Love Under Cover

The Not-So-Meet-Cute

Ananya

‘Keep your arms up,’ Maa instructed as she carefully wrapped the sari around my waist.

I obeyed, glancing at my reflection in the mirror.

My hair was straightened and lightly curled at the tips. Concealer covered the purple smudges beneath my eyes, kajal and mascara accentuated them, and a touch of blush and lip oil added warmth to my face.

I made a mental note to put on my bindi and jewellery after I was fully dressed. Even half-ready, I looked good – no, great. I dared them not to give me a job today.

Grabbing the most delicious cup of chai (the one made by Maa) from the dressing table, I took a sip. My eyes slid shut. So good. For a brief moment, nerves, pressure and everything else faded away.

My gaze slid to the mirror again. Maa’s brows were furrowed in concentration as she pleated the sari. A sudden knot of emotions formed in my throat as the realisation hit me: I missed this. Missed her. Missed home.

Six years ago, I had left behind everything – my family, friends and Banaras – to build the life of my dreams. The price I paid lay somewhere between lonely mornings and missing out on celebrating festivals with family. And spending some girl-time with Maa was right in the middle of it.

And now, she was here, in Mumbai, helping me get ready just like she used to when I was little.

‘Did you know that your cousin is finally getting married?’ Maa asked, but as usual, didn’t let me reply.

‘The man Seema’s parents found for her is just a bank clerk, but if you ask me, she lucked out.

Initially, she had extremely high standards, but what else can you expect when you set out to get married at twenty-eight? All the good guys have—’

‘Maa!’ I exclaimed.

I had been wondering why Maa had made such an impromptu trip to see me when she had never done it before. Between managing the household and the volunteer work she did at the Shiv mandir down the street, she didn’t have the time to take trips, let alone spontaneous ones. Now, it was obvious.

‘What? It’s the truth.’ She shrugged. ‘She was such a beautiful girl and had so much potential. If she had listened to her parents and gotten married at the right age, she could have easily been the daughter-in-law of a good, well-respected family. It’s truly a shame.’

I suppressed the retort bubbling within me. I’d rather swallow rusted nails than have this conversation again. ‘How does this affect us in any way? It’s her life, she can do as she wishes. Accha, tell me how Bhaiyya and Bhabhi are doing. I haven’t spoken to them in a couple of weeks.’

She paused, then looked up, eyes wide with disbelief. ‘Of course, it affects us. It’s an example of what not to do. You’re already twenty-five, Ananya. It is about time we—’

My patience snapped. ‘I thought you came here because you missed me, but all you care about is marrying me off. There is so much I want to do before I even think of settling down. I’ve told you this over a thousand times, but you just don’t stop.

I’m sick of it!’ I pulled the pleats from her hand. ‘I’ll wear this sari myself.’

‘Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll drop it. Let me help—’

‘Oh. My. God!’ Rhea, my flatmate and best friend, walked in holding her atrocious grass milkshake, aka matcha, and plopped down on my bed. ‘You look so hot,’ she said, fanning herself dramatically.

I relaxed, and a small laugh slipped out. ‘Thanks, babe.’

Rhea and I had been living together for the past two years in this cramped two-bedroom, one-bathroom flat in Bandra.

Despite minor disagreements and often clashing bathroom schedules, we’d loved it.

This flat – with its chai-scented kitchen, fairy lights strung across the ceiling, walls dotted with Polaroids, and my cramped design corner – was our home. And we were each other’s family.

Maa’s eyes trailed down Rhea’s cropped top and shorts-clad figure, her disapproval veiled behind a forced smile.

Life in Banaras hadn’t prepared Maa for the city’s fashion.

It was a shock to me at first, too, but I’d gotten used to it and even adopted a bit of it (just not in front of my family).

I gave Maa a look, and she pursed her lips.

She took the pleats from my hands and resumed the draping. I let her because, to be honest, she’s better at it. ‘How come you have to go to work on a Saturday?’ Maa asked. ‘I thought you had those off.’

I bit down on my lip. ‘I … I’ve got some meetings.’

Rhea and I exchanged a glance. ‘Didn’t you tell her about the interview?’ she mouthed, and I subtly shook my head.

‘I didn’t know you had to go to work this dressed up.’

Did Maa suspect something?

‘They’re with big clients,’ another lie tumbled out of my mouth.

‘Sounds very important.’ Maa’s face brightened with a smile as she secured the sari with a few safety pins. ‘You’re doing so well, beta. I’m very proud of you.’

‘Thanks, Maa.’

‘But why not?’ Rhea mouthed.

Because it would mean telling her I got laid off.

Three months ago. And with that, my excuse for not returning to Banaras – that I had a great job and a career to build – would shatter into a thousand jagged pieces.

And I knew exactly what she’d say. If there’s no job, what’s keeping you here?

Come home. And I’d have to tell her the truth: I’d rather be unemployed, drowning in rejection emails and burning through my savings than move back home, get married under pressure and sign away my freedom.

Inconspicuously, I raised a hand and mimicked slitting my throat.

Rhea snorted loudly, accidentally spraying matcha all over my sheets.

Maa gave her a look that was equal parts baffled and concerned before focusing on me again, her gaze turning warm and appreciative.

