Dawn

Chapter 08 - Harbinger

Harbinger

[noun]

an anticipatory sign

When Imlie put her mind to something, she didn't do it in half measures. She attacked her tasks of journal reviews with gusto, eagerly snatching every available avenue of knowledge to fill in the blanks of her mind. Aryan kept her supplied with a steady stream of reading material and books regarding journalism.

"Never take no for an answer from anyone," he'd coached her. "As a journalist, you will need to find a way to get people to answer your questions even if they tell you that they will not."

In addition to everything Aryan threw at her, she'd decided to redo some course material from school to help her catch up to her non-amnesiac peers. He had offered to answer her queries if she had any.

"Mark your questions and leave them on the hallway table. I'll jot down the answers for you later."

That first night, he came home to a stack of 17 post-its with questions on them. The night after that, it was 25. For his own sanity, he instituted a Q&A time in the evenings after dinner. She'd bring over all her material to the library and he'd catch up on work mails while answering questions. It became a routine for them, one that Imlie and Aryan both slipped into with ease.

On one such evening, Imlie was furiously working through some case work for school. She was struggling to find enough references to use and pulled up some old articles from Bhaskar Times when she looked over at Aryan. They each had their own space in the room. Aryan behind his work desk near the window, and Imlie comfortably settled across from him in the Chesterfield sofa, papers littered over the center table.

"Aryan?"

"Hmm?" he responded, typing out a response to a client.

"Do I know an Aditya Kumar Tripathi?"

Aryan's fingers stilled on the keyboard immediately. He looked at her over the edge of the screen, eyes sharp.

"Why do you ask?"

Imlie held up a piece of paper. It was an old article from Bhaskar Times.

"My group mate sent me this as part of the review we are doing together. I just saw the author's name and... I guess... it felt familiar."

She kept her gaze on him, expectantly.

Aryan took a slow breath. He was careful to control the tone in which he spoke the next words.

"Mr. Tripathi has been a reporter with Bhaskar Times for a long time. It's possible you've come across his work before."

He shut his laptop and got up to leave. Imlie looked at the time. It was 9:07 pm. Usually, they ended up working till nearly 10 each night, sometimes sharing a warm drink before heading to their respective bedrooms.

"Leaving already?"

Aryan just nodded, not wanting to meet her eye. He wished her goodnight and left the library as quickly as possible. As he walked to his bedroom, he wondered if he'd ever be rid of the loathing and anger he felt whenever Imlie spoke about Mr. Tripathi.

He'd been spectacularly unsuccessful in trying to get Imlie to move on from that bastard before the accident.

"My feelings don't have an on or off switch. It's possible I might get over him in a week, or a month, or never at all. And that's fine by me," Imlie had reasoned during one of their arguments.

Not by me, he thought vehemently. 

The only reason he'd felt that way, he told himself often, was that he knew Aditya Kumar Tripathi didn't deserve it.