Himani exited the bathroom, when delicate tufts of the sunlight had started faltering over the crinkled bed, seeping through her window shields. Sauntering over to the windows, she pushed the screens apart as the balmy, luminous light glistened at her face.
She dumped the used up clothes in the laundry basket and strolled up to her wardrobe, soft whorls of her lush hair skidding over her shoulders.
She singled out her most favorite chef jacket that was tidy, wrinkle free and was hanging—the pearl gray one, with her name embroidered on the breast pocket, that her mom had gifted her as she graduated from the culinary school—it was a neat zip-pocket, grey chef coat that had black colored collars, buttons and cuffs. Standing on her edgy toes, she reached for the matching pair of gray stretch pants, from the top-most shelf and flung it on the bed, over the coat.
Shutting the wardrobe close, Himani brought her everyday backpack to her bed and started sardining her quintessences—the jacket, the pants, her black checked apron that had her hotel's logo printed on it, the white and clean neckerchief, the side towels, her notepad, a thermometer with its box and a pen.
She moved in front of the mirror and snagged a little minute to take a keen and closer look at her twiggy, lank frame. She rallied all the delinquent curls of her hair and nestled them in a knot of a bun. Her face evidenced freshness, walloping excitement, tolerably frenzy and stunted spots of acne spread over her cheeks. And the cheeks were beginning to give mild flushes—she liked to tell herself that it was because of the shower in the hot water she had had, a while ago.
But it wasn't just that to contribute to all the scorching and reddening.
It was going to be a big day. She was going to head the scopious lunch and dinner prep for a bunch of swanky business executives in the kitchen she worked in, right now—it's called the Prego.
It'd been only a few weeks since Himani had been into this kitchen. Previously, she was deputed in an Italian restaurant inside the same hotel.
And her present kitchen was totally an anomaly from her former one.
Her head chef was on off and she was left with this day's prep to be taken care of, accompanied by a batch of young interns in her kitchen.
To Himani, cooking single-handedly did not give as much as terror as having to cook in group and oversee the kitchen, with no help and maintaining patience to incessant calling and questions and complaints.
Zipping up her backpack, she slumped down at her bed gasping a long-winded breath and felt her nape and shoulder starting to stiffen due to the stagnant distress reinforcing her insides. Letting the knots of stress weaving into her muscles, lay off, Himani attempted in slouching herself, a trifling bit.
Labouring some control over her breathing, she could sense it shift from strained, shaky ones to composed, orderly breaths.
She knew she was going to be uptight and irritable in the kitchen today.
She knew her kitchen was going to be filled with the explosion of those young, budding cooks calling her up, 'chef, chef, chef, chef,' for every little move they made.
She knew she was going to work her body and mind off to numb, by the end of the all-day grind.
She knew she hadn't all the poise and sufferance to skirmish through this day, yet willed for it to be secretly present and to prevail, till the evening.
She put on her backpack as she roved out of her bedroom and locked its door. She had already packed Raghav's food as soon as she finished preparing it and had kept it on the kitchen cabinet, for his breakfast and lunch. Although there was only meager time to fix his breakfast and lunch, she did not want to crease herself from the responsibility and devoir she had.
Suppressing a yawn with the back of her fingers in the kitchen after having turned the stove off, she snooped at the wall clock—it was six-twenty five in the morning. The tightly sealed door of Raghav's reported her that he wasn't totally awake, yet.
Since the day he was here, it was Raghav who left the house first, between the two. Today was no same and she had to acquaint him of that, before she fled away.
Himani walked down to his door, her hands jiggling each other and her mind becoming a whirlwind of thoughts.
Would it be kosher to wake him up, before he did it himself?
Would she take it without being crotchety, if she were him?
The answer was no—to both the questions.
Debating over it to herself only loomed her that she was losing all the time she had to march out to meet the day.
Stopping the brooding session, taking an assuring breath, she raised her hand, fisted that turned up a resounding bang on the door.
Raghav bowled to his back, his eyes auburn, half-closed and slumbersome, as the consonant knock drifted through to him. Sparely alert, he groped over the sheets for his mobile phone, not able to take in the calling from the other side of the door.
Within an interval of two minutes, the door was knocked again—this time louder and incessant, without giving him the time and space to experiment ways inside his head to ignore it gracefully.
Grunting out an appetent, snappy breath, he tossed off the sheets and sat up. When he was just getting it together with his boxers as he stood up, the knocking showed up again.
Impatient at it, he ran a hand over his scrubby face, trying to rub the weariness off.