‘My beautiful girl. So grown up.’ Then, as she always did when I dressed up, Maa dabbed a bit of kajal off the corner of her eye and pressed it behind my ear. ‘May Mahadev ward off all evil eyes.’

‘Thank you, Maa.’ I hugged her and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

‘I pray that you get everything you want in life and more,’ she said, and then her voice turned playful. ‘And I’ve answered a small portion of that prayer by cooking you lunch. You finish getting ready; I’ll pack it.’

A warmth rose in me, tinged with guilt. ‘You didn’t have to ...’

‘I wanted to,’ she said. ‘I know you usually order food, but I thought you’d enjoy a healthy, home-cooked meal today.’

‘Thank you,’ I said again. ‘I’ll take a half day at work today so we can spend more time together.’

‘You don’t need to. We’ve got the rest of the weekend for that. Work hard and have a good day.’

‘I want to,’ I assured her.

Once she was out of the room, I looked at myself in the mirror. And true to what Maa said, I looked great. Like someone who had her life together.

‘Are you excited or are you excited for your interview?’ Rhea asked, sitting up.

‘Very excited,’ I replied. ‘I’m not even nervous.

I know I’ve got this.’

Despite my desperation for a job and heartbreak over loads of rejection emails, I was quite confident about this one.

It was my second and final interview for the position of assistant to the Suraina Mukherjee, one of the lead designers at House of Advani – India’s most prestigious luxury fashion house.

Most people would kill for this position. Me included.

But I wasn’t just desperate for the job; I was perfect for it.

Sure, my degree was in marketing – Papa didn’t think fashion was a ‘real career’ and refused to pay for it – but fashion was and always will be my first love.

I excelled in every course Suraina ma’am taught, attended her workshops, interned at design studios during college and volunteered at fashion shows. My portfolio was solid, and my preparation airtight. I probably knew more about her collection than the other interviewers. I was ready.

‘Perfect. I know it’s going to be great, but call me after it’s done anyway,’ Rhea said.

‘You will get minute-by-minute details,’ I promised, practically bouncing. ‘I can’t believe I’m this close to working for Suraina Mukherjee.’ I couldn’t help it. I squealed.

‘Try not to look like such a fangirl when you see her, or you’ll scare her off.’ Rhea chuckled.

‘Good tip.’ I pressed my lips together as I tried to tamp down my giddiness.

‘Come on now, you’re already running late. Get ready quickly and leave.’

I glanced at the clock. ‘What do you mean? I’m early.’

Her eyebrows furrowed. ‘Wasn’t your interview at eleven?’

‘… Yes.’

‘Well, it’s almost ten. It will take you at least an hour to get to Fort in this traffic—’

‘Their office is in Bandra. I was just there for my first interview.’

Rhea looked at me, her eyes widening. ‘They moved offices a week ago, babe. It was in the news. They now work out of their own building in Fort.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’ The confidence in her voice shook mine.

‘No,’ I repeated, but pulled out my phone, went straight to their email and began reading it aloud.

‘Dear Ananya, you have been selected ...’ I skipped to the address part. ‘... House of Advani, Fort, Mumbai ...’

‘Shit.’

I wanted to be early for the interview. To freshen up. To give myself a last-minute pep talk. But now, I’d be lucky even to make it on time.

Rhea grabbed my shoulders, grounding me. ‘Ananya, breathe. You’re going to be fine. You can still make it,’ she said.

I nodded. ‘Yes. I can still make it.’ But I didn’t have my jewellery on yet. I needed to call a cab. Grab Maa’s lunchbox. Spray perfume. All the construction in the city was going to make me late.

‘Grab what you need to finish getting ready. I’ll book your Uber.’ Rhea’s voice snapped me into action. ‘Go!’

‘You’re my saviour.’

‘I know. Now go! I’ll text you the cab details. Oh, and give him some extra cash and tell him to fly there, but safely.’

‘Got it.’

I scrambled – snatched my jewellery, stuck on my bindi, spritzed perfume, grabbed my tote, stuffed in Maa’s lunch, shouted a quick goodbye and yanked up the hem of my sari as I bolted down the stairs.

I spotted the cab right outside my building. Perfect.

I reached out to open the back door, but another hand shot out and grabbed the handle.

Who the he— I looked up into eyes the colour of warm honey.

They would’ve been attractive if they weren’t looking at me like I was an inconvenience. The man was tall, had broad shoulders and wore a navy suit that probably cost more than my rent. Of course, my cab thief looked like that.

‘If you are done staring, please move to the side so I can get into my cab.’

My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

‘If you are done blocking my way to my cab, please move aside so I can stop glaring at you,’ I flung back.

His lips twitched in annoyance as if I were a pesky fly bothering him. With his eyes trained on me, he popped open the cab door. ‘Who is this cab for?’

‘Um … it’s for Jai,’ the driver replied.

The man gave me the most infuriating ‘I told you so’ look before sliding into the car.

‘It was a mistake. There was no need to be such a dick about it!’ I fumed.

As I watched the cab speed off, I got a sudden, violent urge to smack him. God, that man was such an asshole. It was a simple mistake; did he have to be such a jerk?

I exhaled loudly. Focus on better things, Ananya. Like your future job. And getting to the interview on time and acing it so you actually land it.