CHAPTER II A FETCH DATE
Three days later, the bruises had settled into their truth.
They were no longer loud. No longer screaming purple or blooming violently under skin.
They had mellowed into that sickly yellow-blue-muted, stubborn, the colour of a bad memory that refused to excuse itself and leave.
Ishaani lay sprawled across the couch in the sunroom like a fallen soldier, one arm flung dramatically over her eyes, the other dangling uselessly off the side as though gravity itself had claimed victory.
Sunlight poured in through tall glass panels, warm and unapologetic, striping her body in gold and shadow.
Every breath still tugged at her ribs if she took it too deep.
Her shoulder complained if she shifted the wrong way.
Her pride, however? Thriving. Absolutely uninjured. Possibly doing push-ups.
"Bro," Sparshi Malhotra announced from the doorway like an incoming disaster alert, "what the actual fuck did you do? Join Fight Club without telling us?"
Ishaani cracked one eye open, squinting against both the light and the audacity. "Good morning to you too, menace."
Sparshi dropped her bag with zero regard for interior decor and marched in, crouching dramatically in front of the couch like she was surveying a crime scene.
She leaned close, eyes scanning Ishaani's face with theatrical seriousness.
"Look at this," she said, pointing. "This is not the face of someone who tripped on stairs.
This is the face of someone who said 'say it again' to the wrong man. "
"Three men," Ishaani corrected lazily, voice thick with sun and soreness.
Sparshi straightened instantly. "OF COURSE it was three." She clapped once, delighted. "Every girl's fantasy-getting jumped by drunk idiots with the combined IQ of a toaster."
"Shut up," Saarakshi said, already kneeling on the other side of the couch.
Her movements were careful, deliberate, hands gentle as they checked Ishaani's wrist, then her shoulder, then the mottled bruising along her arm.
Her voice stayed calm, steady-an anchor dropped into chaos. "Does it still hurt when you breathe?"
"A little," Ishaani admitted, dropping the bravado without protest.
Saarakshi hummed softly, disapproving but restrained. "You should still be resting."
"I am resting."
"You are horizontal," Saarakshi corrected. "That is not the same thing."
Sparshi snorted. "Yeah, resting means not getting horny for death, babe."
Ishaani laughed-and instantly regretted it, clutching her side with a groan. "Fuck-okay-no laughing. Rule established."
Nayonica hovered near the armchair, arms crossed tight over her chest, eyes never leaving Ishaani.
She looked like she was still counting bones, still replaying the night in her head frame by frame.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly, and for once there was no sarcasm in it.
Just fear that hadn't finished burning off.
"I'm fine," Ishaani said, immediately gentler, voice softening just for her. "I promise."
Nayonica didn't look convinced, but she nodded and sat beside the couch anyway, close enough that their knees brushed. Her voice dropped. "You scared the shit out of me."
"Yeah," Sparshi added brightly. "Next time, text us before you go full Marvel protagonist."
Ishaani smirked. "What? I don't even get a theme song?"
"You get a concussion check," Saarakshi replied flatly.
Sparshi leaned back against the table, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Okay but real talk-who did you beat up first?"
Ishaani shrugged, casual as if discussing grocery lists. "The one who grabbed Nayon."
Nayonica's jaw tightened. Her fingers curled briefly into the fabric of Ishaani's sleeve, grounding herself. "You didn't have to-"
"Yes," Ishaani cut in, calm and absolute. "I did."
Sparshi made a face like she'd just witnessed something unbearably sincere. "Disgusting. I'm going to cry."
"And then flirt with the nurse," Saarakshi added without missing a beat.
"Obviously."
The door slid open again.
Footsteps followed. Purposeful. Controlled. Authority in motion. Tara's voice drifted in from the adjoining room-low, clipped, focused-discussing something financial, something lethal in its neatness. Ishaani's stomach flipped traitorously.
"Oh my god," Sparshi stage-whispered, eyes widening as she craned her neck. "Is that her?"
Ishaani groaned into her forearm. "Do not."
"IS THAT THE TARA KAPOOR?" Sparshi hissed. "The one you talk about like she invented oxygen?"
"I do not-"
"You literally said," Nayonica cut in, deadpan, "'I would let her step on me at 3 a.m. in heels and say thank you.'"
Sparshi slapped a hand to her chest. "ROMANTIC."
