neha, hi,” she said, her voice shaking as Neha’s makeup-free, sweaty face came into view. Was she…at the gym?
“Hey,” Neha said in a totally casual, energetic voice, as though she weren’t running at breakneck speed on the treadmill. She had her AirPods in and wore a neon green sports bra under a white tank top. Her hair was up in a tight bun, not a single strand out of place as she moved her body vigorously. “How are you, Harsha?”
“I’m fine,” Harsha said, wondering what this was about. “Busy work day at Sunstag.”
“Lovely.” Neha exhaled softly through her lips and continued running. “Just wanted to tell you the wedding venue has changed.”
“Oh, I thought I saw on your stories that it was supposed to be at The Leela Palace?”
“Yeah, we had our eyes set on it,” she said, now starting to briskly walk on the treadmill, “but there wasn’t availability for the ceremony on the one day the panditji said was auspicious. And Mom’s not willing to change the date. So instead, it’s going to be at a really fancy wedding venue in Nandi Hills. Daddy pulled a few strings and booked it for four days, last-minute. It’s absolutely gorgeous; just wait until you see.” She slowed her pace and squealed.
“I bet,” Harsha said, forcing out a grin, although her stomach lurched. Harsha had a hundred excuses ready to leave the wedding early, since it was scheduled to be in Bangalore. But Nandi Hills was a two-hour drive away. Now they would be expected to spend at least a night or two. She held back a sigh and said, “Congrats. Veer and I will be there.”
“Yay!” Neha said, pumping her fists in the air. The treadmill stopped, and she wiped sweat off her forehead with all the grace of a ballerina. “I’ll have someone book one of their on-site hotel rooms for you two. The mehendi’s on the afternoon of the fifteenth, so make sure to leave early that morning—”
Harsha almost laughed. Four days of Neha? No thank you. “I don’t think Veer can miss that much work, with his promotion coming up, but we’ll attend the wedding ceremony at the very least.”
“Oh.” Neha cringed. “That might be a problem.”
“Why, exactly?”
Neha hopped off the treadmill and walked over to the cycling machine, taking the phone with her. “See, the reason I called is because my photographer can’t make it on all four days due to the venue change, so he’s going to duck out right after the sangeet ceremony on Tuesday.”
“That sucks,” Harsha said.
“Which means I have to hire another photographer for the wedding and reception,” Neha said, moving her body vigorously as she cycled, “and I thought that could be you.”
Harsha rubbed the back of her neck. “Are you asking me to be your wedding photographer?” She hadn’t heard anything this preposterous coming out of Neha’s mouth before.
“Only for the final two days.” Neha slowed her pace and blew air through her mouth. “And I’ll pay you whatever your usual rate is, of course.”
There was no universe in which Harsha wanted to spend more time with Neha or her family, least of all as an employee. “Doesn’t Uncle Madhu know someone who can step in?” she asked.
Neha slowed her cycling to a halt. “He can, but I wanted to ask you because—ugh, never mind, I shouldn’t have bothered—”
“Wait.” Harsha sighed, thinking. She wouldn’t have liked to be in most of the wedding photos as a guest anyway, so maybe she should just say yes. At least it was a good opportunity to pay her bills for the next few months, make Aunt Pinky happy, and keep Neha from going full-on bridezilla at the wedding. “All right, I’ll do it. Veer and I will drive down to the venue the evening of the sangeet.”
“Thank you! Thank you!” Neha squealed. She turned her face away and wiped her cheek, then said, “Gosh, it’s so hot in this gym. Send me an invoice, okay? See ya!”
“Okay…” Harsha frowned as the call dropped. She sat back, mulling over this turn of events. On one hand, Neha could intentionally be trying to make Harsha feel like an outsider at the wedding. On the other hand, Harsha was already an outsider and had made her peace with it a long time ago.
