23. Aarti
AARTI
W hen I reached the lounge, a staff member stood outside with a covered platter.
Sujit spoke to him in French. He stepped inside, placed the platter on the small round table by the windows, and stepped over to the glassware cabinet.
He returned with two white wine glasses and two small plates.
As he placed dessert spoons next to the plates on the table, I stood beside Sujit, wondering when he had the chance to arrange for it all.
The man uncorked the bottle and asked Sujit if we wanted him to pour us the wine. At least, that’s what I inferred. I didn’t understand French.
Finally, after Sujit had offered an elegant merci —in a way that made me wet to my core—the staff member retreated and closed the door behind him.
We were now alone with a chilled bottle of wine and a mysterious platter covered with an opaque dome.
“The suspense is killing me,” I said as Sujit eyed me with a triumphant grin.
Pulling out a chair for me, he waited until I was settled, then lifted the cover with a dramatic flair.
On the platter stood two perfect, hearty squares of tiramisu. My heart stopped beating, and my breath jumbled. I blinked at the dessert but could muster no words to emerge out of my mouth.
In my moments of vulnerability, I had shared much with Sujit, but I hadn’t expected him to remember anything. Only, he remembered it all. A well-made tiramisu , I had said. This certainly looked and smelled like one.
Using the pie server that lay next to the platter, he placed one square on the plate before me. The choice of the sweet wine made sense now. I watched him pour the wine to the perfect quantity in my glass.
“You said you like a well-made tiramisu,” he said, creating ripples in my being again. “Tell me if this is up to your standards,” he added, nudging me to taste it.
Everything you do is up to my standards , I was tempted to blurt. Promptly, I picked up the spoon and stuffed a generous portion in my mouth to prevent myself from saying anything other than to comment on the dessert.
It was perfect. “This is a well-made tiramisu,” I announced with a happy grin.
He exhaled. “Good,” he said, then settled in the chair across the table. He served himself the other portion and poured the wine.
“The wine is excellent, as well,” I commented.
He took a sip and nodded approvingly. “I can’t take the credit, though,” he confessed. “I asked my sommelier for recommendations.”
“You have a sommelier?” I cried, and he gave me a sheepish look like he was embarrassed.
It was so easy to forget that this man was a literal billionaire with the world at his beck and call.
“Doesn’t everyone?” he joked.
“I need their number,” I teased back.
“You have me. Everything I have is at your disposal, including my sommelier,” he said with his eyes on the tiramisu.
There it was again, that thud in my head, in my heart, pumping through my blood and creating the same cognitive dissonance in my being. I knew I could not have this man, but he was the only one I wanted.
“This is the best surprise I’ve ever gotten,” I said as I watched him enjoy the tiramisu.
His mouth lifted at one corner. “Are you sure?”
I frowned. “What else have you got planned, you sneaky man?”
“Hey, you got Rampur for me. That was sneaky. This is merely a result of good memory.”
“You know, if you want to remain in my good graces,” I said, polishing off the last of the cream on my plate, “you better let me have the last word now and again.”
That made him burst into laughter. “I think you’ll be inclined to forgive me after you see the gift I got you.”
“Gift?” My eyes widened, then I narrowed them at him. “What kind of gift?”
It was so liberating to be able to joke with him this way. I couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else. I never expected or demanded gifts from Sameer. Even when he did bring me gifts, I hadn’t felt the same surge of excitement that was coursing through me currently.
“The kind of gift that I hope makes you happy,” he said. “Just like you made me happy by gifting me this weekend.”
I turned my gaze away to avoid looking into his eyes. I needed to focus on something else. I saw that he hadn’t touched the wine much.
“Let me pour you a scotch,” I offered.
He read my thoughts and said, “I’m alright, sweet girl. This combination is perfect.”
When we were done, he disappeared into his room and returned with my gift.
Covered in wrapping that resembled an old newspaper, the three items in his hand looked like books.
“What’s this?” My eyes were as wide as my smile when he held them out to me.
“Open them.”
I tore the paper from the first one and read the title. “ Pinjar by Amrita Pritam.”
“The original is in Punjabi, so I got you the translated version.”
I gawked at him, speechless.
“Not what you’d expected?” he asked.
“Not even close!” I said in a soft voice. “Better than I could’ve ever expected.”
“Again, I’m not going to claim any credit. I asked Jas. She’s an avid reader of Indian literature. Are you familiar with the book?”
“Of course! You don’t grow up in a Punjabi household and not know about Amrita Pritam.”
“What does it mean?”
“Pinjar? It means skeleton. A shell. A remnant of one’s self. It represents the country at the time of partition, bloodied by communal riots, and women whose honor was linked to the nation. Women became symbols of the nation, and just like the land at the time, murdered and bloodied on both sides.”
He wore a look of shock as he sat stupefied. “Perhaps this wasn’t the best gift,” he confessed tentatively.
“Are you kidding! This is the best gift anyone could have ever given.”
Only someone who knew me would think of giving me this. The thought brought a fresh wave of anguish running through me.
“Why don’t you open the next one?” he nudged.
My excitement was now approaching its peak. Picking up the slightly thinner of the two, I tore away at the wrapping paper as I chirped, “I wonder what gem is inside this one.”
The sight of the book made me jump off my spot on the couch and on to his body. With my arms draped around his neck, I placed a firm kiss on his cheek. I leapt at him so eagerly, his hands came around my waist to prevent him from getting knocked over. Embarrassed, I retook my spot on the couch.
“A collection of Maya Angelou’s Poems! How did you know?” I asked.
He smiled in response. “I had a feeling you liked poetry.”