Why was this madness happening to him alone this morning?
Why was this house owner getting so cruel on him even before he woke up?
Heck, he had just opened his eyes, and needed his tiny private time before he met anyone straight from bed.
"Will you please give me a sec? I am just waking up!" he yelped, crankily slipping into his trousers to answer the door.
Himani bit her lips in front of his door, in the way his voice sounded—querulous but raspy with sleep dripping in it. It cluttered her more than it should. She cleared her throat and folded her arms close to her body, as in holding herself together and flagging her racing mind. Then she muttered, "Alright," which swam back into her throat, half way through it.
It was to both Raghav and her—and for the latter one, to assure that it was accountable to get a part of this edgy at times, which did not happen frequently. The longish, warm haul of fresh air soaked her lungs, as she let her gaze wander around the empty walls aimlessly.
The door opened cracking in few seconds and Raghav stepped out in his half-trousers and tee, hand in hair, raking it mussed up; his eyes, hazel brown and still sleeping; his feet, blimp and naked. As he traipsed down to her, Himani flashed an apologetic smile, "Hey, good morning," she spoke, her voice too airy.
Addled at the niceness she was showing at him, he beheld her eyes in an upset glare and muttered grumpily. "Early morning, it is. Not a good one."
"I am sorry about it. I have to leave to work early today and I just wanted to inform you—" as she babbled perpetually, Raghav's voice broke in.
"You could've left me a text!" his reply stumped her on face—he wasn't rude but the impact it gave out on Himani, about herself and what she'd done was definitely rude. Following his words, the reality stumped her on face. What was she really doing and why? She could've left a text, as Raghav said. It would've made things easier.
Why didn't it occur to her before she set her foot in doing this absurdity of knocking at his door!
Bugger; She wanted to shriek for exposing her stupidity—it stood on the tip of her tongue to be unleashed but she wantedly restrained herself from doing it and just told, "I could have done that. Just pre-occupied about the day ahead and couldn't contemplate anything. I apologise for waking you up. I have your breakfast and lunch packed—they're in the kitchen," She was beginning to rattle, grimly, like she had to finish telling everything she had in her mind.
Raghav could fathom her nerves from the way she appeared today. His eyes softened as he asked gingerly, "Are you okay?"
Himani felt her heart driving at it and scribble a quiet smile on her face. "Yep. Gotta go. Take your food and you can just shut the main door when you head out—it has an automatic lock," She announced whipping on her heels and proceeded walking down the hallway.
"Okay. And good luck to you." His utterance paused Himani.
Is this why she did not stop herself by sending just a text?
May be. May be.
Her heart plummeted and much wiggly grin broke out on her face making her chirp, "Thanks Man."
And it lasted in there—on those lushy lips as she tripped her helmet and scrambled on to her two-wheeler and set out.
The sky was much sun-lit for seven a.m with fluffs of clouds floating aloft. Himani drove through the roads that stretched along the coasts of the beach—the briny wind and the seaway trail adding up to the rising yellow and orange over the blue, and the fanning of morning breeze, tousling her curls out of the bun.
Entering the hotel enclosure, she spurred into the slides that disappeared into the underground parking and then to the escalator, to climb to the seventh floor, to her kitchen.
Himani was a sous chef—second in command in the kitchen. Although, she was working under the head chef, she had to be very hands on and had a great responsibility of the kitchen. She was the person to be left with the everyday running of the kitchen. Aside from the obvious cooking, she had to be broadcasting few other chores like directing how the food had to be presented, creating the work schedule, keeping the kitchen staff in order, training interns and new chefs, maintaining safety and hygiene inside the kitchen.
As she passed in to her kitchen, a fledgling clique of voices darted to Himani, "Good morning, Chef," chippering her with a plum of their excitement.
A perky smile ghosted across her lips, as she yapped. "Good morning, everyone. I hope we are all ready to meet the day's need."
"Yes, Chef!" a few of them cheered. The new batch of interns actually liked Himani. They were only eighteen to twenty years old—too young, bouncy and living a too much in everything they did—falling as a strain on head, to their head chef, who was well into his forties.
And the lesser age difference between Himani and them, made it to be complacent with her, even though she was extremely specific and unabated inside her kitchen. The interns found her pliable with them—if they couldn't do the chores in her way, she let them finish in their own ways—which was the primary essence they should master in, in their promenade of becoming a better chef.
"Attention everyone, please," Himani trumpeted pacing to the middle of the room, getting fenced in by their youthful, thrilled faces.