She returned to her phone, adjusting her AirPods. She’d better make sure Veer was okay with this change in schedule. Her teeth gritted when he didn’t pick up after ten rings. He hadn’t even responded to her texts from two days ago. Either his mom was really, really sick, or he was ghosting her. She finished the last dregs of her latte, grabbed her tote bag, and raced to the metro station, desperate for answers.
Veer stood in his kitchen, making an omelet for a late breakfast and humming an old Bollywood song he’d heard…somewhere? Right. The anniversary party. The dance. The almost-kiss.
He sighed as he poured the masala egg mixture into the skillet. Every thought in his head inevitably led him down the path of wondering how Harsha must be doing.
It had been, what, three days since they had talked? And already, he missed her. He missed coming up with weird drink names as he brought her that sugary latte. He missed their practice dates that somehow felt like the opposite of fake, and he missed…her.
Looking at her.
Talking to her.
Touching her.
Veer jerked himself out of his thoughts before he did something stupid like burn the omelet. He flipped it over, then grabbed a plate and some cheese while the other side cooked.
The doorbell rang as Veer was ladling the omelet onto his plate. He frowned. Mom wasn’t coming over until later with some leftover carrot halwa. He set the plate on the coffee table and checked the peephole.
Shit. It was Harsha.
Honestly, Veer should have seen this coming. Harsha was stubborn and didn’t take no for an answer. Did he really think he could avoid her forever? He opened the door, wincing.
Harsha stared at him, her arms folded. Her curly hair fell to her waist, one lock pinned up and away from her face. Her striking gray eyes were narrowed, and her lips were painted a fiery shade of scarlet. She looked the way she always did, and yet somehow, she was a hundred times more attractive than he could recall in his mind’s eye.
“Hi,” he said.
She let out a scoff. “Really, Veer?” She pushed past him into the house, kicking off her sneakers, and looked around, an eyebrow quirked.
“Are you hungry?” He gestured to the cheesy masala omelet on the coffee table behind them.
Harsha put her tote bag aside and studied the omelet, hands on her hips. “I wouldn’t mind one, along with a serving of the truth, thank you very much.”
“Great. Why don’t you wait here?” Veer headed to the kitchen to make another cheesy masala omelet—and figure out what the hell he would say to her.
He returned to the couch with the omelet and two mugs of coffee, and sat beside her.
“So, I’m assuming your mother isn’t actually sick,” Harsha said, accepting the coffee and plate from him.
He shook his head, sipping his own coffee. “Raunak made that up when you asked about me. I’m sorry, Harsha, I was too overwhelmed with it all. The Mumbai trip, seeing my dad, and us”—he gestured to the air between them with his mug, blushing—“I just needed some space. I know I should have asked you for some time—”
“Exactly,” she said, sitting upright, avoiding eye contact. “You should have communicated like a real adult, not an avoidant fake boyfriend.” She paused to take a bite. “This omelet is delicious, but it’s not a good enough apology.”
He took a bite of his own omelet, now cold. “What can I do to make it up to you, then?”
“First, I need to fill you in on everything that’s happened recently.”
“Oh?” Veer quirked a brow. “I’m listening.”
“Well, here’s the short version,” she said, her eyes finally sparkling as she turned to him. “I booked two new photography clients, Sasha is visiting Bangalore a few days before Neha’s wedding—oh, and the second client is Neha herself, who’s now getting married at Nandi Hills.”
Veer gave himself a few seconds to take in all of the information he’d missed in three long days. “That’s fantastic about the clients and Sasha,” he said. “But…why exactly are you the photographer for Neha’s wedding?”
Harsha groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t know why I said yes. But I did, so now we have to drive down there the evening of the sangeet. Is that okay?”
Veer had done a lot for the sake of this deal and Arjun’s future; he could afford to do a little more. “That’s fine,” he agreed. “I’ll talk to my manager about the extra day off. Hopefully he’s not too mad at me for asking again.”
She gave him an appraising look. “Were you not at Sunstag these past three days because you were avoiding me? Or did you really need a break?”
“I needed a break,” he lied swiftly. “So, how can I make it up to you?”
