fifteen Warming Up #2
With that, he slipped his fingers through mine and tugged me off the barstool. The faint urge to turn back and say our goodbyes dissolved as he led me through the crowd, his grip warm and reassuring.
‘Okay, but where are we going?’ I repeated for the third time since we’d taken off in his Mercedes.
Neil didn’t look away from the road. ‘You’ll see.’
The weather gods had finally shown us some mercy after the incessant rains.
The roads had cleared up and were glimmering under the streetlights.
It was almost 10 p.m., which meant the worst of the traffic had subsided.
For once, it felt like we were actually moving forward instead of aging gracelessly in the same spot.
‘Just so you know …’ I braced one hand dramatically on the dashboard. ‘My parents will not pay ransom if you kidnap me.’
‘Noted,’ he replied, his mouth twitching like he was determined not to smile. A soft, acoustic song I’d heard before but didn’t immediately recognize filled the car as he turned up the volume. ‘For now, just enjoy the drive.’
I exhaled, sinking back and letting the leather seat envelop me. The city whizzed past in streaks of yellow and white—streetlights, shop signs and the occasional autorickshaw that had made it to this part of the town. I tried to do what he’d said … but my eyes kept floating back to him.
To the way the muscles in his forearms popped every time he single-handedly manoeuvred the steering wheel. To the way his other hand was resting absently on his thigh. To how easy it would be for him to reach over and place it on mine.
I tore my gaze away, focusing on the view outside my window. ‘Don’t you have some fancy party to attend on a Friday night? How are you going to feed the Devil if you don’t destroy some poor rich kid’s confidence tonight?’
He let out a low chuckle. ‘I can always make up for it tomorrow.’
‘Do you really enjoy it that much? Roasting people?’
‘I don’t roast people. I offer critical fashion commentary.’
‘Neil, you literally compared that nepo baby’s outfit to a sofa cover.’
‘That was one time.’ He shot me a wounded look, then returned his attention to the road. ‘And it was a sofa cover. I attached proof.’
I couldn’t help but giggle. It was a really funny post.
‘I’ve been thinking about shutting it down though … the Instagram page,’ he said tentatively, as if he was thinking out loud.
I twisted in my seat to look at him, taken aback. ‘What? Why?’
‘I dunno, maybe I’ve outgrown it. Maybe I want to take all that energy and channel it into my streetwear label.’
‘Hmmm.’ I tried to read his expression, but it was too dark inside the car. ‘Have you thought of a name?’
He nodded as an overhead streetlight caught his features. There was a hint of a spark in his eyes. ‘Off Szn,’ he said, spelling out the last word.
I repeated it a few times in my head, feeling it out.
‘I like it,’ I announced. ‘It’s got a bit of an attitude …
like you.’ He grinned and thanked me as we turned a corner and slowed down.
The road curved gently along the water, a line of shops and late-night stalls dotting the boundary.
Neil pulled up the car in front of a bright, bustling storefront. The sign read: Haji Ali Juice Centre.
‘Neil … I just drank beer. I’m in no mood to have juice.’ I shot him a sideways look, unimpressed.
‘Have some faith, will you?’ He rolled down my window and honked lightly. A guy jogged over immediately. ‘Can we have four fruit creams? One of each?’
The guy came back balancing four plastic boxes on top of each other. ‘Care for some dessert, madame?’ Neil said as he helped me pop the lids open.
‘What if I told you I’m lactose intolerant?’
He froze mid-peel. ‘Shit. Are you?’
‘No.’ I gave him a cheeky grin. ‘But it would’ve been fun to see your face if I was.’
We dug in, talking between spoonfuls of cold, sweet fruit cream piled high with seasonal fruit.
Around us, late-night couples and families lingered near their cars and on the pavement, drinking juices and stuffing their faces with fruit cream.
A policeman walked by with a stick and tapped the parked cars ahead of us, waving them along.
Neil sighed, switched the engine back on and started driving.
I was still scraping the last nips of cream from my cup.
‘So?’ he asked, glancing at me. ‘Which one wins?’
‘I think strawberry,’ I said, licking my spoon. Then frowned. ‘No, lychee. Actually … I’ve never had a custard apple pudding better than this one.’
He grinned. ‘Told you. Best dessert in Bombay.’
I leaned back against the headrest, letting the sugar rush settle deep inside my gut like a warm blanket. ‘Can you drop me off at the nearest station?’
‘Why would I do that? We’re not done yet.’
I looked down at my phone. ‘It’s almost eleven.’
‘So then I have one more hour to make you fall for this city, Cinderella.’ He winked, making my heartbeat trip over itself.
