Chapter 10
As the guests poured into the Deshpande residence for the Diwali party, some choosing to take their shoes off at the door, Jia craned her neck, trying to spot Eshaan. He’d said he’d drop by around seven after a drink at J’s Pub with their other co-workers; she only hoped he arrived before Manoj did, so Phase Three could kick off without a hitch.
She waited by the front door, tapping her foot against the wood flooring, and her mind went to the moment—if you could call it one—that she’d just had with Jaiman. She didn’t know what to make of the emotions that had run high since the night of Tanu’s wedding, which they’d been ignoring for a year now. The emotions that—for one brief moment, as Jaiman stood so close to her—almost resurfaced.
Jaiman was now avoiding her gaze as he, too, stood by the door, greeting guests as though it were his house and not hers, and it made Jia wonder, for the smallest of seconds—What if? What if he does feel something for me beyond mere attraction?
Psssh.She dismissed the idea as soon as it popped into her head.
“Eshaan!” Jia straightened and gave him a hug as soon as he walked inside, carefully side-stepping the intricate rangoli Charu had drawn. “Happy Diwali! Come in, we’re all hanging out back.”
Jaiman finally attempted to catch her eye, but she ignored him and steered Eshaan into the backyard, where the fairy lights and decorations created an ethereal wonderland sort of atmosphere. In the dark sky above them, fireworks splayed out every few seconds, the sound jarring but also joyous, matched equally by the screams and shouts of her neighbors down the lane. And then there was the beautiful wood swing where Charu sat, humming an old romantic Bollywood song to herself.
“Charu, hi!” Eshaan said, his lips widening. When she smiled back and started to get up, he gestured for her to stay put and sat down beside her. “I got you both some Diwali presents,” he added, and that was when Jia noticed he was carrying a jute bag.
She plopped down beside them on the swing, which creaked under their combined weight, and clapped her hands together. “You got Charu a present?”
“And you.” He gave Charu a yellow gift-wrapped package and Jia a pink one. “I hope you like it.”
He knows Charu likes the color yellow,Jia noted as she ran her fingers over the glossy pink wrapping paper covering her gift. Things were working in the #CheshaanProject’s favor.
“How sweet,” Charu gushed. “Can we open them?”
Eshaan nodded. Jia tore her package open, keeping an eye on the yellow one Charu was carefully unwrapping. What met her sights was a small pink crystal tree for Charu and a glittering charm bracelet for her.
“May I?” Eshaan asked, turning to Jia, and without waiting for a response, he took the bracelet from her and fitted it over her wrist, closing the clasp with a gentle click. He held her hand up, his lips wide in a toothy grin. “It looks beautiful, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. What’s Charu’s present?”
Charu was looking at the miniature tree in awe, her mouth slightly open. “Is this a rose quartz crystal tree?”
“Yes.” Eshaan scratched the side of his nose and smiled warmly at her. “I was at this gift shop yesterday at the mall, and as soon as I saw it, I knew I had to buy it for you. The salesperson told me the rose quartz crystal cleanses your, uh, aura?”
“Yes!” She beamed at him with wide eyes. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to work on my heart chakra, and this will look so good next to my laptop at work.” She put the tree back in the packaging. “Thank you. This is such a thoughtful gift.”
It really was. Jia raised a brow. So Eshaan knew a thing or two about spirituality and chakras and whatnot himself, or at least cared enough to learn about it. They really were a match made in heaven—or whatever heaven equivalent spiritual people believed in. Time for Phase Three, then. Jia shot up from the swing and turned to the future Mr. and Mrs. Bhargav. “Why don’t I bring over some sharbat and jalebis while you and Charu talk?”
“Sounds good,” Eshaan said. “So, Charu, how are you liking Mumbai?”
Jia smiled, closed the backyard door gently behind her, and headed to the kitchen. The goal of Phase Three was to help Eshaan and Charu share more “love language” moments and initiate a date. Their palm reading back at the office had established some level of physical touch, Eshaan had just bought Charu a gift that actually resonated with her, and now, without Jia in the room, they would establish quality time and—hopefully—exchange some affirming, validating words. Then, Jia would get Eshaan alone and subtly suggest that he ask Charu out—Wouldn’t it be nice to have dinner with her, given how well you’re both getting along?
She grabbed a plate and loaded it with ghee jalebis and kaju katlis from the kitchen counter, then filled two paper cups with the orange sharbat their cook, Yadav bhaiyya, had prepared. All of the food was made using Charu’s recipes, as a matter of fact. The sugary, syrupy smell in the kitchen was heady and dizzying, making Jia’s mouth fill with saliva.