“You could drive me to shop for a lehenga for the ceremony?” Harsha showed him Neha’s most recent Instagram post, where she and some friends of hers posed with matching shopping bags from a designer called Renuka Mishra. He vaguely recalled Neha mentioning it at the anniversary party. One look at those shopping bags told him this store was “Designer” with a capital D. Or maybe all block letters. Obviously, Neha and her friends wouldn’t be caught dead shopping from the countless local small businesses in the city that needed more sales, like Deepika’s family boutique. All they cared about was showing off their wealth. He knew Harsha wasn’t like that, but maybe she needed to do this to keep up appearances. Her trust fund would definitely cover the expenses. “How about we go next week? Maybe Thursday?”
“That’d be great.” Harsha smiled slowly as she finished her omelet. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“It’s at the end of the hall,” he said, jutting his head in that direction.
While Harsha stood up and went to use his bathroom, Veer picked up the plates and coffee mugs and ran water over them in the sink. So much for his brilliant idea of pushing his feelings down by avoiding Harsha. It was going to be impossible to do either of those things. So be it, he decided. Maybe he’d let himself enjoy her company—and this fake relationship—for as long as she would allow him to. What was the alternative, anyway?
His doorbell rang, and he scoffed. Who was it now?
Mom was smiling up at him through the peephole, a Tupperware container in her hands. The leftover carrot halwa. Of course. Mom had perfect timing. Harsha was still in the bathroom. Hopefully, he could take the halwa from Mom and get her to leave before she came back.
He held back a sigh and opened the door. “Hey, Mom.”
She took off her slippers and barged past him into the house, tsk-tsking at the state of the apartment. Veer always thought he did a great job taking care of his place until Mom showed up and told him off for missing a dust bunny under the couch. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really—”
She went into the kitchen and put the container in the fridge. “The halwa will stay fresh for at least a week if it stays refrigerated. Don’t you dare leave it out in the open.”
“I won’t.”
She appraised the plates in the sink, and her nose wrinkled at the smell of egg still in the kitchen. “Do you not wash your dishes before going to bed?”
He raked a hand along his stubble. “That’s from brunch.”
The flush sounded. Mom’s eyes widened as the bathroom door creaked open from the other side of the apartment. “Do you have someone over? Is it Harsha?”
Veer suppressed the urge to face-palm himself. “Uh, yeah.”
Mom speed-walked into the living room as Harsha said, “Veer, you really should wash your hand towel—”
Both women stopped in their tracks when they saw each other. Veer hung back, scratching the back of his head. His two worlds had finally collided, and he had no idea how to go forward from here. He’d never introduced a girlfriend to his family before. If only the darned relationship history document had covered this.
“Hi, Auntie,” Harsha said, lifting her hand up in a hesitant wave. “It’s nice to—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Mom had wrapped her arms around her, joy in her voice. “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting my son’s girlfriend!”
Veer caught Harsha’s frantic expression and mouthed, It’s okay. She nodded and hugged his mother back.
Mom pulled away to cup Harsha’s face in her hands. “And you’re so pretty too. Veer, you never told me the photos don’t do justice to how pretty she is!”
“You’re right, Mom.” He stood beside them, hands in the pockets of his pajamas, and smiled at Harsha. The words fell out before he could stop himself: “She’s beautiful.”
Harsha’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you.”
Mom looked back toward the kitchen. “Were you here for breakfast?”
Veer knew she would assume Harsha had stayed over. He was sure Mom wouldn’t approve; she was always put off by premarital sex scenes in movies. He was about to do some damage control when Mom clapped her hands. “Doesn’t Veer make the best masala omelets?”
“He does,” Harsha agreed. “I love the labeled spice containers on his shelves. Did you do that for him?”
Mom’s chest puffed out. “I did. This boy wouldn’t know garam masala from jeera powder if it weren’t for me.”
Veer had a feeling Harsha was no master chef herself, but she laughed at his expense anyway. “You’ve taught him well,” she said, then shuffled her feet. “Um, Veer, should I…get going?”