"Yes, thank you. I need everyone of you in the condo, under five minutes, with the jacket, apron and your towels on. No notepads. No pens. No any other stuff in your pockets," brooking over a dozen of students, she marked out, prudently. She knew what she wanted inside the kitchen and that's exactly how her kitchen functioned, "No mobile phones, cameras in there," pointing at the kitchen, she declared raising an imperious brow, "They stay in your corresponding lockers."
"Yes, Chef." the group roared along.
"We should cooperate and sustain each other to with stand today in a good way," her voice popped up instantly and her expressions implied she was doing no-nonsense. "Remember mates, kitchen discipline is the paramount element—then comes every other thing. I hope, we all explore a little more of what we love, through today. Good luck, Kids!" She opined, hoping her salient glare reached out to everyone's in the room.
"Thank you, Chef." A part of them braced up, in different voices.
"We will give our best, Chef," warbled, a few.
And the rest of them gabbled, "Good luck to you, Chef."
Her brows puckered up in amusement. "Well, that sounds challenging," she laughed shakily, regaled by it. "Thank you!"
Making her way to her lockers, she called the shots. "Put your name badges on. Girls, no earrings, hair bows, ties. Your hairs, in scrunchies. No fingers rings, bangles, or goddamn bracelets. Nails, cleanly cut and all white—those who don't match my criteria, can just stay out of the kitchen. Alright! Now, get going! In your respective places, under five minutes."
***
Raghav was seated in front of his computer, in his office.
Time had glided by, past seven well into the evening. Usually, he never worked on weekends. Weekends were to concoct new scripts for his shows and get them revised to their best versions.
Today he had to, because Khushi had called him that morning, prompting him to come to work. She had sufficed a week's leave to go to her cousin's wedding in Delhi, which would actually slow down work strain to Raghav and Meena for the upcoming week, as the three worked as a team.
When Khushi had disclosed about her forthcoming truancy, Raghav and Meena weren't very happy about it.
"Neerillaadha nadhiyaai, neeyillaadha office, Khushi. (Like the river in draught, will be the office without you, Khushi)" Meena had said clenching her heart with both of her hands, dramatically.
"Manushan varuvaana! (Who'll come!)" Raghav had sulked.
Khushi had swayed her head, shivering out a laughter. "Drama pigs!"
Missing Khushi out for a whole week was going to leave them with a crude seven days. And Raghav did not want to miss today, being with her and making her glower in annoyance, seizing her lunch box before she opened it—his ways of showing affection, you see.
"I am leaving by tomorrow afternoon, with my parents," Khushi updated Meena.
"Hmm. What about Dera?" Meena asked nonchalantly, looking at her monitor. Dera was Khushi's Doberman, whom she'd left at her parent's the past week, since she had her plate full.
"I am thinking of leaving him to Raghav, but I should ask him, if he— "
Raghav, who was staring at his own PC, looked Khushi over his shoulders at the very mention of his name. "Hey, I can do that Khushi," he said with an assuring nod.
"By he and him, I meant Dera. Not sure, if he will be okay in staying with you." Khushi said narrowing her gaze indecisively, scanning Raghav's face.
Raghav punched his fist on the table at her snarky remark, grumbling, "Goddamn these pet parents!"
"Raghav, it was us talking." Meena said pointing at Khushi and her, "No one asked for your statement here," she made an impish remark.
"Right! You always overhear us—not letting us talk any girls' secret in this little time we have!" Khushi waxed it up.
Raghav looked as though he was going to throw a tantrum. "Women, both of you practically prattle your lives out in front me. Tell me, how am I not supposed to hear what goes into my ears?"
"You can just keep your mouth shut, right?" Meena scoffed.
"But that's not why I have mouth!"
"Fine, you ask Himani and let me know if she's okay in having Dera over, for a week." Khushi declared, starting to pack her stuff.
It baffled Raghav, well, not in a good way and he scowled at her. "So it is either Dera or my damned house owner—you have no idea of asking me, if I can do this. Arrogance. Arrogance," he whined, adding extra emphasis on the last two words.
"Nope." She answered sharply. This was getting fun, more and more. Khushi realized she could tally a week's mocking, all by this little time she had before signing off. Quickly, she resumed, "It is Dera, because albeit he is used to you, bickering with him every now and then, I am not sure if he will sustain for a whole week. And Himani, because she is already putting up with you. Adding Dera to the scene would only worsen it. Plus, I know, you will do this—you said this yourself, just before few minutes." She knew Meena could never pet sit Dera, since Mudra was allergic.