Saarakshi blinked slowly. "Ishaani."
"What?" Ishaani said helplessly. "She's... she's just-"
"Hot," Sparshi finished cheerfully. "Terrifying. Built like a threat."
"And kind," Ishaani said quietly, the joking slipping away. "And patient. And when she looks at me it's like-" She gestured vaguely, hand drifting in the air. "-being seen and judged and protected all at once."
The room went still.
Nayonica smiled, small and knowing.
Sparshi whistled low. "Damn. You're down bad."
"I'm gone," Ishaani agreed. "Buried."
Tara stepped into the sunroom then, tablet tucked under her arm, Vedika beside her, Devika trailing behind mid-call in rapid French-still arguing with a Swiss diplomat while simultaneously throwing a look at Amaya somewhere offscreen that promised violence.
They had just came to check up on Ishaani, and had a slight talk with Ishaani's friends, where Sparshi was being her usual self and Saarakshi had to pinch Sparshi to shut that idiot up.
Tara's gaze had found Ishaani instantly.
It had softened, assessed and stayed.
Sparshi clocked it and went very still.
Saarakshi noticed too.
Nayonica just smiled, because having Ishaani was somehow still ranked lesser than seeing Ishaani undoubtedly happy.
When it was time to leave, the three friends paused in the drawing room. Sparshi turned first, grin sharp and knowing, and offered Tara a slow, exaggerated smile like she was filing something away for later. Saarakshi followed, serene and respectful. Nayonica nodded once-warm, grateful.
Tara watched them go, brow creasing slightly. "Why," she murmured slowly, "are they smiling at me like that?"
Her eyes flicked to Ishaani, as she raised an eyebrow in sheer questionable doubt.
"I didn't say anything," Ishaani mouthed, as she raised her arms in an "I don't know" gesture.
Tara narrowed her eyes, suspicious, but gently turned her gaze back to her iPad, to call out the banks to Vedika.
Ishaani just smiled to herself-bruised, aching, ridiculous, and entirely, dangerously happy.
Night didn't announce itself in the Rajvanshi house.
It never had. It simply settled-quiet, inevitable-like a familiar weight pressing gently against the windows.
Corridors dimmed. Corners softened. Even the sharpest edges of the place seemed to exhale.
It was the kind of night that didn't demand attention, only compliance.
Ishaani was halfway through pretending to study when Amaya burst into her room like a human cyclone.
"Movie night," Amaya declared, already flinging herself onto Ishaani's bed with zero concern for consent or furniture integrity. "Get up."
Ishaani didn't even look away from the page. "No."
Amaya squinted, offended on a spiritual level. "What do you mean, no?"
"I mean no," Ishaani replied calmly, eyes skimming the same paragraph for the third time. "I have to study."
Amaya gasped-loud, dramatic, deeply unnecessary. "You've been studying since birth."
"That's called ambition," Ishaani said.
"It's called being a loser," Amaya shot back, rolling onto her stomach and propping her chin in her hands like she was about to conduct an intervention.
The door opened again.
Vedika.
Arms crossed. Expression neutral as her Lawyer mode was fully loading.
"Ishaani," she said pleasantly-which was always a threat- "get up."
"I don't want to," Ishaani replied, already bracing for impact. Vedika tilted her head, just slightly as she raised her eyebrows in challenge, "This is not a discussion."
"Yes, it is," Ishaani shot back. "I'm injured. I'm tired. I have work."
Vedika smiled, thinly and surgically in it's sharpness. "You have watched six hours of boxing analysis today."
"That was educational."
"You are coming," Vedika said evenly. "Or I will carry you."
"You cannot carry me."
Vedika's eyebrow lifted. "Try me."
Amaya popped upright like she'd been summoned. "I vote we drag her."
"I am saying no," Ishaani insisted, even as her resolve began to crack.
Vedika stepped closer, gaze steady. "Are you coming," she asked calmly, "or are you being dramatic?"
What followed was a prolonged battle of wills. No, yes, no, yes. Ishaani arguing purely on principle. Vedika dismantling every excuse with terrifying precision. Amaya providing running commentary like a chaotic Greek chorus who had chosen violence and snacks.
Ten minutes later, Ishaani was being physically escorted down the hallway.
"This is kidnapping," Ishaani muttered.
"Shut up," Amaya said cheerfully. "You love us."
The movie room had been transformed into something almost sacred.
