Arylie FF: I'm Happy Here With You

twenty ~ ye fitoor mera

dheeme dheeme jal rahi thi khwaishein

dil mein dabi, ghut rahi farmaaishein

zindagi ne ki hai kaisi saazishein

poori hui dil ki wo farmaishein

... ... ...

She should have named him Annoying Bikat Prani, not Ajeeb Bikat Prani, Imlie thought ruefully early next morning as she saw him lounging in the downstairs living room, watching the news on mute and eating his breakfast.

He was in an uncharacteristically good mood and Imlie could only attribute it to last night. Because unless he's Batman by the night, what could have he achieved in the handful of hours since they'd danced in the kitchen late last night?

And here she, moron that she was, felt a furious flush creeping up her face every time she thought of last night.

It was just a dance, you've danced plenty with him, haven't you?

But was it? Just a dance? It felt more, so much more.

He said all those words!

But it was just a song, he was just singing a song, which, yes, is very romantic but that's no reason to take it too seriously. It was not that deep, sometimes a song was just a song.

Imlie wanted to throw something at him and his smug face. She'd had her breakfast of multiple aloo parathas with multiple chutneys, and was now drinking a fat mug of tea. And even though he'd started almost at the same time as her, he was still working his one bowl yogurt with a handful of blueberries and muesli. He was relishing it as if this was the best food on earth. Also, instead of choosing to eat at the dining table, or the breakfast bar adjacent to the kitchen, he was eating in the living room, in front of a TV!

This was not normal behavior and Imlie was sure he was doing it only to irritate her. She had no idea why this was so annoying though. Should I throw tea at him? Nah, he'll get burnt, also would ruin such a beautiful suit.

Imlie's anger cooled a bit as she observed him, leaning back on the sectional sofa, legs stretched on the coffee table. He was dressed in almost the same gray as the sofa but still managed to stand out. Aryan Singh Rathore didn't blend in.

"You have a board meeting, don't you? You'll be late," Imlie knew she was nagging, but, eh, he could use some irritation in life.

"Yes."

"Why are you still here, you will be late."

"I have time," his voice was still even. That won't do.

"Shwetaji said you can not be late," Imlie continued.

That did it, he turned his neck to look at her, "Shweta-ji? Are you now taking instructions from her, is Shweta-ji your new Neta-ji?"

Imlie did it. She threw the cushion, "I've seen what traffic is like here. Your office is some distance away, you'll never make it on time."

He caught the cushion and threw it back. "Relax, I know a shortcut."

"You are bluffing, there is no shortcut."

"Not bluffing."

"Who do you think you are? They'll not make the roads clear for you!"

"Who said anything about road?" Aryan raised his eyebrow in question. The timing was exactly right as the sound of powerful engines and motor blades filled the place. "Listen," he spinned his index finger in a spiraling motion and made a soft ratatatata hum from the back of his throat. It was unnecessarily sexy. "And that," he stood up, "Imlie, would be my queue."