Dabara Tumbler

Alexa, Play Kaadhal Kasakkuthaiyyaa

9. Alexa, Play Kaadhal Kasakkuthaiyyaa

A/N:

I thought I will update this chapter before a week's time of last update, but alas, I couldn't.

So, here I am doing it with delay of one day-_-

And I am not really pleased with this update, guys. I know, I know, I said the same for the previous chapter. But this chapter seemed to suffer me a lot—there was no intense scene, or a romantic scene, yet I couldn't bring words out the way I really wanted. This is a troubled chapter, I'd say.

Anyways, here's it. Please do let me know what do you think about it in the comments.

Meaning of the title: Kaadhal kasakkuthaiyyaa is a famous love-failure song from an old, Tamizh movie. It literally means, Love is bitter. There are tons of sad, love-failure songs in Tamizh cinema, but none can match this one, and as whimsical as this one is; also, I did not want a serious aura to this chapter.

Now, into the chapter:)

***

"Khushi, how are you so sure?"

Spinning around in her rolling chair, and padding her feet strenuously to maneuver the chair to Khushi's side, Meena rustled in Khushi's ears.

Ever since she had learned Khushi's apprehension about Raghav and Himani, Meena couldn't stay put.

She had managed to drag herself through the whole previous day, and one freakin night as such—wired about the possibility Khushi'd mooned over to her in their text messages.

Perhaps, it was still a possibility—not a staid, firmly established truth. But there was an insubstantial likelihood of it—her best friend and her best friend—coming into existence. And there was something about it that kept Meena worked up.

She needed to know what was Khushi thinking about them, and what was the probability of her cupidity.

Granting all the grill she'd made the moment Khushi texted about it the previous morning, she'd not wanted to compromise her rights of giving rein to taunt Raghav or master about Khushi's acumen on it.

Charging it up, Raghav's demeanor since he came to office this morning wasn't doing her any favor. And an intrigued Meena could never buckle herself in her seat to work.

Khushi averted her fixated gaze from her monitor to cast a side glance at Raghav. He was having a photo on screen, widespread; his brows were puckered assiduously, and his eyes were tightened, cramped and homed in on his desktop screen. Not at all paying attention to the two heads huddled together energetically schmoozing about him, he lunged towards Meena's seat to his right, grabbing a pencil from her pen-stand, he flopped back to his chair and started scribbling something that only he understood, in a piece of paper.

She raced away her confounded eyes to Meena's, and signalled her to take a note of his uninformed, resolute mien.

Meena, with her brows concernedly etched, shot out a transient look at him.

He was consigned at his desktop, minding his own work so willfully, without having opened his mouth in the past half hour—and not even aware of the fact that they were gabbing about him.

She sucked in a sharp breath to deal with the setting of him heeding his work alone, in front of her eyes—well, Raghav and not-talking-for-ten-minutes never went together—and it was a tremendous phenomenon to deal with. Whilst, usually, he was the one that chattered and prattled aimlessly and endlessly; and the one that kept pulling one's legs in the middle of work; and the one that never had mouth closed for a brief time, altogether.