Collapsed at the backrest of his seat, Raghav shrugged, "Not as much as Meena, but still, you're friends with Himani, right? Why don't you ask it yourself?"
"I will ask. But you do it, too."
"Why?"
"Courtesy."
"Okay."
Winding up his table in another fifteen minutes and bidding Khushi her goodbye, Raghav had started from his office. The traffic was warranting the Saturday night that he could reach home only after forty minutes of pausing and driving—with more of first one.
Raghav had to tip his head back, sighing quite audibly; the strays of energy lingering to him, beginning to go astray as he ceased in front of the house with a locked gate and a lackluster portico and windows—just as how he'd left it in the morning, signifying no one's presence inside.
If Himani were here, she'd have left the lights on—how she'd done all these days.
Himani had handed him the single key to his door alone. She had said she would turn over the rest of the keys by the weekend after having printed their duplicates.
The weekend was yet to come, he had no keys to access the door and he was hungry and exhausted and alone, in the middle of the road.
And then the idea started glowing around his grouching face.
What if she'd left the key anywhere inside the gate—like under the doormat or near the shoe rack or somewhere in the potted plants. He cheered himself up at the possibilities.
Propping the bike up in it's stand, he jogged off to the gate and hopped over compound to hunt for the keys—in case, it was his day and she'd left.
What arrived back at the gate was a grumbling Raghav, in his unfavorable mood.
Jumping back to the road, he swarmed over his Royal Enfield and fished for his phone from his pockets to dial his house owner.
The call was left unanswered.
Flitting his head out of the reality, which clearly sucked, he decided to leave her a message.
Hey there. Home, at what time?
I just came and standing out, it's locked.
He sent it out, and rested there staring at his screen, waiting for her to return his call or atleast a reply text, out of which none came. Raghav swirled his head around and glanced at the road, which was almost empty; at the moon up above, which was glowing as an half; just haphazardly around him and at his watch. Time was eight-thirty.
He twisted around to scan at the neighboring houses. He did not know anyone there, except his house owner.
Pokerfaced, he drummed his nails on the fuel tank of his bike, humming his favorite song, "Panivizhum malarvanam"
He yawned and resumed his murmur of the song.
Boredom was starting to derive at him, without invitations, and there was no reply from her, yet.
Himani worked at this posh hotel, which was not too far away from their house—his brain flared at the faint remembrance. He did not mind driving up a few more miles, he just wanted a place to sit; even if he did not get to meet her and it took him to wait there till she finished her day, he had no reluctance in it.
Plunking his backpack on, he kick started his bike and drove off. He had not reckoned about Himani's notion on him, coming all the way to where she worked.
If candidness had facial features, it'd be Raghav's face.
Where Raghav's bike halted after half an hour of driving, rested the dratted superstructure, practically grandstanding the area and it sent him sweeping to overawe.
He had seen this place many times, before—but this time was a deviation—he was stepping inside as the sensor door allowed; his face well vibrant at the astonishment, the moment slammed him with.
May be, I will do a show here, one day. He sighed inwardly.
Dreaming was never wrong, hey.
He reached out to the front desk, once he strode past the condo. "Welcome Gentleman," the man at the other side, smiled ever so gently. Raghav had never happened upon someone, who'd smile so carefully as though it might crease his face, a little extra and that'd not be fine.
"Uhmm.. Hi.." he was hesitating and it was showing.
"What can I do for you?"
"Uhmm.. I just need to check on a friend of mine who's a.. If I am not wrong, sous chef here," he said recalling cautiously. He thought it did not call for the inner details of why he was here, truly.
Mr. gentle-smile listened keenly, with that smile still on. "In that case, gentleman we have several restaurants in here. May I know, the name of which your friend is working for?"
Raghav had to scratch his head. Instead, he decided he'd simply scratch his stubble—the former wouldn't be too decent, he thought. "I am not familiar with the restaurant name. But her name is Himani.. Oh, Miss. Himani Narayan. My name is Raghav."
"Please be seated, while I see what we could do for you," the smiley man waved his hand at the ritzy lounge, across the hallway. Raghav nodded with a tight smile and got carried on towards where the man pointed.
Few minutes passed, as the man from the desk wandered down to him, still having the same smile plastered, this time little apologetically, "I am afraid we can't reach out to your friend right at the moment, Sir. There's some serious business happening in there and the chef is not reachable—"
Raghav opened his mouth to utter the next word, within which the smiley man resumed. "While it takes some time for your friend to come out of the kitchen, you can wait in here, Sir," he said and left.
