twenty We Need to Talk
twenty
We Need to Talk
The realization that I was a textbook hypocrite hit me somewhere between Andheri and Bandra station, as I typed out a polite response to Arjun’s text from last night.
Arjun: Hey, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I hope you reached Mumbai okay. I’m here if you want to talk.
Me: Reached safely. All good, thanks for checking in.
Because thirty-six hours ago, I’d practically bitten Neil’s head off for still being in touch with his ex.
I’d lectured him about making excuses for wanting to keep his options open, while here I was, keeping my options open.
Why else had I not shut down Arjun’s advances and insisted on a clean break?
It’s not like I hadn’t had the opportunity.
Instead of being brutally honest with him that night in the kitchen, I’d let Arjun walk away with a sliver of hope.
I’d let my family’s wishful thinking and my own heartache over Neil get in the way of my true feelings for Arjun—or the lack thereof.
I stared at the blue tick under my text message and felt the sharp pinch of the truth deep in my gut. I wasn’t better than Neil. I was just as complicated and messy, and what’s worse, I’d been too self-absorbed to admit it.
I winced and rested my head on my bicep, gripping the cold metal handle above me. The train compartment was buzzing with morning peak-hour energy, but all I could hear was my own voice from that night at my house in Mussoorie.
And maybe you don’t belong in mine.
Had it been a low blow? Maybe. He had spent all evening partaking in my family’s silly little traditions, opening up to me about how he hadn’t grown up with any of that …
and I’d allowed my insecurities about his history with Aarushi exploit that weak spot.
I hadn’t meant it, of course. It was just way easier than saying I’m terrified that I might be falling for you too.
And before you say anything, yes, I had thought about calling him up to make things right. I’d even considered changing my evening flight so I could fly out earlier with him and the rest of the crew. But there were things I needed to deal with before I could get out of Mussoorie—namely, my brother.
The minute he caught on to the weird tension between Neil and me, he’d started bombarding me with a string of intrusive questions.
Is something going on between you two? Why didn’t you tell me you were dating someone?
You are at least dating him, right? This better not be some situationship nonsense.
I’d snapped back that it was none of his business, which had only made things worse.
By the time we’d managed to smooth things over (not without the help of my thoroughly confused parents), I’d run out of any mental capacity to reach out to Neil.
I’ll just speak to him at the office, I’d decided.
Not to rekindle anything—I doubted there was anything left to rekindle—but to clear the air.
But when I arrived at the office, Neil was not at his workstation.
Neither was Tanya. I slid into my chair, opened my laptop and tried to lose myself in emails.
Every few minutes, my eyes flicked towards Neil’s desk, waiting for him to stroll in looking like a million bucks.
But an hour passed, then another and there was still no sign of either of them.
Had they both taken a comp off for working over the weekend and just forgotten to loop me in?
I’d just pulled out my phone to text Tanya when the intercom on my desk lit up with Varun’s extension. ‘Morning, Kavya. Can you step into my cabin for a minute?’
I wondered what he wanted to chat about as I gathered my notebook and made my way over.
I knew the production agency had kept him in the loop throughout the shoot, but maybe he wanted more on-ground details?
Or it could be about your promotion, an optimistic thought snuck in, and I let myself entertain it for a second.
Maybe the universe had decided I needed a win after the shithole of a week I’d just had.
Then I caught a glimpse of who was sitting next to Varun in his cabin and all my optimism died on the spot.
Swati Kaul, the head of HR, looked up as I pushed the door open, her expression perfectly neutral.
Uh, oh. What on earth have I been summoned for?
Everyone at Jharokha knew that Swati didn’t handle day-to-day interactions like leave requests and casual enquiries, she only appeared when something needed tact.
She had this rather hypnotizing quality about her, where she could talk you into just about anything.
During my joining negotiation, she’d thrown around words like ‘long-term growth’ and ‘strategic positioning’ to convince me that taking a 15 per cent lower salary than I’d asked for was in my favour. I’d walked out thanking her for it.
All that to say that, yes, she made me very, very nervous.
‘Hi, Kavya,’ she said in her classic HR-Swati tone, which could mean anything from congratulations on your promotion to please hand in your resignation.
Varun gestured to the chair across from his desk. ‘Have a seat.’
My stomach tightened as I glanced between them, trying to read the room. Swati leaned forward and folded her hands on the table and my internal alarm bells immediately started going off. Okay, this is not looking good. Like, at all.
Swati cleared her throat. ‘Kavya, we’ve been made aware of a policy breach while you were at your outstation shoot.’
My heart dropped into my stomach. Policy breach? Was this about Neil?
My mind immediately started flipping through every questionable moment from the Mussoorie trip that the crew could’ve picked up on.
Our heated conversation on the front porch.
The way he’d held my arm and closed the distance between us.
How he’d told me he was falling for me. Had Abhinav and Rhea heard all that?
But even if they had, why would they report it back to Varun?
Surely Neil’s confession hadn’t been exciting enough to make two part-time consultants invested in our personal drama.
But I guess that’s the thing about office gossip, the tiniest spark can turn into a blazing fire in the hands of the wrong people.
