Chapter 15
It was after ten o’clock when Cynthia, exhausted and more than a little frazzled after reporting back to the Kashmiris and talking them out of building a reflective, gold-plated bar in their new restaurant, finally swung by her parents’ home, grabbed the large brown paper bag from their oversized fridge as per her mother’s instructions, and drove to Rohit’s apartment on the other side of town.
She was too tired to care what was in the bag.
After being let into his building by a tenant returning from walking her cat, Cynthia swallowed nervously and located the unit number her mother had sent her via text, well aware that half past ten was much too late to be dropping in unannounced.
He’s just your coworker , she reminded herself after hesitantly knocking on the forest-green apartment door. It’ll be a quick drop-off.
She was debating knocking again when the door swung open, revealing Rohit, clad in a dark blue hoodie and sweatpants, his eyes wide and mouth slack in surprise.
“Cynthia?” he asked, poking his head out the door and glancing down the hallway. “What are you doing here? Is everything all right?”
Despite having imagined this very moment the entire drive over, Cynthia was momentarily rendered speechless by the sight of Rohit in sweats, hair a little askew.
He was wearing gray sweatpants, she realized faintly, trying not to linger as her gaze traveled down to his bare feet.
Under her incredulous stare, he wiggled his toes, and she jerked her head up, suddenly breathless.
“Cynthia?” he repeated, his voice gruff.
“I have something for you,” she blurted out.
“Something for me ?” he parroted back, sounding mildly alarmed.
She wordlessly handed him the paper bag and his expression morphed from startled to inquisitive. “What is it?” he asked.
Distracted, Cynthia didn’t respond as she peeked over his broad shoulder into the dimly lit apartment, illuminated mostly by a television set. She ignored the tidal wave of relief she felt upon realizing that he was alone on a Friday night.
Rohit studied her face carefully before reaching into the carrier to pull out a clear plastic container. Inside was a row of three gourmet cupcakes from her mother’s favorite bakery. The one in the middle was pink and on its surface were the words Happy Birthday in looping white frosting.
He glanced up at her, as if shy, and quietly asked, “How did you know?”
Heat rushed to Cynthia’s cheeks. “I-I didn’t. My parents’ flight home from Vancouver was delayed, so they asked me to bring this over.” Cynthia paused. “Wait. We spent a good chunk of the day at work together talking about our project. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Rohit’s eyes returned to the cupcake box in his hands as he shrugged.
“I don’t like to make a big deal out of it.
It’s the one day of the year I always hate being far away from my family.
I usually take it off, but with the urgency of the project and all…
” He trailed off and looked over his shoulder.
When he looked back at her, he was biting his lip. “Do you…do you want to come in?”
“Yes.” The word slipped from Cynthia’s mouth before her brain could process it. And she didn’t want to think too much on it.
It was his birthday, after all.
“Okay, uh, sorry about the mess,” he said as she followed him in.
It was the opposite of messy inside. While Cynthia appreciated minimalist décor, Rohit’s apartment was downright sparse.
There were no framed pictures on the walls, no knickknacks or old concert tickets strewn about to give anything away about the man inside.
His living space was small and tidy and smelled like citrus.
But when Cynthia caught sight of what was on the paused television set—the opening credits to 10 Things I Hate About You —she stopped in her tracks.
Memories of the night they had met flooded her senses in a rush of self-consciousness, yearning, and heat.
Her pulse reverberated against the confines of a very dry throat.
Perhaps Rohit felt it, too, because he avoided her gaze and mumbled, “This movie reminds me of home. My sister and I always watch it on our birthdays.”
She should leave. She’d interrupted him, shown up on his doorstep uninvited. Instead, Cynthia cleared her throat. “Can I…can I watch with you?”
It would’ve been impossible to miss the way Rohit’s entire face brightened or the way his dark eyes searched her face as if anticipating some kind of punch line.
She stared back, her face expressionless and tightly controlled, and at complete odds with her heart practicing a tumbling act in her chest.
Rohit fumbled to open the container in his hands. “Cupcake?” When she accepted, he hastily placed the rest of the cupcakes on the coffee table and dashed to the kitchen. “I’ll get you a plate. And napkin. I don’t have anything besides water but…”
“It’s fine,” Cynthia said, quelling the laughter in her voice. “Just the cupcake is great.” Tenderness tugged at the corners of her lips as she watched Rohit clumsily rush about his kitchen. When he returned, he seemed to have composed himself a bit if his sheepish smile was any indication.
“Sorry,” he said, handing her a small white plate. “I guess I’m still surprised you’re here. But I’m really glad you are. It’s a nice surprise,” he quickly added.
Cynthia sat down on the far side of the black faux-leather couch and nodded at the screen where Julia Stiles was pulling up beside a car full of prep school girls. “So, what is it with you and rom-coms, anyway?”
The question hung between them for a moment, heavy with the weight of memories from a night that was far from innocent.
Tension, heady and thick, seeped into the dead air behind them, but Cynthia fought the urge to rescind.