Raghav sat blank, blinking incredulously at the fate of his Saturday evening.
Jouncing back at the luscious sofa, he plopped his head back. The smashing lights hanging down from the ceiling blazed at his eyes, threatening to blind him.
Riveting his head back, he zipped his bag open and frisked for the book he had brought with him—and thanked heavens, he had it with him.
Himani got out of the kitchen when the business people had started leaving the dining hall.
It sure was one hell of a day—and she was definitely drained and famished. And felt a herculean task to even stand or to walk. She just wanted to shuffle to her bed and bequeath herself at it.
When Himani had earned the message from the front desk—that a friend named Raghav was waiting to meet her since quite some time, she essentially had to catch her dipping breaths on her way scuttling with her wobbly legs to the reception.
Busted!
Stupid crazy woman—that's what anyone who'd witnessed her scrambling clumsily around there, would have commented—that's how she had looked.
Running to the lounge that was in a few feet distance—with a numbed, teetering set of legs—menaced her to take an eternity.
Catching Raghav's head dunked in a book in his hands from a reasonable distance, her heart whisking in her ribs with pulsating thuds.
She should've given her key to him when she left the house this morning, which she clearly did not do—She was responsible for this and she wanted to bang her head at the nearest wall for being it.
Again, would she be able to accept if he'd done this to her. No. A big fat No.
Himani stopped her lubberly sprint, breathing sunken and terrible through her mouth; bending down to rest her hands in her knees, to see if they stopped their inward faltering.
When Raghav tipped his head from the book, he felt gobsmacked. Almost.
Imagine an uncertain instance of a woman rushing to you in an impulse of a triggered bombshell firing fresh out of an artillery, without warning, and with her heart blustering to jump out of her chest, wouldn't you have felt the same?
Her flaky appearance, for once, gobsmacked him and he flinched at it.
He felt as though he was going to start panting in his breaths, by only merely seeing her breathe so roughly. His eyes were gullibly looking at her black orbs, too uncool.
Her dreaded breathing meddling with her words, Himani wheezed out, "I.. uh..am... so so so..."
Raghav interrupted. "Woah. Woah. Why don't you sit first," his eyes moved to the spot next to him in the sofa, still gullible much—as Himani had noticed. And it seemed like a better idea to be perched than to stand on unsteady legs. Definitely better than sinking down to the floor and embarrassing herself, further more.
Seated nearby Raghav and relaxing herself costed two full minutes, which seemed endless due to the pair of glossy, unjaded brown eyes on her.
"Now, ask your sorry.." Raghav reprimanded, as Himani's breathing had turned uncluttered.
She clutched her jacket over her chest, as she cleared her throat. "I am sorry, Raghav. I had a whole day on my head to be carried out and it did not dawn in my mind that I should give you a key, this morning. I am so so sorry."
"Your lips look so dried. You're dehydrated. When did you last drink water?" he asked holding out his water can at her, exclusively irrelevant to her rambling.
She grabbed the water bottle, and recklessly emptied it into her mouth, and as the water surged down her throat—and half of it wetting her jacket—she could actually let what he said set in.
Himani sensed her heart swoop ruthlessly, at his comment. Or reprehension. Or affection. Or he was just being nice. Or whatever.
And she flushed at it. She'd had no man expound such an intimate remark on how her lips looked—although, it was purely about dehydration and not anything sexy, Himani couldn't help but flush at it.
"Thanks." She gulped still seldgehammered by the moment she was just having.
"Fine."
"How long have you been waiting?" She asked looking everywhere but him.
"Since eight-thirty," he said quietly. Gazing at his watch, he added, "Time's now half past ten.. Two hours.."
She clutched her forehead at his reply, ruefully. "I am so sorry."
"Forgiven." he was being generous and all that. "Only because I had this book with me and I finished it," he claimed, showing his book on her face. She let out a heavy sigh gaping back at the man who had the nicest pair of pebbly eyes. They were mooning over her's, worsening her sense of guilt.
"I am so sorry, Raghav."
She just couldn't come past it. She was guilty.
"Just stop saying sorry. I said, I am cool."
"I know." She quested for a long inhale. "Honestly, if it'd been me, I have no idea what I would've done," she laid it open because he was right, today. "You're a very patient man, Raghav," she said blinking at him.
His mien laxed off, "I don't need your compliments, house owner. Food, I need food." Raghav whined, patting his flat stomach.
Himani's brows knotted and she thought for a second, "Hey, I have complimentary food here that I can avail twice in a month. I think we can make use of that, today." Her face glimmered at her own suggestion.
