Bombay Romance ♡ COMPLETED

[ 50 ] I Just Need Fifteen Minutes ■

'When did you leave it at my house? You never told me anything about such confidential file,' Amarnath asks testily as they stride across the parkway of his house. The night sky stretches far and wide above.

'Parson. You were drunk, acting like Devdas,' Murali answers bluntly.

'Don't ... call me that, behenchod,' Amarnath glares, striding across the porch. 'Which file is this? And why did you drag me all the way home for it? It's still eight-'

His words halt abruptly as he stops dead in his tracks seeing Gauri seated on the sofa, her face opaque.

'Sorry, Amar. I Had to do this,' Murali says, closing the door. 'I'll be outside.'

Amarnath looks at the door and then at Gauri. Her eyes, always bright and twinkling, are not lined with kohl today and seem oddly empty. It looks like she's done quite a bit of crying recently. Amarnath suddenly senses a sharp bolt of pain in the stomach.

Gauri realizes this is the same place they had hugged and kissed for the first time. She swallows a difficult lump in her throat and rises as he begins to speak.

'I just need fifteen minutes,' she tries to keep her voice business-like.

Amarnath shuts his mouth abruptly and stares at the wall. No, he can't face her now. No. 'I already told you ... there's nothing to tal-'

'You don't need to say anything, alright, just listen to what I'm gonna say!' she snaps so loud that he takes a step back, startled.

Gauri has to take a deep breath to calm herself, flexing her fingers as her nails dig into his palm.

'God, look at your face,' she says with a grimace. 'Don't even feel like yelling at you. How many days has it been since you shaved?'

Amarnath looks rather messy with his shirt half tucked off his belt, hair dishevelled and face unshaven with a thin stubble.

'I heard your drunk talk; the day before yesterday,' she crosses her arms. 'Murali had put the phone on speaker.'

Amarnath swivels to look at the main door, jaw tightening as he swears inwardly.

'I told him to do it,' she adds. 'You can be angry with me for that.'

He turns back to her, avoiding eye contact.

'It's quite a list of problems you've got; to prove I wouldn't be happy with you. First of all, I can very well decide on my happiness on my own and I've not handed over those rights to anyone,' she steps forward dangerously. 'Not even you.'

Amarnath takes a corresponding step back.

'You said I wouldn't even have looked at you if you weren't an IPS officer. Maybe I wouldn't have. Is that wrong?' she questions genuinely.

He looks at her, blinking.

'Are you an IPS officer by birth? Or did someone gift that title to you? It is something you've earned with hard work and struggle. What's wrong if that is one of the reasons I like you?'

Now, how to answer such a direct, genuine question?

'I wouldn't be the exact same person if I were, say, a doctor, like my parents. O-Or a high school teacher!' she shrugs. 'Our profession makes up a huge part of who we are. It defines our actions, lifestyle and decisions. So if I adore you for that, you should be proud.'

Amarnath doesn't know what to say at this honest declaration.

'I'm guessing you heard Tara near the buffet counter at the Taj,' Gauri continues. 'First of all, she's not my friend. My friends are those who addressed you as "Sir". And you won't believe how good I felt that day.'