CHAPTER 8 Kavita
Kavita
Sunlight seeps through the curtains, casting a faint early-morning glow as I stretch and open my eyes. It takes a moment to gather my bearings and realize I’ve fallen asleep on one of the couches in the boutique, not in my bed at home.
Now, as I laze on the couch, not fully awake, thoughts of Neel invade my mind. The way he helped me with the bell and his concern about my unlocked front door.
I remembered taking his measurements. Despite my best efforts to remain professional, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing stirring within me.
I had to fight the urge to run my fingers over his pecs as the warmth of his body radiated through the thin fabric of his shirt.
To know I was close to kissing him if Ramu had not appeared then.
I hold my palms to my face to settle the heat rising in my cheeks.
Even now, my visceral reaction to Neel makes my breath raspy.
It’s hopeless, even as I try to calm my breathing.
As more thoughts of Neel flit into my mind—the crinkle along the sides of his eyes, his laugh at something I said—a sudden urge to curl my fingers into his light silver-flecked hair pops out of nowhere.
My heart flutters at the memory of his warm smile. I can’t deny the attraction I feel.
To think he forgot all about Elena’s bag after that. And to wonder…
Does Neel like me back? I suck in a quick breath.
A niggle of curiosity raises its head unexpectedly, but my thoughts race to dismiss it. I don’t want to seem foolish if it turns out to be nothing. I’d rather not dwell on it. Besides, once Elena’s dress is done, it’s rather unlikely that we’ll run into each other.
A dull ache settles in my chest at the thought. I take a deep breath, shaking off the last of the lingering thoughts, and finally get off the couch.
I splash water on my face at the pantry sink, accidentally wetting my t-shirt, before grabbing a towel to dry off. Despite the puffiness under my eyes from the lack of sleep, I manage a smile in the mirror.
With no appointments scheduled and no one else around, I have the freedom to do as I please. I decide to make myself a cup of ginger tea and settle into the bay window seat, enjoying the view of the street adorned with delightful Tabebuia blooms. The weather is chilly this morning.
I sink back into a cushion and prop my feet on the window seat.
As I sip my tea, movement on the street outside catches my eye. Could that be Neel?
I lean forward, craning my neck to catch a glimpse out the window. My heart quickens at the sight of his figure jogging past.
What a surprise! It is him, clad in a shirt and gym shorts, his calf muscles glistening in the sunlight as his legs pound the pavement. He glances up at my window as he flashes by the boutique.
Could he be looking for me?
As Neel disappears down the block, I sit back, the glimmer of excitement dashed as quickly as it appeared. Maybe I’d thought he’d stop by, but I guess not. Then again, perhaps he’s always been a regular runner in this area, and it’s the first time I’ve noticed him. But I didn’t know Neel ran here.
With the park across the street, this area is a favorite among runners and exercise enthusiasts.
Sometimes, I spot familiar faces going to the park. Like the old man with a walking stick who takes slow, measured walks around the block, a young couple in matching gym clothes, or the middle-aged woman with her talkative son, whom she scolds every time he slows her down.
The front doorbell rings as I continue sipping my tea. I shuffle to the door and open it, my heart skipping a beat when I see Neel standing there. I’m so surprised I don’t know what to say.
“Hi,” I manage, trying to keep my voice steady. “I think I saw you earlier. Do you run here?”
“Yeah, I do.” He gives a sheepish smile. “I just...forgot Elena’s bag the other night. I can’t believe I did that. I thought I’d stop by to pick it up after my run.”
“Oh, right,” I say, and retrieve it from where I’d set it aside. Our fingers brush as I hand it over, sending a tingly spark of warmth up my arm.
“Thanks,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. For a moment, it seems like he might say something more, but then he just stands there, and we stare at each other.
“Would you like to come in?” I ask, breaking the silence.
He continues staring for a beat, as if he hasn’t heard me. Then suddenly, his eyes widen. “No!” he exclaims, then quickly adds, “I mean, I’m late for work.”
“Of course,” I nod, a little too hard, perhaps. “Of course, you have to go to work. And so do I,” I add with a laugh.
“Well, thanks again,” he says, his smile pushing away my early morning grogginess faster than the tea I just had.
Then he turns around. I watch him walk away, then slowly close the door. The boutique suddenly feels a bit emptier than it did a moment ago.
Later, I trudge upstairs to my apartment. I occupy myself with a late breakfast, some home cleaning, a long shower, and finally, a late lunch. Still, thoughts of Neel linger in my head as I walk into the boutique’s reception around midday.
Manjula greets me while her son, Rohit, looks up from the set of blocks he’s been playing with and runs toward me, hugging my legs.
“Hi, Didi!” he yells out affectionately.
“Hi, Rohit!” I bend down to his level and give him a tight hug, then hand him the healthy cookies my mother packed for him yesterday.
“Thank you!” He claims his treat with a huge smile on his face and toddles back to his spot to continue playing.