"Cool, let's do that."
As both of them rose up to their legs, Himani felt relatively less wobbly.
On their way to the Italian restaurant, the reception man smiled the same smile at Raghav, this time perceptively.
Raghav leaned over to whisper in her ears, keeping up a safe proximity. "Hey, Himani."
"What!" she asked, not turning to him.
"The man over there, will he ever get tired of smiling? He always smiles—is that what he gets his pay for?"
"Why don't you just go ask him, yourself?"
They had clocked in, in the restaurant and had seated.
Raghav's eyes scanned the menu card and as he did, his eyes widened and narrowed, passing down the dishes. "Mezzelune con zucca Gorgonzola." He spelled out careful in not stuttering.
"Oh, do you want that?" She asked.
"Gnocchi ai Quattro Formaggi." He mumbled involuntarily, not hearing at all.
"You want that one too?" Himani looked at him, unbelievably.
"Tagliolini Integrali.." He muttered lackadaisically, his eyes tapering at their gaze, making little moony crinkles around them, "Why do you have integrals and calculus to eat.. Is this a hotel or a math class?"
Himani giggled at it, "Hey, that's a wheat pasta that we provide with the sauce of your choice," she broke down.
"Woah, that's definitely the most educated pasta, I've ever seen."
A surly grumple of laugh rolled out from Himani, and she asked, "So do you want to eat that highly educated pasta?" brow raising at his silly humour.
Pushing his chin up and his eyes holding her's, he badgered, "Give me a minute to first read this menu. I wonder who comes up with these names... Argh.. Man.."
Himani narrowed her eyes in amusement. Unquestionably, for some reason, Raghav's eyes lit up scrutinizing the menu card. He picked his bag and zipping it open, he dug into it for his notepad and pen.
"This is going to be in my next show," he cooed, penning down the names of the dishes he found funny.
Himani opened her mouth, urging him to order first. "Just let me do this, or I'd just make jokes on you—my grumpy house owner—in my next show." He warned.
Amazed at his alarm and the spontaneity of it, she just gave up, "Alright, just eat whatever I order."
The dinner time was comfortable and pleasing, with Raghav coming up with his crazy ridiculous declarations on everything. It said a lot about him—he was just an uncomplicated, amusing and silly guy.
Himani even apprehended if she was just dwelling too much in his thoughts. Particularly, when the auto driver had asked her about it.
After the dinner, Himani realized she'd given her bike to Varsha, to use it for the evening. Raghav had his bike but he knew she'd be reluctant to ride with him on his two-wheeler.
There were no cabs available, when they looked for it at almost twelve'O clock in the midnight.
Having waited for fifteen minutes outside the hotel gate, Raghav hailed the auto that whirred past them, by whistling loudly.
Letting Himani take the auto, Raghav trailed behind it in his Royal Enfield.
"Enna madam love ah? (What madam love ah?)" the auto driver asked impromptu, looking at her in the rearview mirror, with an amiable smile.
Himani's face let go of the huge smile that she never knew, she'd had stamped on her face since she got into the auto. She could feel her face relax off, of the strain. And her whole body enthused to flush.
She stirred uncomfortably at it—she was only getting along with him, as a friend and all of a sudden, having a load of a question on her shoulder wasn't aiding.
She stared back at the auto driver in an awkward, silent gaze and turned to Raghav's visage appearing on the mirror in the right. He was tagging along.
Himani gulped and flopped back at the seat, quietly.
She did not talk a word until she got out of the auto at her house. As soon as she did, she paid the driver off and treaded inside the house.
When she had almost finished her bedtime routine—showering, brushing her teeth and pulling her long hair in a bun—she caught Raghav walk across her room.
"Good night," she muttered with a quaint smile.
Raghav smiled back, "Night to you. Got some work to finish and I am not sleepy. And hey, do you mind if I switch on some music in my room? Don't worry, I will play something soft, please say yes."
"What music are you gonna play?"
"Ilaiyaraaja."
A huge grin scribbled across her lips—tired but achingly huge, "Would you play Panivizhum malarvanam?"
"Sure, I'd do that. Now, go get your goddamn sleep. You look like you've been deprived of sleep since forever."
"Night Night."
Himani fell on her back, in her bed.
The soft music started playing from his room and it filled in there so soothingly.
She found her lips adamantly grinning huge again, this time tired, huge and stupid.
She could only handle a few cutesy things at a time.
For now, Raghav seemed to be one of them.
