CHAPTER III THE PRETENCE OF INNOCENCE
Ishaani Rajvanshi was a master of many things.
She could dodge punches that came faster than thought, dance around the strictest arguments in philosophy even while half-asleep, and she could make Amaya's well-meaning advice of "Why don't you just text her, dumbass?
" sound entirely absurd. Yet, when it came to desire, she found herself stumbling like a novice trying to master an age-old dance.
Ever since that godforsaken afternoon by the silenced swings, the mental peace vanished from the bounds of Ishaani's head.
No matter what she did or thought of, the eminent image in her cerebellum was an etching of the raven-haired illusion, whom she was too afraid to name.
She foolishly thought that if she could ignore it long enough, it would die down, or at least fade to a far dimmer intensity than it was at the moment- very conveniently forgetting that it was the same enantiomer of her thoughts from the past four years. Yes, that long.
That evening, she found herself standing before the library door, fingers twisting nervously around the edge, like a life raft in a stormy sea of emotions. With a deep, steadying breath, she knocked.
"Come in." The voice floated out, a rich drawl with a soft British lilt, wrapping itself around her like silk. Or, perhaps portraying more similarities to a noose- word preference depending solely on the thumping of her heart.
Pushing the door open, Ishaani hesitated, captivated by the sight before her.
Tara sat cross-legged on the carpet, a sea of papers spread around her like the meticulous chaos of a well-organised storm.
Visually paralleled to that of "The Execution of Lady Jane" with the roles reversed, taking the audience by a storm, for in the portrait, it was Lady Jane who was helpless; whereas in the scene reflected in Ishaani's orbs, this Lady Jane was the executor- poised, unapologetic and fiercer than the sun.
She was the epitome-in Ishaani's eyes-of the idol, the spirit for whom the catholic church had been erected.
She was the queen of her domain, brilliance radiating off her like the sunlight filtering through the window.
But now, she was a queen alone-without Vedika, who had been whisked away for a dinner meeting.
"Vedika di said you needed help with the citations?" Ishaani ventured, stepping in cautiously, as if entering sacred ground.
Tara looked up, her smile warm, igniting a flutter deep in Ishaani's core. "Oh, good, the smart one arrives."
"Not that smart," Ishaani replied, forcing a casual shrug as she approached. "Just bored."
"Come here, then, bored one." Tara patted the rug beside her, and Ishaani obeyed, lowering herself cross-legged while keeping space between their shoulders, as if an invisible force field kept both the comfort and confusion of closeness at bay.
The air was heavy with the scent of coffee, sandalwood, and something inexplicable that heightened Ishaani's senses. She felt herself on the cliff-side of hyper-awareness whilst Tara's warmth seeped into the hollow between them.
"Okay," Tara began, flipping through the scattered pages in front of her. "Explain this part to me. I keep confusing the bloody timelines."
Ishaani leaned closer, focusing intently on the paragraph about Mughal art restoration.
Each time Tara reached for a pen, the slightest brush of her sleeve against Ishaani's arm sent a jolt of electricity through her veins.
Ishaani heaved a breath in, painstakingly ignoring as her heart hammered, as though it might flee the location of her emotional annihilation.
"It's... the 17th century one," Ishaani mumbled, her heart racing. "See? Jahangir, not Shah Jahan."
"Ah, yes. The men with too much marble and too little sense."
Ishaani laughed, a sound escaping her lips like a sudden breath. "You sound like Devika di."
Tara grimaced. "God forbid. That woman terrifies ambassadors for a living.
" Tara had an air of self-assurance laced with a certain sort of arrogance, which proved to people when they dug deep enough into her character, that the woman would always be the centre of envy, never the orbit.
Always the main bitch, never the side one.
Ishaani was too busy gliding her eyes over Tara's side profile and was drowned in her monologue to address what she was saying.
"Yeah, and you terrify everyone else."
"Do I?" Tara's brow arched, and Ishaani felt the air thickening with an unspoken tension.
That sole action was adequate in tangling the nerves in Ishaani's abdomen, for they, too, knew who had unintentionally wounded them.
These were the moments where Ishaani deliberately avoided Tara Kapoor's gaze, the sheer rehearsed intimidation coiled in those orbs, the militant muscle flex of her perfectly arched eyebrow, and that little almost permissible line which appeared, to the right of her left eyebrow- all of it serving as too intent and overwhelming for Ishaani's jovial cranial.