Mattresses lined the floor, shoved together into a sprawling, lawless nest. Pillows everywhere-too many to count.
A massive quilt draped over the whole thing like a shared secret.
The lights were off, save for the soft hum of the projector warming up, casting a faint glow across the walls.
Devika was already there, sitting cross-legged with her phone in hand, reorganizing pillows like a general preparing for war.
"What are we watching?" Ishaani asked warily as she sank into the mattress.
The opening music hit.
"Oh my God, Mean girls, can't you see?," Amaya squealed.
Vedika groaned. "This movie ruined an entire generation."
Devika didn't even look up. "And yet, it remains accurate."
Ishaani smiled despite herself, sinking deeper into the mess of blankets. She knew this movie. She had grown up on it. Quoted it. Weaponized it.
Then Tara walked in.
Regina George had just appeared on screen.
Tara paused. Watched for half a second. "Ah," she said mildly. "A documentary."
Ishaani choked on air.
Tara settled beside Vedika, the quilt shifting, bodies rearranging-and like fate, like the universe had a cruel sense of humor, Ishaani found herself right next to her again.
Mean Girls glowed pink and vicious across the room.
On screen, Regina smiled sweetly while planning destruction.
Tara watched with interest.
"That girl," Tara murmured, "is terrifying."
"She's iconic," Amaya said.
"She's manipulative," Vedika countered.
"She's efficient," Tara added calmly.
Ishaani's brain short-circuited.
The quilt was warm. Too warm. Tara's arm rested behind Ishaani again-casual, careless, devastating. The movie rolled on, jokes snapping fast and sharp.
When Regina's Mom said, I'm not like a regular mom, I'm a cool mom, Amaya cackled.
Devika smirked. "Sneha would never."
"I would," Amaya said proudly. "I'd be the hot aunt."
Tara's hand moved.
This time, it landed without apology-firm, possessive, right on Ishaani's thigh.
Ishaani stiffened.
"Relax," Tara whispered, voice low. "It's Mean Girls. You're allowed to suffer."
Ishaani tried to scoot away.
Tara didn't even look at her. Her fingers tightened just enough to stop her. A silent no.
On screen, Regina leaned close to Cady.
Tara leaned close to Ishaani.
"Power," Tara murmured, eyes still fixed on the movie, "isn't about volume. It's about presence."
Ishaani swallowed. Hard.
Regina smiled sweetly and destroyed lives.
Tara's thumb traced a slow, deliberate line over fabric.
Ishaani's breath stuttered.
"You're shaking," Tara said softly.
"I hate this movie," Ishaani whispered.
Tara's lips curved. "Liar."
When Damien said, She doesn't even go here, Amaya wheezed laughing as she slouched on Devika for support during her laughing fit.
Tara tilted her head toward Ishaani. "You'd survive North Shore."
"How?" Ishaani asked weakly.
"You already know how to kneel without being told," Tara said casually, as her hand wandered higher on Ishaani's thighs than it would've deemed fit for Tara to touch her in public, or around Ishaani's sisters.
Ishaani nearly combusted, feeling the heat creep up her neck and ears, as her head felt heavy and light all at once.
Tara Kapoor had no right to talk like that, knowing extremely well how soft hearted Ishaani was.
Little did Ishaani know, Ms.Tara Kapoor talked like that, especially because she knew how Ishaani felt.
A tiny sound escaped her-helpless, humiliating, making Tara eye her from the periphery of her almond eyes, making Ishaani have an existential crisis, right there.
'Lord, I might die right here.' Ishaani wanted to scream, yet just gulped down.
Tara's nails pressed in. Not hard, just precise.
"Quiet," she murmured. "People are watching."
Ishaani froze, cheeks burning.
The movie ended in claps and chaos, Amaya quoting half the script at once as the lights flickered back on.
Tara's hand vanished instantly. Like it had never been there. Like Ishaani hadn't just been undone by a woman sitting three inches away.
Tara stood. Smoothed her clothes. Perfect composure restored.
"Good movie," she said.
Ishaani stared at the screen, pulse still wild.
Mean Girls.
Yeah.
If Regina George ruled with pink plastic cruelty, Tara Kapoor ruled with restraint, dominance and teasing, which was infinitely worse.
And Ishaani?
Ishaani would've handed over the Burn Book willingly, if Tara ever asked for it.
No questions asked.
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