"Yuti, I think we should hail a cab," Khusi suggested for the umpteenth time, following Yuti for the last 10 minutes in whichever direction she was taking her. The network in her phone was low so Khusi couldn't use Google maps too to pinpoint the Police station.
"No need. I know my way around here."
Khusi didn't have a choice but to follow Yuti's lead due to her lack of information about the town. Finally after walking for about 10 minutes, she stopped in front of a huge pair of steel gates. The town's police station stood proudly behind the gates. An old rustic compound, but the buildings looked like they were recently painted.
Before Khusi could say something, Yuti ran inside as if she owned the place. Khusi's pulse peaked.
"Yuti!" Khusi ran behind her, stumbling on the steps but didn't stop, scared for Yuti's safety. A little girl like her shouldn't be made to face violent and strict people like cops.
But as soon as she stepped inside, her legs halted. Yuri was sitting on top of a police constable's desk, talking animatedly with him, her hands flying in all directions.
"You haven't been taking care of yourself, aren't you Kaden chacha?" Yuti asked the constable, patting his bald head. Khusi grimaced at Yuti's behaviour and quickly sprinted towards her, scared that the cops might throw them out of the police station before they got the chance to file a complaint.
But before Khusi could reach Yuti, the constable chuckled amusingly, shaking his head.
"Nahi maharani sahiba. Aap jo nehi aaye itne dino sai."
(No, your highness. That's because you haven't come for a visit in a long time.)
Khusi's movements halted at the constable's words but before she could say anything else, another officer appeared behind Yuti and took her in his arms, smiling delightedly at her.
"Maharani, hamara cake kaha hai? Apne wada kiya tha na pichle baar?"
(Your highness, where is my cake? Didn't you promise me last time?)
"Off ho! Mai to bhul he gayee. Pakka agli baar leke aayungi Samar chacha." Yuti slapped her forehead, a crease of worry of her face.
(Ahh au! Totally forgot about the cake. I promise to bring it next time, Samar uncle.)
"Rajmata! App kab aaye? Taklif kyu kia? Hume bula lete." Khusi was gaping at the encounter of Yuti with that officer when another voice rang behind her.
(Your highness, when did you arrive? Why did you bother? You could have just called me.)
"Ab kya bataye tumhe Bhuvan. Ish baar hume khud he aana para. Par chalo koi nahin. Kya tum mere aur mere miss k lie icecream mangwa do ge?" Yuti ordered the homeguard.
(What could be said now Bhuvan. This time I had to come myself. But that's okay. Can you please order some ice cream for me and my miss?)
"Zarur!" Before Khusi could refuse, the homeguard quickly sprinted out of the police station.
(Of course!)
Khusi couldn't decipher what was going on around her. The officers in duty were treating Yuti like some kind of royalty, none of their aura stern or behaviour, scary.
To say Khusi was shocked would have been an understatement. Khusi was baffled. That was not what she was expecting when she had walked in the police station.
"Yuti ma?"
Yuti was still chatting with one of the constables, not even paying any attention to Khusi, when her gaze slided towards the cell. A man was sitting behind the bars, calling Yuti, a wide beam plastered to his face.
YOU ARE READING
Not Her
Romance"I don't want to become a mother." This line is a taboo for women in some parts of the world, and so was for Khusi Mukherjee. At the age of 25, independent and single, she wanted to live her life according to her rules. But everything changed when...
