Moments in Time
Part 1
It happens just like in the movies. The heroine, a petite, dainty girl, is walking briskly down the corridor, her nose buried in her book. Though the rest of the hall is dark, there is a streak of light that follows her, making her shine brightly amongst the vases and flowers that dot the area.
On the other side, the hero, all bronze and muscular, dashes down with equal fervor, his hands tightly gripping a cell phone. There is a slight breeze that makes our heroine’s hair fly gently and a familiar piano riff that plays in the background.
Neither pay much attention to the changes occurring around them, until they crash into each other. The hero’s phone falls down with a loud thud while the heroine stumbles back.
“Can’t you see where you’re going?” he half shouts as he bends down. His eyes are stony, and he barely glances at her as he rubs the wet device with his handkerchief.
“Can’t you see where you’re going?” she parrots with equal venom. “My book is-”
“This is my house,” he cuts her off, his eyes narrowing. “I can look wherever I please, whenever I please.”
She merely humphs in response before leaning forward. It is at this exact moment when our hero also decides to reach for the same object. His hands close around her as her fingertips barely reach the book that floats in the water.
And just like the movies, her skin begins to tingle and her veins fill with electricity. She doesn’t know how long she sits there with her hands encased in his. Her brain shines bright lights, warning her to pull away, but her heart staunchilly reminds her that she rather likes the feeling of his palm on her skin.
As the minutes progress, she regains her consciousness and recalls where she is and who she is with. He seems to understand too for his already stiff posture becomes more rigid.
“I can get it,” he says stoically as she removes her hand.
“I can get it myself,” she insists. She can feel his stare boring into her as she cranes her body so far that there is only a centimeter separating her from the water. Still, she cannot reach the treacherous book that has decided to move several inches away from her.
“Now it’s too far away for me to get it,” he chides as he watches her struggle.
She makes one last attempt, ignoring her arm’s protests before retracting and letting out a sigh of annoyance. Her green dupatta is now soaked along with the end of her braid.
“This is all your fault!” She accuses when she realizes that the book is damaged beyond repair.
“My fault?”
“Yes, your fault! If only you had paid attention to where you were going, my book wouldn’t have been wet!”
His face darkens as he steps forward, and as perpetually, she takes one back out of instinct. “If you used your eyes, your stupid book wouldn’t be in the pool right now.’
“Don’t call my book stupid. It's Emma!.”
“And?”
“And? It’s by Jane Aus-!” She vaguely registers how shrill her voice sounds and how close they’re standing.
“I know who wrote it," he snaps back. "I don't expect you to read anything that is actually worth reading or step out of your little bubble of bubble of--"
“How dare you? Emma is a classic, a staple-”
She expects him to interrupt her, but he simply lets out an irritated huff and glares at her. “Whatever, Ms.Gupta. I don’t have time for this,” he walks towards his room.
Just like the movies, the hero and heroine stroll in different directions. Though her back faces him, our heroine cannot deny the rapid dhak-dhak of her heart while our hero tries hard to conceal his feeling with the indifference. The hero wonders why the heroine is in his home on a Saturday, when she’s not working, while the heroine cannot help but ponder if she will see him again throughout the day.
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The hero tries to through his days without spending much attention to our heroine. He indulges himself in endless activities, spending hours upon hours on meetings and projects. Yet, her presence still lingers, and the fact that he sees her nearly twelve hours a day doesn’t help his case.
It is during one of those moments, when his mind is unoccupied, that he sees her again. For a second, he can’t distinguish if it is really her, the Delhi monsoon blurring his vision. Each raindrop that hits his SUV is like a kaleidoscope, transforming her into little white shapes amongst a pallet of muddy brown and forest green.
It is only when he pulls his car in front of her bus stop that he can see her form. Her white kurta sticks to her like a second skin, the ivory underneath peeking through the translucent fabric. A yellow dupatta is wrapped unsuccessfully around her, and every so often, she lets out a shudder.
He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, but he rolls down the windows. Her hazel orbs meet his brown ones, and the world around them freezes. The hum of the outdoors disappears and the movement of the rain suspends, shock palpable in her eyes.
“Ms.Gupta, get in the car.”
“J..ji?”
“Get in the car,” he asserts.
“I’m going home.”
“And? Ms. Gupta, I’ll have no employee of mine go home at,” he checks his watch. “Ten pm using public transportation.”
Her lips curl up as her brows twist into a prominent frown. “There’s nothing wrong with using the bus, sir. In fact, the majority of the people of Delhi use public transportation. I will go home just fine.”
“Are you so daft as to walk down the streets of Delhi alone at night with a dress that’s sticking to you like that?”
Immediately, she shuffles, pulling the dupatta closer to her. “Sir, you have no right to call-”
“Ms. Gupta, every day there are a different report about sexual assault. I usually do not care about how you get home, unless you want to become a statistic, I advise you to get inside the car.”
He can almost see the gears in his head turning. Arnav decides that if her thoughts were visible, they would be like an explosion, crazy chaotic turns and twists of light all coming together. He is almost sure she is going to say no when she stands up, swinging her bag over her shoulder.
Jasmine radiates off of her as she finally gives in and settles down next to his seat. Aside from her clinking of her jhumkas and her occasional sniffles, the car ride is silent. When they finally pull over to Laxmi Nagar, it is 11:10 pm.
He watches her gather her bag, her face pale and skin still yet from the precipitation. She slowly slips out, cheeks blooming as she stares at the pool of water that covers the passenger seat.
She hesitates. “Thank you sir.”
“Don’t be late tomorrow,” he says sternly. “I still need those expense reports.”
She opens her mouth to interrupt, but he continues.
“And Ms. Gupta, you don’t need those bus tickets anymore. And...and make sure you don’t get sick. I don’t want you infecting the whole office.”
The hero drives away, leaving behind a gust of wind and our heroine, who stands there dumbfounded. The sound of the rain almost seems musical and somewhere in the back, she hears a piano. She wonders where in the thirty minutes that she spent in his car did everything change. She wonders why there is sudden kindness blooming for a man that always seems to annoy her. Deciding that she has gone thoroughly crazy, our heroine walks up the steps, but she cannot conceal the small smile that plays at the end of her lips.
Writer:Kaverinks