I wrung my hands in my lap, my thoughts already spiralling out of control. Who all had they told? How much did they know? Had they thought we were being unprofessional? Was Neil in trouble too? Was that why he hadn’t come in today? Did Tanya have any idea about all this?
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
None of this matters, I told myself. They know now.
It’s best to own up to your mistake like a mature adult.
‘This is about me and Neil, isn’t it?’ I did my best to sound composed, reminding myself that hysteria was a female employee’s worst enemy.
‘Yes, something did happen. I promise you, we weren’t unprofessional, but we did get close on the trip.
And whatever it was … it’s over now. It won’t happen again. ’
There was silence. Stunned silence. Swati looked at Varun and he looked right back at her. Their expressions screamed the same thing: What the hell is she talking about?
‘Kavya,’ Swati said slowly, for once seeming like she didn’t quite know how to proceed. ‘That’s … not what we were referring to.’
Next to her, Varun frowned, rubbing his forehead with two fingers and a thumb. ‘Wait … what do you mean by you and Neil?’
The horror of what I’d just done hit me in slow motion. I’d admitted to a crime no one had accused me of. ‘Nothing,’ I said quickly, as if that would magically erase my admission from their memories. The two of them exchanged another puzzled look.
And then it struck me, with the worst kind of clarity, that this could only be about one other thing. But I wasn’t stupid enough to throw myself under a second bus, so I forced myself to ask, ‘Sorry, what were you guys referring to?’
‘A concern was raised about, er, the qualifications listed on your resume,’ Swati said, choosing her words carefully.
I must’ve looked baffled, because she felt the need to clarify. ‘Your degree, Kavya. The one from the prestigious college listed on your CV? We received information that it may not be accurate.’
My mouth went completely dry. I opened it to respond, but it felt like someone had shoved sandpaper down my throat.
Swati tapped her fingers on the table. ‘We went back to check our records and realized we don’t actually have your degree certificate on file.
’ She paused, giving me an encouraging HR-smile so fake it made me want to scream.
‘So if you could send it over and help clear all of this up …’ She trailed off, then added in a measured tone, ‘Or at least this confusion about your degree.’
My pulse roared in my ears. Heat was creeping up my face and I could no longer feel my fingers and toes.
A million thoughts were scrambling in my head for my attention, tripping over each other as I tried to make sense of what I’d just heard.
My degree. The NYU lie. They knew. They’d found out.
How had they found out? Someone had told them. But no one knew! Except …
‘As for your relationship with your, um, intern …’ Swati continued in that patronizing tone of a principal addressing a troublesome teenager. ‘That, I’m afraid, isn’t as easily resolvable.’
Neil.
The word slammed into me so hard it knocked the breath out of my lungs.
How could he have told them? After everything we’d shared?
How could he go from professing his feelings for me in one moment to blowing up my life the next?
A sharp, cold ache was zipping through my chest and working its way down to my core.
Because you told him you didn’t feel the same way, my brain whispered.
And like plaster cracking loose from a dilapidated building, I felt myself crumble under the weight of that thought.
‘I don’t have that degree certificate.’ A voice that sounded nothing like mine was saying. ‘Because I didn’t go to NYU.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Swati repeated, her voice losing some of its typical neutrality. I could see it written all over her face: This was turning out to be the weirdest HR intervention in the history of HR interventions.
‘I lied about NYU. I wanted to impress Rajat in my interview and it just slipped out …’ The words came out in a shaky rush.
My palms were sweating and my throat was tightening up like someone had wrapped a hand around it.
I didn’t know where to look, so I kept my gaze on the floor, blinking aggressively to stop the onslaught of tears that was threatening to spill.
I could feel both of them gawking at me, but neither Varun nor Swati was saying anything.
It occurred to me that the bizarre turn this meeting had taken had been as much a shock to them as it had been to me.
After what must have been a million years, Swati finally found her voice.
‘This is a grievous breach of trust, Kavya. It puts us in a very difficult position.’
Swati continued talking, but it felt like I had cotton stuffed into my ears.
‘... serious misconduct.’
I didn’t know what was worse—the humiliation, the fear, or the furious, nauseating betrayal burning beneath all of it.
‘Violation of policy …’
Sure, I had rejected Neil. I might have even caused him heartache.
But he didn’t retaliate in some petty but ultimately harmless Jab We Met kind of way, like by burning a photograph of me and flushing it down the toilet or calling me up to cuss me out.
He’d destroyed the only thing I’d built on my own. My career.
‘Questionable professional integrity …’
I tried to breathe, but my lungs felt like they were on fire.
‘Am I—’ My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘Am I getting fired?’
‘No, of course not,’ Varun said. At the exact same time as Swati, who said, ‘We’ll need to discuss this internally.’
For a second, the three of us just stared at one another in silence. Then Varun gave me a small, helpless nod, as if he wanted to reassure me but didn’t really know how.
‘Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Let’s touch base again tomorrow,’ Swati said, placing her hands on the desk to push her chair back.
I stood up on trembling legs and stepped out of the cabin, letting the chatter outside wash over me. My eyes floated instinctively towards Neil’s empty desk.
Of course, he hadn’t shown up. There’s no way he could face me after what he’d done.