He took the turn onto the Bandra–Worli Sea Link and the coastline slid into view, impossibly calm for a city that’s famous for its pace. The lights danced across the water like they’d been waiting for us. Wow, I thought. It’s so much more beautiful at night.
I didn’t realize I’d said it out loud until Neil hummed, pleased. ‘Just you wait.’ He reached over, hit a button and the sunroof glided open with a soft whir. A gust of cool air spilled into the car. ‘Up,’ he said, jerking his chin towards the roof.
‘What? No.’
‘Yes.’
‘Neil—’
The protest died in my throat as ‘Iktara’ started playing on the speaker. I didn’t have a Mumbai playlist, but if I did, this song would be at the very top. It’s a sign, my mind offered.
‘Come on,’ Neil whispered, leaning over to squeeze my hand. ‘Trust me.’
Against my better judgement—and because my heart was beating just a little too fast—I pushed myself up, poking my head through the sunroof.
The wind hit me first, cold and alive. My hair whipped behind me, the sea breeze tangling through it as we flew across the coastal road.
The air tasted like salt and freedom. Like a moment that shouldn’t have belonged to an outsider like me but somehow did.
And then, we crossed under the stay cables of the bridge. I tilted my head back, closed my eyes and let the wind roar in my ears. I felt free. Weightless. Alive.
When I finally sank back into the passenger seat, I was entirely breathless. ‘That was …’ I couldn’t find the words.
‘I know,’ he whispered, like he didn’t need me to explain.
I didn’t trust myself to speak as we drove towards Bandra.
Too much had happened today for my brain to keep up, and yet, none of it, not the promotion, the campaign or the upcoming visit home, was taking up any space.
All I could think about was this warm, unfamiliar feeling unfurling inside me …
and the man responsible for it. It didn’t make sense.
Nothing about tonight did. But then why did it feel so right?
We drove in complete silence until the skyline shifted and Bandra came into view. Neil turned into one of the narrow bylanes and parked between two quiet buildings.
‘And now for the grand finale …’ he said as we walked down towards the main road.
‘Why Bandstand?’ I asked, genuinely curious. ‘Why not Marine Drive?’
Even I knew that between the two main sea-facing tourist spots, Marine Drive was the crowd favourite, especially at night when the ‘Queen’s Necklace’ lit up the whole arc of the road. The Bandstand Promenade was quieter and rockier, a little rough around the edges.
‘Because this stretch has better company.’ He jerked his head towards Mannat, Shah Rukh Khan’s sea-facing mansion.
‘You’re a fan?’ I couldn’t hide the surprise in my tone.
‘No, but I know you are.’ When I just frowned at him in confusion, he offered by way of explanation, ‘That photo on your desk … the one with your brother? There’s an SRK poster on the bedroom wall behind you.’
I blinked in surprise. Not only had he noticed such a tiny detail … he’d also remembered it. Like it was important. Like I was important.
Neil slipped his hands into his pockets as we approached the metal gate of the mansion. ‘Figured it’d be rude to give you a Bombay tour and not introduce you to your first love.’
I shook my head, smiling into my chest. This guy. ‘Unless you’re secretly rich enough to get us past this gate, I’m failing to see the point.’
‘Well …’ he said, drawing out the word just enough to make my heart stutter.
‘No way!’ I gasped.
He laughed, holding up both hands. ‘I’m kidding. Definitely not rich enough to know him.’
‘Don’t do that!’ I shoved him with way more force than necessary, but he barely budged.
Instead, he caught my hand and twirled me in one smooth motion until my back met his chest, his arms wrapping around me.
I willed myself to breathe as we stared up at SRK’s beautiful home, hyper aware of our proximity.
‘Sorry,’ he bent down to whisper in my ear, sending a tiny shiver down my spine. ‘But we don’t have to go inside to appreciate this … He was an outsider once, just like you, and look where he is now.’
The back of my head grazed against Neil’s chest as I nodded. We stood like that for a few seconds, him holding me from behind, his chin resting on my head. And then he stepped back and pulled out his phone to snap a quick photo. ‘Okay, pep talk over. Let’s walk.’
I laughed, grateful for the charged tension to be leaving my body.
He pointed at the promenade and we crossed the road together.
The wind picked up as we stepped off the pavement and towards the rocks, the air thick with sea spray.
I hesitated at the first slippery rock, my off-white printed long skirt whipping uncontrollably around my legs.
Neil offered his hand and I held onto it tightly as I climbed down, letting him steady me whenever a rock wobbled under my feet.
Eventually, we found a flatter patch close to the water and sat down, the waves crashing hard enough to mist our faces.