His heart sank; it was his final day off, and he wanted to catch up on all the time he’d missed with her, maybe introduce her to one of his favorite sitcoms she hadn’t seen yet. “All right,” he said finally.
“No.” Mom lifted a finger and turned to Harsha. “You must come home for lunch. I made my famous chicken kari kulambu last night, and there’s still plenty for everybody. It’s one of Veer’s favorites.”
“Oh, we just had brunch, and I…” Harsha hesitated, a question mark on her face as she locked eyes with Veer. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome—”
“Nonsense. You must,” Mom insisted.
“I think it’ll be fun,” Veer said. He was afraid of Mom getting her hopes up about a potential future daughter-in-law, only to have them come crashing down after the inevitable fake breakup, but…he liked seeing Harsha here, in his home, standing beside his mother—like she was a real part of his life. Like it wasn’t all just for show.
“Okay.” Harsha smiled and barely grazed the hair tie on her wrist with her thumb. Veer’s shoulders loosened. She was nervous, not anxious. The thought comforted him.
Mom went to the bathroom to wash her hands, complaining about the dusty surfaces in the apartment. Once she was out of sight, Veer put his arm around Harsha and whispered in her ear, “This is okay, right?”
She tilted her face up, so close he could feel her warm breath on his lips. “It’s okay,” she said, pulling away just as Veer was once again considering closing the space between them, the consequences be damned. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. “I can’t wait to hear all about your childhood.”
He forced himself to laugh. “You’re in for a treat, then. Mom loves embarrassing me.”
Harsha fastened the laces on her sneakers and grinned at him. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”
Mom returned, and they headed out. Veer watched his two favorite women walk down the stairs to the floor below, chatting and laughing like they’d known each other for years, not minutes. Something blossomed in Veer’s chest—a gentle flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, the sight in front of him could all be real someday.
Is this what a mom is supposed to be like? Harsha wondered to herself. Manisha Auntie barely paused to take a breath as she said praise after praise about her son. “I’m so proud of how hard he works to support us,” she said, leading Harsha into the Kannans’ family apartment. “Did you know he was employee of the month at Sunstag five times in the past year? Five!”
“Mom, please,” Veer said, chuckling as he slipped out of his loafers at the front door. “She goes to Sunstag every day. She knows.”
“He’s the best barista there,” Harsha agreed. She gave Veer’s hand a squeeze.
“I’ll be right back with the leftovers.” Manisha Auntie walked into the kitchen, calling out behind her, “Veer, set the table!”
Harsha stood, wanting to help, but Manisha Auntie flat-out refused to let her into the kitchen. “You’re our guest,” she insisted, pushing her into a chair at the dining table with a cold glass of water. “Sit tight.” Then she scurried back to the kitchen.
“I hope this isn’t overwhelming,” Veer said to Harsha. He placed three plates and some cutlery on the table along with a jug of water. “Mom talks a lot.”
She shook her head. “Are you kidding? I love her. She’s so supportive of you.”
“I don’t know about that.” He leaned against an empty chair and laughed. “She’s always telling me to find a better job, get married, move on with my life…” He exhaled. “Moms, am I right?”
Harsha let out a wry smile. Veer didn’t know how good he had it. She wished Maa was like Manisha Auntie. “Veer, she’s encouraging you to aim higher when it’s just the two of you, but raving about what you’ve already achieved in front of me. Trust me”—her voice broke—“she’s a real gem of a mother. My mom has nothing nice to say to me or about me. Ever.”
Veer’s face fell. He sat in the chair and took her hands in his. “Your mom doesn’t know you like I do,” he said. His thumbs zigzagged along her wrist, the gesture equal parts electrifying and soothing. “I can safely say her opinion of you is bullshit.”
“Mind your language, kanna,” Manisha Auntie said in a faux-stern voice, appearing before them. She placed the steaming hot bowls in front of them and served everyone a portion of rice and curry, smiling when Harsha thanked her.
