Read Online After All This Time by Nikita Singh - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nikita Singh
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the exact same thing. The method of eating is not going to affect the taste.’
‘Fine. You’re only ruining it for yourself.’ Shourya knew she was not going to do it his way now, especially because he had asked her to.
‘I am not.’ Lavanya turned to her mother and said, ‘It is delicious, Mom. Have you eaten?’
‘Yes, I ate with your father. He got late for work after all. His car would not start again; it has been giving him so much trouble recently.’
‘Why, what’s wrong?’ Lavanya asked between bites.
‘It is so old. I keep telling him to buy a new one, but he never listens. He takes my car when I am not using it.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me when I was taking your car in the morning? I could have walked,’ Lavanya did not look up from her plate.
‘Oh, he did not want to bother you . . .’
Shourya noticed Lavanya’s lower lip twitch. Her hands stalled next to her plate for a moment, and then it passed. She nodded and resumed eating.
‘Aunty, this really is delicious,’ Shourya said brightly.
‘Take one more, beta,’ Mrs Suryavanshi said, and put another paratha on his plate.
Shourya did not understand what had happened, but the air in the room felt thick with stress. They had shifted from a comfortable, warm atmosphere to a chilly one in a matter of seconds. He tried to get everyone to talk again, but his cheer felt forced.
After breakfast, Shourya got up to leave and Lavanya walked him to the door. He paused at the front steps, the very spot where they had shared so many secrets and worries. It may have been a different time, but he wondered if the ghosts haunting Lavanya were still the same.
As if sensing what he was about to ask, Lavanya murmured, ‘Not now, Shourya.’
He tried to read her expression, but she was making it impossible—looking away from him, her face blank.
‘Are you still—?’ he began to ask, but she cut him off.
‘Give me your phone.’
When he handed it over, she saved her number into his contacts list and placed it back in his palm, holding his hand for a second before pulling away.
‘Call me soon?’ Lavanya asked, looking up at him, a half-smile on her face. Then, without waiting for his response, she turned around and went back inside.
5
‘It’s really not my thing,’ she insisted.
‘It’s every lawyer’s thing,’ the handsome man with the tiny ponytail persisted.
‘Thank you, but not me.’
‘Your call,’ he shrugged. ‘But keep this. Let me know if you change your mind.’
‘I won’t . . .’
But he was already gone. She got off the bar stool, wobbling for a moment on her five-inch heels. She looked over at the table in the corner where her colleagues from PSM were sitting. This was
the
hub for lawyers, most of them turning to alcohol and cocaine after the end of every week. She was never welcome there.
As she stepped out of the pub, the wind blew her hair away from her face. The napkin with the hastily scrawled phone number was still in her hand. She pocketed it.
Lavanya was having trouble opening her eyes. Her forehead felt all scrunched up, as if it had been like that for hours. She tried to relax her forehead muscles, but failed. She tried to smoothen them out with her fingers but they went back to being a furrow within a matter of seconds.
She fumbled with the comforter, trying to reach her cell phone. The satin of the bed sheet felt cool to her warm fingers before they landed on the hard metallic phone. The digits popping up in front of her New York skyline wallpaper told her it was 1.23 p.m.
She groaned.
Her throat was dry; she had been breathing through her mouth all night, and her nose was blocked. Having lived in New York for the past year, she had arrogantly assumed a fleece sweatshirt would be enough protection against the Delhi cold.
She sat up and lowered her feet to the floor. The tiles were freezing and she quickly pulled her legs up and tucked them under her to warm them. She sat there, trying to
‘Fine. You’re only ruining it for yourself.’ Shourya knew she was not going to do it his way now, especially because he had asked her to.
‘I am not.’ Lavanya turned to her mother and said, ‘It is delicious, Mom. Have you eaten?’
‘Yes, I ate with your father. He got late for work after all. His car would not start again; it has been giving him so much trouble recently.’
‘Why, what’s wrong?’ Lavanya asked between bites.
‘It is so old. I keep telling him to buy a new one, but he never listens. He takes my car when I am not using it.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me when I was taking your car in the morning? I could have walked,’ Lavanya did not look up from her plate.
‘Oh, he did not want to bother you . . .’
Shourya noticed Lavanya’s lower lip twitch. Her hands stalled next to her plate for a moment, and then it passed. She nodded and resumed eating.
‘Aunty, this really is delicious,’ Shourya said brightly.
‘Take one more, beta,’ Mrs Suryavanshi said, and put another paratha on his plate.
Shourya did not understand what had happened, but the air in the room felt thick with stress. They had shifted from a comfortable, warm atmosphere to a chilly one in a matter of seconds. He tried to get everyone to talk again, but his cheer felt forced.
After breakfast, Shourya got up to leave and Lavanya walked him to the door. He paused at the front steps, the very spot where they had shared so many secrets and worries. It may have been a different time, but he wondered if the ghosts haunting Lavanya were still the same.
As if sensing what he was about to ask, Lavanya murmured, ‘Not now, Shourya.’
He tried to read her expression, but she was making it impossible—looking away from him, her face blank.
‘Are you still—?’ he began to ask, but she cut him off.
‘Give me your phone.’
When he handed it over, she saved her number into his contacts list and placed it back in his palm, holding his hand for a second before pulling away.
‘Call me soon?’ Lavanya asked, looking up at him, a half-smile on her face. Then, without waiting for his response, she turned around and went back inside.
5
‘It’s really not my thing,’ she insisted.
‘It’s every lawyer’s thing,’ the handsome man with the tiny ponytail persisted.
‘Thank you, but not me.’
‘Your call,’ he shrugged. ‘But keep this. Let me know if you change your mind.’
‘I won’t . . .’
But he was already gone. She got off the bar stool, wobbling for a moment on her five-inch heels. She looked over at the table in the corner where her colleagues from PSM were sitting. This was
the
hub for lawyers, most of them turning to alcohol and cocaine after the end of every week. She was never welcome there.
As she stepped out of the pub, the wind blew her hair away from her face. The napkin with the hastily scrawled phone number was still in her hand. She pocketed it.
Lavanya was having trouble opening her eyes. Her forehead felt all scrunched up, as if it had been like that for hours. She tried to relax her forehead muscles, but failed. She tried to smoothen them out with her fingers but they went back to being a furrow within a matter of seconds.
She fumbled with the comforter, trying to reach her cell phone. The satin of the bed sheet felt cool to her warm fingers before they landed on the hard metallic phone. The digits popping up in front of her New York skyline wallpaper told her it was 1.23 p.m.
She groaned.
Her throat was dry; she had been breathing through her mouth all night, and her nose was blocked. Having lived in New York for the past year, she had arrogantly assumed a fleece sweatshirt would be enough protection against the Delhi cold.
She sat up and lowered her feet to the floor. The tiles were freezing and she quickly pulled her legs up and tucked them under her to warm them. She sat there, trying to
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