Even though they’d stopped hosting parties years ago, Yadav bhaiyya had not lost his touch with preparing festive sweets and drinks. After all, Mamma had loved having people over. She would mingle with the neighbors, show off her latest designer clothing, and serve potent cocktails that always ensured a packed, loud dance floor. The slightest pinch tugged at Jia’s stomach as she left the kitchen. Papa hadn’t been very keen on tonight’s party; he was barely making eye contact with the guests he was addressing in the living room, and as she passed by them, she noted his voice was soft and his words slow. She exhaled. Maybe she shouldn’t have imposed this upon him. But how could she not have? Phase Three was the most crucial phase. And it needed a beautiful, romantic, festive night. It just did.
“Hello!” she greeted Eshaan and Charu, handing them their drinks and sweets. She stood in front of the swing and folded her arms across her chest. “What are we talking about?”
“Charu was just telling me she helped you with the party,” Eshaan said. He took a sip of the sharbat and nodded. “Wow, this is delicious.”
“It’s Charu’s recipe,” Jia said promptly. “She’s such a good cook.”
Eshaan laughed. “I know nothing about cooking. I’m lucky if I can make instant noodles without setting off the smoke alarm.”
Aha.Jia grinned. “I bet Charu would love to help you with that, wouldn’t she?”
He jostled Charu with his shoulder, laughing. “Really? Would you allow me the honor of being your sous chef sometime, Charu?”
Charu blushed in the dark. “Of course, that sounds lovely.” She sipped the sharbat and added, “Yadav bhaiyya’s done a great job with my recipe. I should go compliment him.”
Jia nodded. “Go ahead, he’s in the kitchen.” After Charu headed back inside, Jia sat on the swing in silence, pretending to be delighted by the fireworks in the sky. She would let Eshaan initiate conversation before she gave him the idea to ask Charu out.
“So,” Eshaan said, tugging gently on her wrist and the bracelet he’d gifted her, “how’s your Diwali going so far?”
“Wonderful,” she replied, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s all thanks to Charu’s efforts, really. My family hasn’t hosted a party in years.”
He shifted his weight, turning so he faced her entirely. “Why is that? This is such a nice place to host parties, and you’re great with people. Just like me.”
Jia thought back to Eshaan’s Instagram and all the Mother’s Day photos on his feed. He was close with his mom, and he would certainly sympathize with her grief, if not understand it, but this night wasn’t about Jia. It was about Charu. So she shoved her emotions down. “I love parties. My dad, not so much.”
“That reminds me of my mom—”
Jia cut across before he could continue. “So, about the gift you got Charu…isn’t the heart chakra associated with romantic love?”
Eshaan opened his mouth, then sighed, his fingers curling around the chain supporting the swing. “It is, isn’t it? Maybe I should have gotten myself one too.” He barked out a laugh, but Jia could tell it was strained.
“You deserve love, Eshaan.” Jia paused, blinking at the sharpness of the light as fireworks burst in the sky once more. “Just as much as Charu does.”
He frowned. “What are you getting at?”
“You should have dinner with Charu sometime. You both seem to have a lot in common. And who knows,” Jia said, grinning, “maybe her heart chakra vibes will rub off on you.”
Eshaan’s lips curved upward, slowly but surely. “Jia, I think I just might.”
The backyard door opened, and Charu walked in. “Your cook is such a sweetheart!”
“He is.” Jia got up and gestured toward the box of fireworks by the corner of the backyard. “Why don’t you both light some sparklers and flower pot crackers? It’ll be fun.”
Charu squealed. “Yay, you bought the fireworks! We used to light so many of them back home in Ratnagiri!”
“Great. I’d better see what the other guests are up to.” Jia winked at Eshaan, who winked back. She adjusted her stitched, ready-made saree—who could bother with draping an actual saree in this day and age?—and headed back inside, closing the door once again.
Just as she did, Manoj appeared in front of her, his phone clutched tightly in one hand. “Hi,” he said politely. “Where’s Charu? I have to show her something.” He held up the phone.
“She’s in the washroom. She’ll be out in a minute, I guess. Let me go check on her, actually.” Jia all but shoved Manoj away from the backyard and added, “You know, there are a few restaurant owners at this party. Maybe you can score yourself another gig, hmm?”
“Oh, I can only do my gigs part-time because of grad school,” Manoj explained, but she gingerly thumped him on the back and strode up the stairs to the washroom so she could get some space to herself. As she was wiping her hands and patting her underarms dry—God, why was she so nervous? She’d successfully gotten two couples to the altar before. Two!—her phone dinged with an email. A new comment on her blog post, perhaps?
Grinning, she looked at the notification: a question from one of her regular readers. Jia sent a quick answer and hit Refresh. Usually, her other readers—like TheReMix—would comment within minutes of her sharing the post. But they hadn’t yet. Maybe they planned to send another email instead of a comment?
