twelve An !dea Can Change Your Life #2
‘Anyway … so Nitya’s out. Saloni will probably pitch some type of a launch sale.
Inayat has been on sick leave all week, and I’m not sure if the others really care all that much.
’ He counted them out on his fingers, surprising me with how well he’d managed to read my colleagues in the short time he’d been at the office. ‘That just leaves—’
‘Tanya.’ I finished for him. Who, I was fairly sure, was avoiding me.
‘Yup. Any clue what she’s cooking up?’
I shook my head. Tanya and I had barely spoken this week.
She’d been spending her lunch breaks eating at her desk, presumably working on her pitch.
We’d bumped into each other by the coffee machine this morning and had made awkward small talk about how the week felt longer than usual before shuffling away to our desks.
‘No.’ It bothered me more than I cared to admit.
I’d never been a very competitive person.
When we were younger, I used to let my brother win every game of Uno, even when I had been dealt better cards.
It was just easier than putting up with his temper tantrums all day.
But I wasn’t twelve anymore, and this wasn’t Uno.
My inner turmoil was interrupted when Varun opened the door and peeked his head inside. ‘Guys, there’s a storm warning this evening. You can leave early if you want … HR has okayed it.’
‘No half day penalty?’ Neil perked up.
Varun laughed. ‘Not today. Make the most of it!’
I turned to Neil as soon as Varun had left. ‘You’re not going anywhere until we make this deck look passable.’
Neil rolled his eyes at my tone. ‘You really can’t let the bossy thing go, can you?’
‘I will,’ I said, giving him a pointed look. ‘The day you start behaving like a grown adult.’
He tilted his head, like he was humouring me. ‘Define “grown”.’
‘Someone who doesn’t require a pep talk to finish a basic task … who isn’t constantly relying on his charm to get out of everything.’
Is this really about him? Or are you just frustrated because you know your pitch is going to fail spectacularly? An unwelcome voice nagged at me.
Neil’s mouth twitched. ‘So you do find me charming?’
‘I find you annoying.’
‘Annoyingly charming?’
I ignored him (and my traitorous voice of reason) and turned back to his laptop.
The rain was beginning to get louder, drumming harder against the glass.
A few stray droplets blew in through the open window and landed on my notebook, so I got up to shut it before it could do further damage.
We didn’t have to step out of the room to know that the rest of the floor was basically racing to the elevator.
No one wanted to stick around to see if HR would change their minds. No one but us, of course.
After a few minutes of working in silence, Neil slammed his hand on the table. ‘Can we at least take a coffee break? And maybe move to a less depressing room?’
‘Finally, a useful idea from you.’
He chuckled as we made our way out of the room. ‘As if you’ve been on fire.’
Can’t argue with that.
The pantry was deserted—a blessing, really, if not for the godawful smell of wet socks that lingered in the air. We filled our mugs and got out of there before it could do any permanent lung damage.
I ducked into the washroom as Neil took our coffees and went to find the best spot for our after-hours huddle. As I was splashing my face with water in a last-ditch attempt to jump-start my brain, my phone lit up on the counter with a message from my dad.
It was a photo of the yellow Vespa scooter I had emotionally blackmailed him into buying me in my first year of college back at home.
Pops: Ur misses U
I smiled at my reflection. You can just say you miss me, dad.
He rarely texted me. Mom was the one who called every day, without fail.
Pops, on the other hand, had mastered the art of communicating through her.
He wasn’t a phone person, never had been.
So, for him to come up with an excuse to text me, even a flimsy one, made my chest hurt.
Even after I replied with five emojis and two GIFs, the peculiar ache didn’t quite go away.
It sank deep in my abdomen, a mix of homesickness and guilt rolled into a tight little knot.
I tried to shrug it off as I walked past the row of glass-walled meeting rooms, each one dark and vacant now.
Get it together, Kavya. This is not the time for an emotional meltdown.
It took me some time to find Neil. Lounging on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, he was looking far too comfortable inside Rajat’s personal office.
‘What are you doing? We can’t be in here,’ I chided as soon as I pushed the door open.
‘Who cares? Everyone’s gone home.’ He gestured around him. ‘And I’m tired of sitting on those wonky chairs all day. My spine has earned this couch.’
I was too emotionally drained to argue. Accepting the coffee mug from him, I plonked down on the far end of the couch. I took a sip, watching the rain streaking across the window behind the wooden desk.
‘It’s coming down hard,’ Neil said, mostly to fill the silence.
I nodded, curling my hands around my mug. The warmth didn’t reach much farther than my palms. For a few minutes, neither of us said anything. The rain was loud enough to make small talk feel unnecessary anyway.
Then he turned slightly towards me. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘You’ve gone quiet. Like, suspiciously quiet.’
I managed a weak smile. ‘Just taking a breather.’
He didn’t look convinced. ‘Something is up. I can tell.’
I sighed, mildly irritated at his refusal to let it go. ‘You won’t get it, Neil.’
‘Try me.’ His dark brown eyes were peering at me, the set of his eyebrows soft and encouraging.
‘It’s just …’ I exhaled, unsure how to articulate a feeling I didn’t fully understand. ‘Sometimes I wonder if all this is worth it.’
He didn’t ask me what I meant, just patiently waited for me to continue.
‘The constant hustle, living from pay cheque to pay cheque, fighting, clawing, perpetually stuck in survival mode. It’s exhausting. Some days I want to give it all up and just … go home.’
He was quiet for a moment and I worried I had overshared. Why would Mr Worli Sea Face give a shit about my middle-class miseries? ‘If you did go home, would you be running towards something … or away from all this?’
I blinked, taken aback. ‘Um … I don’t know.’ I traced a finger along the rim of my mug. ‘All I know is, life would be easier. I wouldn’t have to prove myself every day, you know?’
There was a glimmer of something raw in his eyes before he looked away. ‘Can’t say I know what that’s like.’
‘What do you mean?’
He pulled his legs back from the coffee table, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
The fabric of his knitted tee stretched across his shoulder blades, faintly outlining the V of his back.
‘I’ve always had to prove myself at home …
ever since I was a kid.’ He paused, studying my face as if he was weighing the risk of saying more.
Whatever he saw there seemed to tip the scale, because he kept going.
‘My dad … he’s never been easy on me. That’s why I moved out and got my own place. ’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, feeling a pang of empathy. ‘That’s not what home should feel like.’
‘What does yours feel like? When you go back to Mussoorie?’
A small, wistful smile teased my lips. ‘Like coming back from the office and unbuttoning the top button of my pants. Like I can finally breathe.’
Neil let out a soft huff of laughter. ‘That’s … oddly specific.’ Then his grin faded, his expression shifting. His eyes seemed to light up when he said, ‘Wait … that’s it.’
‘Huh?’
He got up from the couch and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes fixed on the marble floor. ‘Clothes that let you breathe … no, that’s too simple. Clothes that ...’
I watched him with a mix of confusion and intrigue as he paced in front of the table, mumbling to himself like a madman. ‘Neil, are you okay?’
‘Clothes that make you feel at home,’ he whispered, pausing, before shaking his head again. ‘No, too long.’
His voice was barely audible, but his words hit me loud and clear. Oh. Oh. ‘Clothes that—’
‘—feel like home,’ I completed for him.
His eyes shot up to mine and widened. ‘Clothes that feel like home,’ he repeated.
The words echoed in the room, mirroring the sound of the thunder outside.