Veer’s mother was an amazing cook. Harsha hadn’t had a flavorful homecooked meal since moving to Bangalore, since she mostly ordered takeout, and despite not being that hungry, she found herself asking for seconds. Manisha Auntie regaled her with some highly anticipated embarrassing stories from Veer’s childhood. At the age of six, he had tied a towel around his neck and jumped off a second-floor balcony because he wanted to fly like Superman. One broken ankle and a sprained wrist later, he gave up on his superhero dreams.
“I might still be Batman, for all you know,” he grumbled under his breath when Harsha burst into peals of laughter.
“And he was an important part of every single Drama Club production from the sixth grade until he graduated high school,” Manisha Auntie gushed. “One year there were no male roles available, so he auditioned in a wig and a dress to play Amy from Little Women .”
“Oh my god.” Veer bent over and thumped his forehead against the table. “I think we went twelve years without bringing that up. Thanks a lot, Mom.”
“Are there pictures?” Harsha asked, her voice teasing. “Please tell me there are pictures.”
“We have a whole photo album dedicated to Veer’s acting phase,” Manisha Auntie said. She paused to serve herself some more rice. “It’s an impossible career path, but he’s got so much talent. Have you seen him in any of his roles, Harsha? I have some recordings—”
Veer choked on his spoonful of rice, hastening to drink water. “Can we talk about literally anything else?” he said.
Harsha smiled politely as the topic shifted to Manisha Auntie’s favorite TV show. She had seen Veer’s acting firsthand over the past month, and knew his mother was right. He was phenomenal, from his easy demeanor and charming smile to the depth of his kind words as he fake-dated her. Veer was born to be a romance hero. If her parents didn’t like him, that was their flaw, not his.
Wait…Harsha blinked. Neha asking her to be the photographer had made it clear that she was a Godbole, but not quite in the right way. Then why did her family’s opinion even matter?
Why did she care so much that they approved of Veer, a man she was going to end things with in two weeks?
Because I want them to like him too. The thought hit Harsha like a truck, freezing her insides and then melting them down to her core. Because she wanted him around for way longer than the end date of the contract.
Veer got up before she could ruminate on that dangerous thought any longer, finished with his meal. He gave her a cute smile and headed to the kitchen with his empty plate.
Manisha Auntie put her hand on Harsha’s wrist, her eyelids crinkling around the edges. “Harsha, you don’t know how happy I am that he’s met you.”
“Me too.” She smiled back. Harsha had always wanted to meet her significant other’s parents and find the motherly love she’d lacked most of her life. Aunt Pinky was wonderful, but she would always be her aunt. How bittersweet that she finally got her wish with Manisha Auntie, but with the condition of a looming expiration date.
“You’re good for him,” Manisha Auntie went on, fiddling with the wedding ring on her finger. Harsha wondered how hard it must be for her to still wear that, over a decade after Veer’s father had left. “He’s softer around you. Warmer. And…happier.”
Harsha’s eyes misted. “I’m happier around him too,” she admitted softly, and Manisha Auntie nodded like she could see it as well.
Later, Veer drove Harsha home. She kept her gaze locked outside the car the whole time, reminding herself that there were only around two weeks to go until Neha’s wedding, after which the facade was supposed to come to an end.
But what if their relationship went from fiction to fact? What if they just…kissed? What if he wanted this—wanted her—as much as she wanted him?
“You okay?” Veer’s voice broke through her conflicting thoughts.
“I’m just sleepy from all the food.” She rested her head against the warm window, letting sunlight wash over her closed eyes.
Harsha couldn’t forget that she was paying him half a million rupees and had no idea what he had done with the money. As much as she had shared with him about herself, parts of Veer’s life remained a mystery to her. Despite things being back to normal between them, there were still so many unanswered questions. Maybe, after this was over, he would do the sensible thing and meet someone he could break his three-month rule for without needing the incentive of money.
The sooner Harsha came to terms with this fact, the better.