She was far too curious. As she sat in this nearly empty apartment with the most popular and charismatic guy at work, the desire to hear his answer and know him sizzled through her.
Her prior feelings of discomfort, exhaustion, and irritation had disappeared the minute he’d opened the door.
She felt suspiciously light and reenergized, like she could go all night.
The realization made her blush and she busied herself with unwrapping her cupcake as she waited for Rohit to answer.
Despite his stilted eagerness a few minutes ago, Rohit looked cautious and uncertain as he gingerly sat on the other end of the couch. “I don’t know,” he mused, his eyes studying the freeze-frame on-screen. “They’re an escape, I guess.”
Cynthia eyed Rohit doubtfully. She might’ve made some incorrect snap judgments about him, but one thing remained true: he was the Chosen One.
What could he possibly have to escape from?
Endless opportunities? Being fawned over whenever he stepped into a room?
High-powered men pausing their dick-swinging to take his opinion seriously?
Yet she had no desire to charge him with such questions as she once might have.
Because finding him alone on his birthday, sitting in this small, unassuming apartment with faded carpets underfoot and the faint, earthy scent of cardamom seeping through the citrus air, she realized she didn’t really know him.
But she wanted to.
“An escape from what?” she asked, her voice pitched low as if her vocal cords recognized the fragility of the moment stirring between them, pulled taut like strings on a violin.
Cynthia herself wasn’t entirely sure what it was except that whatever was connecting her to Rohit right now was so fine—so delicate—that she needed to tread carefully with a hushed voice and an open heart.
Rohit removed the Happy Birthday cupcake from its container and contemplated the fancy, swooping script. For a split second, the unbidden image of him licking frosting off her fingertip flashed across Cynthia’s mind and she suppressed a shiver.
“I like the idea of…” Rohit’s lips twisted wryly. “Hell, you’re going to mock me mercilessly for this, aren’t you?”
Cynthia held her dessert up to her heart. “I swear on this cupcake to give you a free pass on your birthday.”
He smiled and saluted her with his treat before his face sobered. “Things like happiness and love seem a lot less complicated in romance movies. Despite everything that happens, when the main character and love interest get together, they become a team, and love is enough.”
Rohit paused as if piecing together his thoughts while his strong, graceful fingers began to unwrap his cupcake slowly and methodically.
It was hypnotic, watching the flimsy wrapper pull away under his unhurried, careful hand.
He wasn’t one to rush that moment of sweet satisfaction, leading Cynthia to wonder, for one ridiculous moment, whether his cupcake would taste that much better.
She licked her bottom lip. “That doesn’t seem so far-fetched,” she said.
“Yeah, well, that’s not the real world, is it?
” Bitterness threaded his words. “Real-world love is sacrifice and responsibility. It’s everyone relying on you and you alone.
It’s…” Rohit trailed off as a self-deprecating smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“I should shut up now.” He raised his cupcake in the air toward Cynthia again. “Cheers.”
He was about to take a bite when Cynthia blurted out, “Wait!”
“What?” he asked, slowly lowering his hand.
“Something’s missing.” Cynthia nodded toward his kitchen. “Do you have a candle or something?”
He smiled ruefully. “Unfortunately, I don’t.”
“Hang on.” Cynthia grabbed her tote from the floor and began rummaging inside, aware that Rohit was watching her in amused silence.
“I didn’t realize pomp and circumstance was your thing.”
“It’s not, but it’s your birthday, it should be special,” she said, keeping her head lowered even though her fingers had already found the desired item. “Do you have a lighter, at least?”
Rohit’s eyebrows rose but he dutifully fetched one from his kitchen. When he returned, Naomi held her hand out for the lighter, the red crayon Naomi had thrown in her bag earlier perched upright in a napkin between her thumb and index finger.
“Is this safe?” he asked with a laugh.
“Of course it is.” Cynthia glanced at the makeshift candle uncertainly. “But blow it out quickly just in case.”
She plucked the lighter from his palm before grabbing the same hand and pulling him onto the couch beside her.
She felt silly and foolish as she lit the red wax, but when Rohit leaned in, his eyes sparkling in the small glow of the flame, she was glad she’d taken the risk.
The press of his leg against hers was solid and warm, his gaze soft, almost reverent.
He wasn’t looking at the crayon. He was looking at her.
“I never sing in public,” she confessed. “But happy birthday.”
He blew out the candle with a heart-stopping grin, and the last bits of her self-consciousness fluttered away.
Cynthia placed the crayon on the edge of her plate before sinking back into the worn, upholstered couch.
Her thigh still touched his and she made no move to shift away.
She liked how he slouched back and the simple, unassuming way his left arm snaked against the back of the couch, not touching her but comfortable all the same.
It was cozy. And wonderful.
When she risked a glance in his direction, his smile was so boyish and pleased that she didn’t resist smiling right back.
“Did I mention how glad I am that you’re here?” he asked.
“You know what? So am I.”