“You’ll spoil him,” Manjula says, smiling. “He expects you to bring him something every week.”
“I only visit Mom once a week, and she loves Rohit,” I say, feeling guilty as charged. “I know I should tell Mom not to, but these are healthy,” I say as I hand over another box of cookies to her. “Some for you too. Mom was trying out ragi cookies.”
“You spoil me as well,” Manjula says, accepting the box with a smile. “I can’t resist your mother’s delicious cookies even if I tried.” A moment later, a flash of worry crosses her face. “There’s something I wanted to show you.”
“What happened? Is everything okay?”
She goes to her desk, pulls out a newspaper clipping, and hands it to me. “Is this about us?”
I scan the article. It discusses a redevelopment project near the park. According to the location mentioned, the corner plot—which is our building—and the park will be affected.
Bile rises in my throat. I don’t want to lose my boutique.
I sink into a nearby chair. “This is about us, and we have to do something about it.”
But I have no idea what to do. My lease will be up in less than two months, and I still haven’t been able to get ahold of our landlord, Venkat. Even if I did, I don’t have the money that I might need to make a good offer on this property so that he’ll sell it to me.
“We have to do something, but I just can’t think right now,” I tell Manjula, who nods her head and astutely leaves me alone with my thoughts.
I text Kiara and Khushi, asking them to meet me at the boutique this evening to help me think about what to do.
Then, I make myself a cup of chamomile tea and settle down with a new wedding dress I’ve been working on.
As I work on the sketch, my thoughts settle, and a sense of peace and calm slowly descends over me.
Work is the one thing that brings me peace.
I spend several hours scouring magazines for inspiration, laying out different color and fabric choices, and drinking many cups of tea.
I finally have something that I think will work.
There are a few finishing touches left, and I’m almost done when Kiara and Khushi arrive.
Rohit charms them with his usual antics, and then Manjula and Rohit leave. As we settle down with cups of tea, Khushi and Kiara look at me expectantly.
“What’s this meeting about?” Khushi asks.
Kiara takes my hands in hers. “Is everything alright?”
I take a deep breath. “Manjula showed me this news article today.” I pull out the paper and hand it to them.
A look of shock crosses their faces as they read the article.
Kiara is the first to recover. “It says you’re about to lose this building to a shopping mall.”
Khushi’s eyes widen. “The park too?”
I nod. “I’m about to lose my boutique. And our park…”
“They can’t do this!” Kiara says.
Khushi frowns. “Looks like they can. How can we stop them?”
“I was thinking about organizing a charity fashion show,” I say, explaining the idea that I’d had while working on my client’s dress earlier. “If I could raise some funds, I could buy this building, and we can save it and the park.”
Kiara’s face lights up. “That’s a great idea! I can help!”
“Count me in, too!” Khushi says, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “We’ll be saving this neighborhood from turning into another lifeless commercial district.”
We are all thrilled with the idea.
“I have some more thoughts,” I say, referring to the long list I’ve created. “We need a theme for the outfits. We also need to find models, coordinate fittings, and have rehearsals. Plus, there’s the actual event planning. There’s a lot to do.”
Kiara goes through the list, her finger tracing the page, and looks up at me, nodding. “You’ve covered pretty much everything. I can handle the stage setup and backstage logistics.”
“I’ll take care of the music and anything else you need me for,” Khushi adds.
“We’ll have to set up practice dates. I can use my place,” I say, quickly checking my calendar to see if there’s a way to squeeze in practice on the days I don’t have evening appointments.
We sip on tea as we go through all that we’ve discussed, making sure we’ve covered most of it. We might be able to do it in a month, six weeks tops, if we plan carefully.
“Looks like we should get started soon,” Kiara says, picking up one of the ragi cookies I’ve set in front of them. She dips it into her tea and takes a bite. “Oh my God! Delicious!”
“Right?” I say, biting into one myself. “It’s become Mom’s latest passion since semi-retirement. Oh, I almost forgot. She’s invited you both over for dinner.”
“I’d love to come!” Khushi exclaims, bouncing with excitement.
“Me too!” Kiara laughs.
As we munch on the cookies and sip our tea, it feels like old times again. We used to spend so much time at each other’s homes, and most of the meals were at my place because my mother loved treating us to all the new things she tried out.
Then we get back to work, brainstorming more ideas. I don’t know how long we’ve been talking. I get more and more excited as things begin to take shape.
“But there’s a slight problem,” I say, interrupting the discussions.
The models. I don’t know how we’re going to find them. Kiara suggests tapping a few agencies, but I’m not entirely convinced. We don’t have that much time.
There’s the hair and makeup, too. But that’s secondary and much easier to handle.
Kiara agrees. “We’ll hire hair and makeup artists or go DIY, depending on what fits into the budget.”
“And the event logistics?” Khushi adds. “That’s a big one too.”
By then, my head is already spinning.