Chapter 13 #2
Her face was glorious, red, suffused with the kind of chagrin and pride he hadn’t seen in his life.
Her eyes were innocent, a child’s eyes, shaped like they were meant to mesmerise.
Brown. Light brown irises. When she smiled, that slow smile which bloomed slowly made him feel like he was earning every second of it.
When she looked at him, and did not look away, she made him feel every dime of his self-worth mattered.
She did not know yet what she was. Or she just didn't want to know it yet.
“Your face is so pretty that men could go to war for it,” he murmured to her. “If you smile slowly at a man, he would lose that war for you.”
She swallowed, her eyes wary, but not mistrusting of him. He would count that as his win.
“I have met many men and none have said that. Is it because you are biased?” She tried to smile, make light of it.
“Or is it because you never gave them a chance to say it?”
Her smile froze.
“Is it because you interpreted every man’s interest in you as negative due to your first experience? And with me, you went with the flow because that is how sure you were that nothing would happen?”
Her eyes blinked, bravely staring into his.
“I am a lucky man that you wrote me off at first glance and let your guard down.” He nuzzled her temple. “But I feel like it’s my personal shortcoming if I cannot show you what I see.”
Her gaze lowered.
“You are a woman beyond compare, Ritu.”
“I know it,” she raised her eyes at him in the mirror.
“Your body is so attractive, I am unable to look at anything else when you are in the room.”
“I know now.”
“Good.”
“But people like you don’t make it easy on people like me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your models are stick figures. How am I to ever compete with that? Maya had to call for one size bigger than the standard three sizes even when you customise your clothes. That would make any girl feel a little down. Imagine somebody far less confident than me. What would they… where are you going?”
He had already padded to his wardrobe and slid open the door. The first piece there, it gleamed. He pulled it out.
“Try this on.” He held it out to her. She frowned.
“Go on, there’s a restroom there.”
“Are you serious? What is this?”
He held the pieces up one by one — “Ghaghra, choli, dupatta.”
“I know that!” She snapped, snatching the hangers from him.
Nilay stood back and watched as she set her phone down and walked inside the restroom.
What had he done to deserve such trust from a woman who did not trust many?
He smiled, cleaning up the lounger, putting cushions in place, capping the open bottle of water.
This space did not see much cleaning except from his own hands. Which was rare.
But he also never dirtied it like his… his mind stopped working as she emerged. Lightning wrapped inside a rain cloud. The forest green of the ensemble gleamed against her skin, the lilac flowers blooming to life all over her. She held her blouse in place with her hands.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t seem to tie the strings at the back.”
He strode around her and was met with the dark tumble of her hair.
His hands were shaking. He had never had a problem dressing up models or tying their blouses the right way.
Now, here, when he pushed her hair away and met her naked back, memories of Patan, along with the hopes of a future, made his pulse quicken.
“I still have to finish the second seam,” he grumbled, hoping to catch himself.
He tied the knots on the top and bottom strings holding the blouse together, and loved the way they creased her flesh.
Then, without fear of her sensitivities, he adjusted her dupatta, cupping the balls of her shoulder.
They were already straighter than they were the last time she had worn him.
“Does it fit well?”
She swayed from foot to foot, a frown marring her forehead as she swayed to the left.
“What’s wrong?”
“The ghaghra’s left side feels heavier…”
Nilay came around her and held her hand up — “Can you twirl for me?”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“If I wanted entertainment, Doctor, I would ask you to sing. Twirl. I sense there is a mismatch in the panels,” his eyes went to the hem of the ghaghra.
It swished as she twirled. The skirt wasn’t falling in a clean circle.
Nilay unbuttoned his cuffs and started rolling his sleeves, walking around her and reaching for his measuring tape.
His eyes remained on the length of the ghaghra, looking so minutely skewed to the left that it was almost invisible.
“Ritu, one minute, please?”
She held her arms out — “Am I your mannequin now?”
He smiled, not taking his eyes off that spot he had caught as the culprit.
The joint between two panels of the skirt, invisible in the design but not to his eyes.
He bent down on one knee and measured, running the tape from the sliver of creamy skin at her waist down to the hem.
He got up, walked around, and kneeled by her right flank, repeating the measurement.
0.2 mm.
“Fuck, you rookie.” He muttered to himself.
“Excuse me?”
