Dil Beparwah | ✔

fifteen

||CHAPTER 15||
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┊A R V I K A┊

It wasn't easy finding a particular journalist on Instagram, but when I tapped on an impassive Varun Malhotra that I did recognize, I jolted at the sudden intervention that was Karan leaning leisurely against the ivory door frames of the balcony. "What are you doing?"

Hoping that I did not end up double tapping on the picture of him in a blue shirt and khaki shorts, relaxing in the beaches of Goa with a beer jug in hand?! "Work."

"Work?" He accused, with narrowed eyebrows. "Work usually wipes off any and every reason for me to be happy. You were trying to hide a smile."

"I happen to actually enjoy what I do," I shrugged, moving past him to step back into the living room of the penthouse apartment we had checked into a few hours ago. It wasn't inherently mine, not directly anyway. It belonged to the Deewan Group of Companies, and a place offered to only the top-tier positions of our company. I wasn't its very first occupant, though I have had to live here on multiple occasions. Presently, it had been vacant for three months and the care-taker was kind enough to arrange everything I'd be needing for the month-long schedule until the end of Project DEEV.

Karan trailed behind me, mumbling in his drunk, sing-song voice. "Arvika Deewan being a maniac, work calls being her aphrodisiac."

It wasn't my fault that the caller's voice on the phone had made me clench my thighs in a certain way. With one leg folded underneath, I sat down and humored him, clinking our almost empty bottles of Budweiser. "Karan Bahl being a prick—"

"—and yet chicks unable to resist his dìçķ, yeah!"

I could barf, but decided to chug the beer down instead. It burnt severely, but I managed to keep it down. A really bad decision, because in less than twenty four hours, we had to show up prim, proper and dressed to the nines at my mother's tenth anniversary celebration. Gah, more barf, more beer.

His attention shifted quickly to the TV mounted on the wall opposite us, a live commentary and pre-interview session of drivers and experts before the race still being played before the competition could begin. He couldn't get the race out of him. Was I glad that he was forcing me to be there for him, though? To keep him grounded for the few hours he could watch his half sister compete against his competitor? Or was it me simply trying to make myself feel less guilty for dragging him into what my father predicted was going to be an ugly mess?

While I contemplated these deep drunken dilemmas, he reached for the remote and increased the volume. Saumya Kaushal's cautious, nervous voice against the background of noisy engine purring filled the entire room.

Nah, I really did not want to watch twenty cars racing laps and changing wheels and talking cars. That was pure torture, one that continued well into the morning hours of the next day. Waking up at seven seemed no less than a post workout exhaustion, what with the race's live telecast finally coming to an end at four. Of course I had slept through the entire race too– but the couch was uncomfortable and Karan wasn't as comfortable as Ritwik used to be, and cuddling with Ritwik was pretty much not an option. Drowsy, I was drowsy and not making sense at all.

Stretching, I padded out of the living room area and into the room I had wheeled in my luggage last night. The bed was untouched and looked so very inviting. The urge was tempting, but I fought it and started brushing my teeth.