“Oh, Sujit!” I said and gave him another quick hug. My eyes were now on the last book.
“What about this one?” I was like a kid at Christmas.
Although, in my family, the kids got gifts on Diwali, not Christmas. Christmas was when we gifted others and when Mary Beth and I exchanged gifts. My heart bubbled with joy.
“Open it,” he urged.
My heart was in my mouth as I ripped the cover with wild enthusiasm, and a familiar book greeted me.
“ A Thousand Splendid Suns ! This is one of my favorites. I will cherish this all my life,” I squealed like a child, hugging the book to my chest.
“That you will. Turn to the title page.”
“What!” I cried preemptively. “No way!”
“Indeed. It’s signed by Hosseini.”
I quickly opened it and saw the inscription. “Not just signed, it’s personalized! It says, For Aarti ! When did you get this? Do you know him? How do you know him?”
“A gentleman never reveals his secrets,” he said with a smirk, and I allowed him the preening.
My eyes were on the verge of moistening, but I turned those emotions into a wide smile and looked away.
“Oh, Sujit! How could I ever thank you for this? Nothing I do or say will ever be adequate.”
“You don’t need to thank me, sweet girl. And this is only half your gift.”
My body perked up. “Where’s the other half?”
In response, he shifted to one end of the couch and propped a cushion in his lap.
“Here,” he said, patting the cushion. “I’m going to read to you.”
A gasp escaped my mouth, and I covered it with my hands. Not only had he appreciated what I had shared with him when I had been an emotional wreck, but he had worked hard to fulfill these small desires of mine. I sat speechless and motionless.
“You don’t want it?” he teased. “Alright…” he sighed dramatically and began removing the pillow from his lap.
“Don’t you dare move,” I said and placed the book of Maya Angelou’s poems in his hand.
“I had a feeling you’d choose that one,” he bragged and flipped the pages to a poem I had committed to memory during my college days.
“Pretty women wonder where my secret lies…” he began a slow and emotional rendering of Phenomenal Woman as if he had practiced reciting it.
I reclined, enjoying the beautiful words out of his graceful mouth while he stroked my hair like Mom used to, and all I could do was struggle to hold back my tears.
“’Cause I’m a woman…Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman…That’s me,” he ended softly. “Phenomenal Woman, that’s you,” he whispered to me.
I kept gazing at his handsome face. I knew I could no longer hold back my feelings.
Where we stood looked like crossroads, and we had been forever looking for the right path forward.
I turned over in his lap to face away from him. “Read me one more,” I said.
I heard him flip the pages. “ Still Rise ,” he read. “You may write me down in history…” He continued to stroke my hair as he read. “…I rise I rise I rise.”
Tears were already flowing down the side of my face into the cushion, and he asked, “One more?”
I had no way of responding without making him privy to my tears. Sujit made me feel like I needed nothing else in life anymore. He made me feel cherished and worthy of love again. And he continued to remain out of reach.
The books that lay near me were no ordinary gifts. They were chosen to give me the kind of happiness I desired. Not the kind people thought I wanted. No one except Mom had given me that.
But I wasn’t my mother’s daughter alone.
I was also my father’s daughter. Aakash’s words resounded in my ears.
It was one thing to find solace and companionship in him, but losing myself to Sujit like this was unwise.
Especially when I didn’t have a way to know if he felt the same.
And even if he did, hadn’t he said that he couldn’t explain our relationship to his family?
Aakash was right. Our relationship would remain mired in shame and embarrassment. The sooner I made peace with the fact that love wasn’t written in my destiny, the easier my life would be.
My phone whirred on the table and I wiped my tears to check the banner. Manoj’s name flashed on the screen, and I promptly sent it to voicemail. The look on Sujit’s face said he’d also seen the caller's name.
“This is the third time he’s called me this week,” I said, getting off his lap and fixing my hair.
He slammed the book shut as a look passed over his face, one that I couldn’t decipher.
“We met over coffee to discuss business. He said he’s looking for a place for his new office. I don’t usually take such meetings, but I was curious because he mentioned you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, at first he pretended to ask me out—” I began.
“He wasn’t pretending.”
I gaped at Sujit. Clearly, he knew Manoj better than I thought he did.
“I told him I don’t date people I do business with, and that’s when he changed his tune. He said he was looking for a space, and I quote, similar to what Sujit wants for his new project. ”
Sujit sat quietly in thought for a moment, and when he finally broke his silence, his voice was tentative. “And did you confirm it?”
I scoffed. “What do you think? I wasn’t born yesterday, Sujit. I’ve been in the business world for almost a decade. I know what is what when I see it. How well do you know him?”
“Well enough,” he said with a determined face.
“Is he dangerous?”
“Stalker and killer-type dangerous? No,” Sujit said and confirmed the rest for me. Manoj was dangerous in other ways. Nefarious ways.
“I can’t imagine how you and he could be friends.”
“We aren’t anymore, but it’s a long story. Some other time, sweet girl.” This time, the epithet didn’t carry its usual warmth. This time, it sounded like a command. “Tell me what else he has been asking you.”
This avatar of Sujit was one I hadn’t seen before. That of a fierce, protective warrior. A determined, powerful man who knew what destruction he could rain down.
“He hasn’t been talking about business, for sure.
He seemed more interested in my personal life.
Asked me a lot of intrusive questions in his beguiling, charming way.
It creeped me out enough to make the hair on my neck stand up.
After I’d deflected every one of his questions, he asked me out again.
It’s like his obsessed with me,” I said, and Sujit opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind.
“Don’t worry about him,” he said cryptically.