He threw the tape around his neck and rose to his feet, sheepish. How was he to explain it without making a fool of himself?
She raised her eyebrows.
“I made a rookie mistake,” he found himself admitting.
“Really?” She swished from side to side in front of the mirror. “Did you stitch double the fabric on the left side?”
“I didn’t line up the nicks right.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking at her like she would laugh at him. Her mouth pursed in a pout. Of course it would. She did not understand the baby-level goof-up he would have been thrashed for in sewing class.
“What does that mean. Some couture talk for code blue?”
“Mmm…”
“What? Tell me,” she smiled, slowly, that kryptonite that worked like magic. Lose wars? Oh, yes. And his pride.
“We make nicks in our patterns, very tiny cuts on the sides,” he explained. “When they are copied on fabric, we match those nicks to join two pieces.”
Her eyes widened. “You knowingly put cuts on your creations?”
“They are not visible to you. They are like puzzle pieces only we can understand the joint origins of. Two cuts need to align perfectly for the two pieces to come together. Even a millimetre’s mismatch and…
this happens.” He glanced down at her left flank.
She followed his gaze and moved again, swishing from side to side.
Her ghaghra swished with her, looking imbalanced in its flare.
“Two nicks have moved in this panel. It’s the equivalent of doing your shirt buttons wrong,” he harrumphed. “That is why one is slightly longer than the other and feels heavier. I’ll correct it…”
Her mouth opened in a laugh.
“Don’t laugh.”
“I am not!” She was laughing. “Rookie.”
“You wouldn’t know if I hadn’t told you,” he grunted.
She laughed louder, eyeing the buttons of his shirt. He covered them with his palm — “Stop staring!”
“Just checking if you did them right at least,” she was sputtering, moving around, the ghaghra swishing like the earth itself dancing in the rain, even if a little wonky.
Nilay stared, feeling a smile form on his mouth, seeing her so happy ragging him.
She found herself in front of his mirror again and her eyes got fixated on herself.
Her head cocked to the side. Her amusement melted into a soft frown and her face brightened.
“Nilay, even if your nicks are not matched, this is more beautiful than the blue one I wore on Sunday.”
“Wait till the nicks align and then it’ll fit even better.”
“This fits me like a glove already! It’s… why is it fitting me so perfectly?”
“You are wearing the showstopper from my next collection.”
“What?!” She whirled.
He nodded.
“Are you crazy? What if it tears or something?” She began to take the dupatta off her shoulder.
“It’s a toile, a master sample. The ensemble will be built on this.”
“Your master sample is like this…? Then what’s the real thing like?” She turned from side to side. “Wait.” She froze. “Why is your master sample in my size?”
“I sewed it like that.”
“For a model who would be my size.” She was purposefully acting dense, trying to get out of this.
“For you.”
She swallowed.
“Nilay.”
“I started creating it the week after I met you.”
Her eyes fell shut. He reached out and cupped her face in his hands, raised it to him. Her eyes were still closed.
“Don’t even try it,” she said.
“What?”
“Staring at me.”
He laughed. “No PVRs around here.”
And this time, her mouth curled. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, unable to help himself. Her skin stretched in a smile under his mouth. And he kissed the spot again, letting his lips linger there quietly.
“You wanted to show me this?” She pulled back, a naughty grin on her face.
“This was completely unexpected,” he eyed her cheek.
“As was this,” he righted the sleeve of her blouse.
“It’s still incomplete, as you can see. And apparently faulty too.
The fabric will change, the construction will change.
I have to send it to my workshop at Saharanpur for zardozi work.
All these flowers and this butterfly will come to life in gold.
This is just the pattern. But seeing you here, looking at yourself like how I see you, I couldn’t resist.”
“You are impressi…”
His mobile rang and broke their moment. He slipped his hand inside his pocket and silenced it.
“You were saying?”
“I was saying that…”
The intercom by the lounger buzzed.
“That must be important.”
“That must be one of my many team members come with a new fire. I should rechristen my job profile as fire extinguisher…” he muttered, leaning down and picking up the receiver — “This better be a life and death situation.”
“NiP, Sanket sir is here.”
“Why?”
“He says you knew about it.”
“I didn’t.”
“Should I say you are busy?”
“Yes.”
“Give it here…” Sanket’s voice. “Nilay, where are you?”