4. Aarti
AARTI
W e took the elevator and gingerly walked to my room on the eleventh floor. Retrieving my keycard, I held it to the touchpad. The red light didn’t chirp. When it remained stolid after a second attempt, I huffed.
“The key isn’t working,” I cried in exasperated embarrassment.
“I think that’s your Visa,” he said, glancing over my shoulder at the deep blue card in my hand.
“Oops,” I deadpanned and retrieved the room key from my clutch. The light turned green, and the door clicked open.
“I’m not drunk,” I argued.
“Yeah, neither am I,” he said with dazed eyes that held mine for a few seconds before we both burst out laughing.
He was the first to regain his composure. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Bhatia. I look forward to our meeting tomorrow.”
Disengaging my eyes from his, I pretended to smooth my skirt. “It was nice to meet you,” I said, stealing a glance at his magnificent face. “Good night.”
As I turned to the door, my foot caught on the jamb, and I stumbled sideways. Sujit thwarted my fall.
“Steady,” he whispered near my ear, as his arm closed around my waist. His voice permeated to the deepest parts of me, leaving me with a heady rush.
The exquisite liquor on his breath caused a ripple to snake across my skin.
I became aware of his scent. The cologne smelled fresh and clean.
My brain quickly calculated that he’d come to the meeting from work because this was a day scent, not an evening one.
I wanted to lean in and soak up his smell.
His touch. I wanted to luxuriate in the feeling of his arm around me that felt wonderful and comforting.
But I was unaccustomed to comforting. I quickly pulled myself upright, and he removed his grip on my waist.
“Thank you,” I said with haste. “This was embarrassing.”
“Not in the least,” he reassured. “Chances are, I won’t even remember it tomorrow morning.”
“Didn’t you just say you weren’t drunk?”
“Uh-huh, and so did you, remember?”
We both stared at each other only a moment before bursting into giggles yet again. When our silliness ended, I found myself holding the door ajar, my eyes fixed on his magnetic face.
“Hey, I hope this won’t affect our meeting tomorrow,” he asked, leaning in.
I shook my head with a smile. “No, not from my end. I’m a professional. How about you?”
“I’m as dispassionate as they come,” he said, and I was convinced he believed it too. But I was smarter than to buy it.
“No, you’re not,” I argued softly. “You’re kind, and you’re in pain.”
He held his pause for a long second. “Perhaps. But that won’t affect my business dealings with you.”
I nodded. “Thank you for today, thank you for this,” I said. I didn’t know what exactly I was thanking him for, but his presence had felt reassuring all evening, so familiar for the stranger that he was. Kindred spirits, for sure.
“For the giggles?” he asked, and a glance into his eyes made my heart rumble.
“And more,” I said, clutching the door tighter to keep myself steady on my feet. “Thank you for being kind. You’re a genuine man, Mr. Rao. I hope this episode with Tara doesn’t change who you are. Your kind of people are a rarity.”
Those words, I’d definitely attribute to my buzzed state. I was a guarded person. I rarely let people see my real thoughts, let alone spell out my feelings so clearly. Why was it that this man was evoking feelings in me that I thought were dead?
Like the hurt that I had buried deep inside me. I didn’t want to exhume that grief. I wanted to thrive in my anger. But it was too late. At that moment, the pain became unbearable. I felt my face turning warm, and before I realized it, tears were stinging in my eyes.
“Why does it still hurt?” I asked with childlike naiveté and allowed the tears to run freely down my face.
“Hey, hey…let’s get you inside,” he said and offered me his arm again.
As he led me in, I heard the door lock shut behind us with a soft click, and I broke into audible sobs.
For all these months, I had held on to my resentment for Sameer.
Not only had he broken my heart, he’d humiliated me in front of all my friends and the society I knew in Dallas.
But now that I had spelled it out on Sujit’s insistence, I realized the humiliation was my own doing.
I had put my own foot on the axe, as a version of the Hindi proverb goes.
It was so much easier to deal with grief when I could place the blame on someone else’s shoulder.