She pursed her lips and headed back downstairs, eager to see what #Cheshaan was up to, and if they’d had a tender, romantic moment yet setting off fireworks.
The living room thrummed with the vibrations of festive Bollywood music from the Bluetooth speakers Jaiman had connected to his Spotify. The party was in full swing; hordes of people chatted and flocked to the kitchen to refill their sharbat, sweets, and snacks. Despite not having any alcohol in their veins this evening, the guests still looked at ease and relaxed.
Well, except for Devdutt Uncle, who was surrounded by some of his friends and family. He wore a suit and tie for some reason—perhaps a subconscious attempt at rejecting the festive occasion—and he kept fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, as though he were suffocating.
Jaiman had already gone up to him and tried to calm his unease, asked if he needed to rest, but Uncle had insisted he was all right (which was a first, considering his hypochondria).
Now Jaiman was reading something on his phone when Mr. Jha, the landlord who owned the building J’s Pub called home, waltzed up to him. “Jaiman. Hello.”
Uh-oh.Jaiman cringed. He’d barely made enough this month to pay his employees, and he’d paid his rent three weeks late after Mr. Jha sent him not one but two reminders.
Landlords sucked.
“Hi, Mr. Jha.” Jaiman cleared his throat and shook the man’s hand. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Well, Devdutt and I are old friends, you know that.” Jaiman did know that. He wouldn’t have found the place at a reduced rate without Devdutt Uncle’s influence. Mr. Jha sipped his sharbat and added, “Don’t worry. I haven’t told him you were late on the rent.”
He heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Jha. I—I promise it won’t happen again.”
Mr. Jha shrugged and finished his sharbat. He wiped the orange drink from his lips with a tissue. “By the way, someone bought out the place next door to yours.”
“Oh.” Jaiman frowned. He had been thinking about renting itone day, when things were better money-wise, and expanding thepub into an actual restaurant, but construction had started on the place next door a few months ago. “Who?”
“Some restaurateur. His first one in Mumbai. Let’s see how he does.” Mr. Jha chuckled.
Alarm bells went off in Jaiman’s head. A first-time Mumbai restaurateur had bought the place next door, not just rented it? “Really?”
“Yes, a Harish Chandran. He actually said you two are old friends.”
Oh, fuck. Flora’s suspicions were correct.Jaiman put on a fake—not to mention weak—grin and nodded. He wished he’d gotten himself some sharbat too; his mouth was so dry he could barely speak. He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. He’s a friend from culinary school. Last I heard, he had a restaurant in Kerala.”
“Friend.” Flora would have laughed and said, More like your ultimate enemy. After all, Jaiman and Harish had tried to date the same girls. They’d tried to win the same competitions. They’d tried to impress the same professors. And each time, Harish Chandran won. He got the girls, he got the trophies, he got the recommendation letters. And now—he got the spot right next to J’s Pub.
Shit.
Mr. Jha excused himself to talk to a friend of his, and Jaiman searched the crowd for someone to help distract him. He spotted Manoj and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Manoj. How was the set tonight?”
“Amazing,” Manoj said, grinning. “But I have to say the crowd was sparse. Don’t you think the pub’s been looking emptier lately?”
“I think it’s fine,” Jaiman said, his voice cracking toward the end of the sentence. “You know, it—it happens.”
“Yeah.” Manoj swung on the balls of his feet, then spoke up. “Is Charu here? I’ve been meaning to talk to her in person. We’ve”—he let out a goofy laugh—“we’ve been texting all week, and I thought, well, I should ask her out. Like, on a date.”
“How are you going to do it?”
“Oh, I’m too nervous to say it directly.” Manoj blushed. “I’ve never been good at that. So”—he showed him a video on his phone—“I’m sending her this music video I recorded where I sing my favorite love song and then ask her out in the end. I hope she likes it.”
“She will,” Jaiman said, smiling. “That sounds like a great plan.”
“Where is she, though?” He frowned, craning his neck left and right until his eyes came to rest on the door leading to the Deshpandes’ backyard. “Is she out there? I’ve looked everywhere else.”
“Probably.” Jaiman shrugged. He put his hands behind his neck and let out a whoosh of breath. “Find her, ask her out. I’m sure she’ll say yes.” He patted Manoj on the back and went to the drinks counter to grab some sharbat.
Jia was going to be so mad about this. But she had no right to interfere in Charu’s love life, especially when it was blatantly obvious that both parties of the so-called #CheshaanProject were interested in different people.
But there were some things Jia Deshpande needed to figure out on her own.
With a sigh, Jaiman took a sip of his sharbat and returned to scrolling through the open tab on his phone.