"I mean- not me," Ishaani stammered, the smile on her face stretching a bit too wide. "You're Tara di. You've always been... nice....I mean to me. Yes."
Tara tilted her head, studying Ishaani with a gaze that seemed to peel back layers of her bravado. "That's new. I don't remember being particularly nice to you when you were a kid."
"Well, I grew up."
The corner of Tara's mouth quivered, as if taming a smirk on the verge of forming, her amusement evident. "Hmm. I can tell."
But even as Tara returned to the pages, Ishaani could see it-the fleeting flicker of something unexpressed in the tension that tightened around Tara's jaw.
The way in which Tara's jaw had clenched gave rise to a nerve that sidled along the very curve of her golden-hued neck, as it concealed itself over her chiffon-clad shoulders.
It was as if the same words hung in the air, waiting for the right moment to unravel everything.
"Now, tell me why this part contradicts the earlier source," Tara continued, breaking the silence.
Ishaani huffed out and leaned in again, their knees brushing. Static crackled in the air; a pulse she desperately tried to ignore.
"Uh-it doesn't," she said, her voice faltering. "Wait-maybe it does-"
Tara groaned, leaning in close enough that Ishaani could feel the warmth of her breath-sweet and inviting, like bergamot and citric scents intermingled to swirl around Tara with an air of chilly freshness and a demanding warmth -and she found herself losing her train of thought.
"Rajvanshi, please don't tell me you're one of those bright students who go dumb the minute someone watches them work. "
"I am not dumb!" Ishaani protested, a flush creeping onto her cheeks.
Without the realisation dawning over Ishaani, her shoulders had shrunken into her frame, and heat bloomed along her neck.
Surely the reaction was involuntary, yet the heat which sidled along her whole body by that time was ever-telling.
If Tara Kapoor scrutinised Ishaani, it would end with an eruption of despair and shame washing over the younger girl.
"Then read properly."
"I am reading properly!"
"Then you wouldn't mix up primary and secondary sources," Tara countered, an amused glint in her eyes which narrowed a fraction with the slight upward curl of her full lips.
"That's your handwriting; I can't read it!" Ishaani insisted, but the truth was, the letters danced on the page, blurring into a confusing tide as Tara's presence loomed large beside her.
"It's beautiful handwriting," Tara said, a spark of mirth lighting her features.
"It's hieroglyphics," Ishaani retorted, unable to stifle her laughter.
The sound of Tara's laughter echoed in the quiet confines of the library, a melodious ripple that sent Ishaani's heart into a tight somersault. The moment hung suspended, filled with a warmth that contrasted sharply against the mounting tension between them.
"You used to say that when you were 10," Tara said, still chuckling. "Do you remember? You'd stomp your foot, all serious, and call my notes 'adult gibberish.'"
"I wasn't wrong," Ishaani quipped, her voice dipping.
"You were adorable." Tara's eyes sparkled with mischief as her head tilted back a tad, and she eyed Ishaani with a hearty smile, and Ishaani felt a shiver run through her, something dangerous yet intoxicating.
As the laughter faded, silence enveloped them once again. But it was no ordinary silence; it was charged, vibrant, alive with unspoken words and heavy with longing. Ishaani could feel her heart hammering against her ribs, an insistent drumbeat echoing what she dared not say.
This was what she wanted, wasn't it? To act like the child, the sister, the harmless one? Yet every instinct in her body protested. Why did her pulse feel like a countdown, racing toward an inevitable revelation?
In that dimly lit library, amidst the scattered papers and unguarded smiles, something delicate threatened to unravel, and Ishaani knew she stood on the edge of a precipice. The very desire she sought to bury now felt ready to rise, fierce and unrelenting.
And for the first time, she wondered if perhaps it was a fight worth having.
___________________________________________
Ten minutes ticked by like a clock caught in a loop of hesitation, the stillness hanging in the air until it burst, splintered by a muffled groan.
Tara leaned back, after lightly flicking the pen against Ishaani's forehead in a playful but pointed gesture.
"Hopeless," she declared, her tone laced with affectionate exasperation.
The pen's dull thud reverberated through Ishaani; something deep within her stirred, a feeling akin to the flicker of a candle in a dark room. It was a touch so light, so casual, yet it set loose an avalanche of echoes from the past.
Deja vu surged over her like the tide rising on a forgotten shore-summer days soaked in sunlight, the warmth of Tara bending down to guide her through algebraic frustrations when she was just twelve.