But there was a stark difference between grief and anger.
At that moment, I wasn’t sure which one was behind my tears.
“Sometimes, hurting is good,” I heard Sujit’s soft voice and turned my body toward him. “We need to let it all out so we can heal effectively.”
I put my face in my hands and kept sobbing silently.
His gentle hand landed on my shoulder and stayed there.
The reassurance of his light touch broke me further.
And now, one more emotion had thrown its hat into this shit show.
Embarrassment. My mother was the only person who had ever seen my tears.
Sameer and Tara had been witness to a few, but no one else had been privy to them.
“Fuck!” I said finally, wiping my eyes and face. “I hate this.”
I stepped over to the fridge, retrieved two bottles of water and threw one to Sujit. He caught it with the dexterity of a ball player, another thing I hadn’t expected of him.
Walking toward him, I slid down against a wall to the plush carpeted floor. Sujit followed suit. I heard the crack of his bottle cap as I gulped from mine.
“Will you be alright?” I heard his soft voice.
“Yes,” I blurted. “I might be in pain, but I’m not fragile.” I had no idea why I was lashing out at him, but he remained composed and collected.
“It’s healthy to cry. It’s not a weakness,” he said as if I had granted him access to the innermost recesses of my psyche.
But instead of pulling my guard up, I retorted, “Did you ? Did you cry after Tara?”
“I did,” he said in an unflinching confession. “For a bit.”
His composure somehow added to my ire. “And you’re healed now,” I fumed again.
“Not really. I still think about her. Sometimes, I miss her. And it hurts.”
“So letting yourself hurt didn’t help then, did it?” I challenged with renewed defiance.
He chuckled. “It’s a process. We both will get there, I’m sure of it.”
I let out a snort. “You met me two hours ago, but you assume you know me?”
“No,” he said with a soft laugh. “You are a very difficult person to read. But per your own assessment, I am a romantic. I have hope in hope.”
I looked into his buzzed eyes and said, “That’s the biggest load of nonsense I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah, it is. I have no idea what all those words mean right now,” he said and burst into a peal of laughter.
Even though I had no intention of joining in, that infectious sound from his mouth made my lips turn upward.
First, a smile, then a giggle, followed by full-fledged laughter.
When I couldn’t stay upright against the wall, I allowed my shaking body to recline sideways against him.
My belly had begun to ache from the laughter.
“Yes, we both are absolutely not drunk,” he said, and we laughed more uproariously.
“Shit!” he cried, looking at his watch. “I should leave. Imran needs to get home.”
“Who’s Imran?” I asked, suddenly envious of this person whom Sujit would care for so much.
“He’s my driver,” he said. “He’ll have to be up early to get me to work on time. I didn’t realize it was this late.”
“Alright,” I said and stood up with him. “I accept complete responsibility for keeping you, and I’ll be happy to explain it to Imran if need be.”
He nodded as he readjusted his jacket and tie. “I’ll be sure to let him know.”
We walked to the door, and I held it open for him.
“Thank you again for today,” I said, and he turned to look intently into my face.
“You’ll be okay, right?”
I nodded. “I’ve been taking care of myself since I was eight. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Aarti,” he said, then immediately corrected himself, “Ms. Bhatia, I’m here if you need a friend. You don’t have to process all this alone. Neither of us do.”
This time, when he looked at me, my heart beat so audibly, I was sure he’d heard it. I took a step back, putting distance between us.
“Thank you,” I said, calling it a night.
“Good night, Ms. Bhatia.” He returned a clipped nod and a short smile that barely dented his cheeks. I watched him walk down the corridor, wondering what he was thinking.
I, for one, was wondering what perverse idea of fun the universe had in mind when it dropped Sujit beside me that evening.
There were awkward encounters, and then there was whatever the hell we’d just had.
In a world defined by six degrees of Kevin Bacon, this was a one-hundred-eighty degree of what the fuck do you call this connection?
As I changed and turned in for the night, I resisted the urge to curl up into a ball and let myself weep.