Deceptions

Chapter 1

A twenty-one year old woman clutched the ends of the countertop; shoulders hunched and lips parted in a shaky breath. She slowly lifted her gaze to meet her reflection in the mirror, watching it replicate her imbalanced mental state. The silver band on her wrist clanked against the washbasin as she turned the tap off, and her eyes investigated for any unwanted presence. Every brown doored cubicle behind her was empty, much to her relief.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened in an attempt to grasp some of the confidence her professional persona radiated. She had donned a black pencil skirt that skidded just below her knees and had paired it with a light turquoise shirt with its sleeves rolled up to her elbows. The front of her hair had been twisted into braids, leaving the rest of her jet black waist-length locks loose. She'd worn hoops on her ears and black pumps to match the bold fashion trend she loved.

Yet a tear slipped past her kohled eye, meeting the oxidized nose ring before marring her cheek.

She shut her eyes, forcing herself to prepare for the hurdles ahead. It wouldn't be easy, she knew. Every challenge that one decision brought, was warned to her about. Every wound she pierced herself with, she had been given two months to heal.

But it wasn't enough. When it came to him, nothing was ever enough.

Her lips quivered and her heart sped. The mere thought of him threw her out of control. How was she to face him, to work with him again? She couldn't bare open her soul to him anymore. She had to guard her heart from an impending stampede; a ruckus one look from him could cause. These past two months she had acted indifferently, refusing to surrender the constant heartache. But forget anger, she couldn't even utter his name out loud anymore.

"Vashma?" She turned her head at the familiar voice.

A girl emerged through the door of the women's washroom; a woman her age but opposite to her in every way possible. She wore a peach colored cotton kurta with denim jeans, her brown hair meticulously braided to one side. She had donned a little black bindi on her forehead, her wrists adorned with bangles and a simple wristwatch. Her brows arched in worry at seeing her best friend's condition.

"Are you okay?"

"Absolutely, Amrit," Vashma lifted her shoulders in a callous shrug.

Amrit Singh walked up to her best friend, taking one hand in hers. "You don't have to pretend in front of me, Vashma."

A lump formed in her throat but she swallowed. "I'm not pretending. I was only freshening up before heading over to the airport to pick up a colleague."

Her nonchalant tone could not convince Amrit. "Freshening up or wiping your tears?"

"Why would I cry? It's not like I'm reuniting with someone of my own. You've got that spot safe, dear sister." Vashma rested her hands on her best friend's shoulders.

"I can talk to our boss. We could send someone else and you--"

"It's nothing I can't handle." Her tone turned cold, simmering underneath.

"But--"

"He's just a senior colleague, nothing more." The blurry-eyed woman turned to face the mirror once more, busying herself in fixing her already prim shirt.

"You fell in love with him, Vashma." The bluntness in Amrit's tone startled her. It was a tone she rarely used.

A pair of kohl rimmed eyes shot at her in attack before softening as Vashma scoffed.

"Love? Please, Amrit. It was purely infatuation, nothing more. After all, he is the infamous womanizer at work." Vashma finished with an edge of bitterness as she shuffled with the silver bangle on her wrist.