She could recall the same breathy sigh, the same gentle smack on the forehead, the laughter that trailed behind her as she darted off for lemonade.
But now, she froze.
This time, it wasn't innocent. Not in her mind, not in the air between them. Something thick and electric sparked between the two, weaving an intricate web of unspoken thoughts. Ishaani blinked, her eyes wide and shimmering with unshed secrets.
"Hey," Tara's voice softened, the concern in her tone a gentle balm against the tumult of memories. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Ishaani rushed to say, her words spilling out too quickly, betraying the wariness nestled deep within. "Just remembered something."
"Good or bad?" Tara pressed gently, her eyes narrowing a fraction as her hand rested on Ishaani's arm.
"Neither," Ishaani lied with practised ease. "Just- weird." The word hung in the air, heavy and laden with meaning.
Tara tilted her head slightly, her gaze piercing through Ishaani's facade. "You're making that face again."
"What face?" Ishaani countered, though the tremble in her voice gave her away.
"The one you make before pretending you're fine." Tara's calm dissected the layers of Ishaani's carefully constructed self.
Ishaani almost laughed at the truth laced in Tara's observation. "You read too much into things."
"I do that," Tara replied quietly, and Ishaani could sense the weight of that honesty, "especially when it came to old friends."
Old friends. The phrase settled upon Ishaani like a verdict-heavy, suffocating.
She longed to scream that SHE WASN'T A CHILD ANYMORE, that nostalgia would not contain her, but instead, a smile etched on her lips, polite yet weighed down by the armour she had forged through years of defence.
"I'm fine, didi," she said, the word slipping from her like a shield, a barrier against anyone piercing the shell of her vulnerability.
Tara's eyes flickered, her concern and confusion mingling in a fleeting moment that felt almost tangible.
Then, with a slow nod, she accepted the pretence Ishaani was eager to uphold.
"Alright, Ishi," she said, closing the folder with a "thump, a finality that echoed in the empty room.
"We're done for today. Go... punch something.
" She said, patting Ishaani's head like one does with a little creature they would've found inexplicably cute.
"Gladly," Ishaani muttered, trying to avoid the blooming blossom across her cheeks and the heat once again rushing through her body, the fire of her defiance flaring up inside her as she stood too quickly, sending papers fluttering through the air like startled birds.
Tara clicked her tongue with an incomprehensible yet sharp Tsk, yet instinctively reached forth to bundle the scattered pages again.
Their hands collided over a single page, fingertips brushing together-a soft, electric connection that coursed through Ishaani -OH SO CLICHE- igniting every nerve ending from her fingertips to her throat.
She looked up then, locking eyes with Tara, and in that heartbeat, time twisted and knotted itself, merging the past and the future into something achingly beautiful yet terrifying.
Tara was the first to withdraw, pulling her hand back as if it were a live wire.
"Careful," she said lightly, her voice smooth but her eyes betraying unsettled thoughts.
"You're still clumsy." She muttered, trying to sound scolding, yet the way her fingertips moved to tuck a fallen strand of hair behind her ear for the sake of avoiding eye contact spoke differently, which Ishaani had avoided.
"Some habits," Ishaani whispered, her breath hitching as the weight of unsaid words settled heavily beneath her surface, "are harder to break."
Tara's gaze lingered a fraction longer, a moment infused with something electric, something that sparked hope and fear in equal measure. "You sound like me."
"Maybe I learned it from you," Ishaani replied, a hint of a smile breaking through her carefully constructed walls.
That earned her a genuine, fleeting smile from Tara, a glow that brightened the room momentarily before Tara rose, tucking the scattered papers neatly under her arm as if reclaiming order in a world that felt deliciously chaotic.
"Don't let Vedika bully you into attending another gala tomorrow. "
"Too late," Ishaani sighed, the weight of expectation clinging to her like a second skin. "She already did."
With a chuckle, Tara headed toward the door, leaving behind an echo of warmth that lingered in the now-still air. "Then I'll see you there."
"Great," Ishaani replied, her voice spilling over with a brightness that felt forced, a thin veneer of cheerfulness just barely masking the storm brewing within.
As the door clicked shut, the silence surged in around her, and Ishaani slumped against the wall, her heart thrumming a wild rhythm that echoed in her ears. Palms slick with anxiety, she whispered to the now-empty room, "I can outsmart this. I can."
Even she didn't believe it. Not really. Yet the words hung there, heavy with desperation and the faintest glimmer of defiance, a fragile tether to hope in a sea of uncertainty.