Dil Beparwah | ✔

forty two

||CHAPTER 42||
《¤》

┊V A R U N┊

Black coffee sucked.

What sucked more was the grimy feeling that began settling when she backed off.

I needed the space. I needed her to not get so googly-eyed over a book she could live without opening. I needed her to not make an extra mug of black coffee because that really, really sucked. So much that it actually numbed the ringing in my forehead for a few moments. Moments that I dragged by drinking all of it. Without milk, without sugar. Bitterly brewed. Hot. Acrid.

Kind of like the trust she blindly placed on my publisher.

Yeah, may be my migraine-induced douche head energy was slightly misplaced. I shouldn't have snapped at her. But seeing the book that I had finally mustered the focus to read a night ago in her hands, watching her lips curl in amusement over memories private to me... just felt so bloody ironic that it just knocked my senses out. It was not a breakfast read for me. It wasn't a dining table conversation for me.

She didn't know, was the explanation. She didn't need to know, the consolation. Latika wasn't my secret. But she still meant a lot to me. Enough to keep our matters intimate.

Bottom line being, it irked me. Throughout the day. Five cups of cutting chai, each a notorious reminder that her reading LATITUDES didn't equal to her prying about my personal life. And then this very thought irked me some more.

Meetings whirred by, and it took me an afternoon of mindless staring at the flat plan of the magazine's next issue to realize that it wasn't just her blind faith on Mikesh that was bothering me. It was this insane need of mine to have her trust me, even though she shouldn't. She was smarter than that.

Several minutes passed before I heard the distant ding of an elevator. Sound of heels clicking reverberated in the hollow parking lot, slowing down as she neared my car. I got out too, slamming the door shut behind me.

"Hey."

"Hi. I got your text."

Blue ticks weren't in vain, after all. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she rounded over to the other side of my car. "Varun? Are you okay? You look a little—"

"Yeah, no, I'm fine," I said. "About earlier, look... mera sachme woh matlab nahi thha. I'm really sorry."

She took a moment to absorb, but didn't make a big deal out of it. Simply nodded and quietly slipped in. She had recently sprinkled some perfume, I could tell because the smell was strong. Somehow, despite my headache, I could bear it.

Honest words rolled out of my tongue. "Black coffee sucks, by the way."

"You might wanna apologize again."

I chuckled, pulling out of the lot. "I know a place near my home. Irani Cafe, three generations old. Authentic, fresh and makes the best beverages. I'll take you there someday."

"Someday?" She caught on. "Hum ab kaha jaa rahe hai?"

I tapped the address Mihir had sent earlier, setting up the GPS. "A party."