Chapter Twelve
"Saare jagah se accha Hindustan hamara,"
⧠P R E E T â§
"Neava, if you genuinely like the guy, please tell him the truth then and there. Don't keep him in a facade," I requested her over the phone, removing my heels and tossing them aside. They are so painfully uncomfortable.
Today, Neava is meeting the blind date my mother arranged for me. I just hope she doesn't mess it up.
I walked to the kitchen to drink the terrible water I've been complaining about for the past ten days. I can't get used to it.
"We'll see," she replied shortly, and I made a face.
"Did something happen?" I asked her, my voice filled with genuine concern.
"I'm missing you," she said in a low voice, and I chuckled without even realizing it.
"Aw. Never thought I would ever hear that from you," I replied. After finishing my water, I opened the refrigerator door for no reason. Finding nothing interesting, I closed it again.
I want to eat something sweet, and I think my uterus is about to make a grand appearance because of the intense pain I've been feeling for the past half hour.
I'm going to get my period soon. This is a signal.
"When are you coming back?" she asked, and a tiny smile appeared on my face. She does actually miss me.
I miss her too. Even though we are together in film school, it's on alternative days, and our project groups have changed, giving us even less time to meet each other.
We used to stay together, so it didn't matter back then. But now that I have to live without her for I don't know how many days, her importance hits me and vice versa.
"As soon as Aniketh leaves. I don't know what blunder I've brought upon myself. I regret doing all this so much," I replied, walking towards my room to remove all my accessories and makeup.
"It's okay. At least Aniketh is not bothering you now. He will leave soon, trust me. I just doubt if you two are rubbing your marriage thing properly on his face," she said, and I frowned.
"We moved into the same house. Every time we see them, we automatically get inches closer. He flirts, I blush. What else do a husband and wife do?"
"Sexâ" she began, but I would have instantly slapped her if she were in front of me.
"I'll cut the call, Neava," I threatened, putting the call on speaker.
"My bad," she said. I put the call on speaker and set it aside while I fell onto the bed, exhausted.
"You can come over after the date tonight if you want. I mean, if you and the guy want to go somewhere else, I don't mind, but if it doesn't work out, even Deven would like it."
"Let's see. I'll try. Alsoâ" I cut her off when I felt my phone vibrating.
"Wait. My husband's calling," I said, putting her call on hold. Before doing that, I heard her say, "Husband, huh?" and chose to ignore it.
Did I just call him my husband?
"Hi," I heard, and I whispered back a soft hi to him.
"What happened? Do you have a cold? Are you unwell? Were you crying?" he bombarded me with questions, and before I could reply, he'd ask another one.
"No, I'm just tired, that's all," I replied, trying my best to stick the phone to my ear.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes, pati dev. I'm very sure," I yawned at the end of this sentence. The day was so hectic, meeting with directors and producers, some successful and some still trying to find the path to success, which stressed me out a little.
"Okay. Cool. You didn't make dinner, did you?" he asked, and I shook my head. Realizing he couldn't see me over the phone, I replied.
"Not yet. I was going to start after taking a shower. How long will it take you to come back home? I'll start right now if you're hungry and coming early."
I guessed he was driving back because of the horns. If he left his workplace a few minutes ago, it would take him half an hour, but if he's already halfway, he could arrive anytime, meaning I need to make dinner as soon as possibleâ
"No. You're exhausted. I'll bring something for us. What do you want to eat?" he asked. I suggested we take turns making dinner, but he declined. Now, most of the time, we cook together, and if one of us comes back late, for example, him today, then the other one makes it.
"No. I'll make something super quick. I don't want to eat bread in different shapes and sizes; I miss my Indian food," I told him the truth. We never understand the value of homemade food until it's taken away from us.
You were right, mummy. I miss you.
"I'll bring something Indian. Just tell me what you want," he countered.
"It's too expensive here; they basically loot us."
"Why am I earning money then?"
Is my fake-husband super rich?
Should I consider making him a real one then? You're not a gold digger, Preet.
But Paisa, gaadi, mehenga ghar- stop.
"Okay, but I'll order it. You must be tired as well, why waitâ" he cut me off while I was showing care for him.
"Just tell me what you want to eat, woman." How rude.
"Chole Bhature." A wide grin appeared on my face at the thought of this.
"Done. Anything else?" he asked.
"Anything with chocolate in it. Pastries, chocolates, pancakes, ice creams, anything you find," I replied as the urge to eat something with cocoa made my brain cells dance.
"Okay, wifey." We said our goodbyes, and I lazily went to take a shower.
After about thirty minutes of wasting water, I stepped out of the bathroom in a robe and sneezed. I immediately turned the heater on. I walked to the closet, which was initially half Deven's and half mine, but now it's scattered with my clothes while he struggles every day to find his among mine. I bet he curses me for this.
When it comes to clothes, I'm the messiest person alive.
I removed a black hoodie and grey sweatpants with a lot of struggle.
I was almost done dressing up, with just the hoodie left to put on, when I heard Deven's voice.
"Your food is here, ma'amâoh, shit. Sorry, sorry." My eyes widened, realizing the door was open while I was standing in just my bra with the hoodie halfway over my head.
"The door was open, so... sorry," he said, turning his head aside and walking back to the dining room. I wished to bang my head on the wall beside me. I closed the door and cried over my fate.
That. Was. So. Embarrassing.
And awkward.
I lightly bumped my head on the wall, trying to get it out of my head.
After a few minutes of calming down and convincing myself that the past few minutes never happened, I put on the hoodie and forced myself to go out.
"Hi, uh." My eyes fell on the kitchen counter filled with chocolates, ice creams, and pastries, and I turned to him with my mouth half open.
"I'm sorry I couldn't find pancakes." Brother? What? First, he brings all of this, then apologizes.
"I meant one of them, not all of them, Deven," I told him, and he shrugged.
"But I got all of them. Not pancakes though. I went to two shops, but neither had pancakes."
"You are unbelievable. Who's going to eat all this?" I asked, putting my hands on my hips.
"Aise badi pyaari lag rahi ho aaâ" I rolled my eyes and shut him up.
[You look very cute like thatâ]
"Chup karjao aap." He pouted at my response and kept staring at me, occasionally blinking. I bit back my smile and maintained a strict expression, but it managed to escape my lips.
[Shut up.]
"Oye, has gayi." He grinned as well.
"But seriously, I'm not going to eat all of this. You're going to eat it too." Knowing his dramas about avoiding sugar because it's a slow poison and his strict gym rules, I wondered who told him sugar is a slow poison; he keeps repeating it on loop.
"I'm afraid I won't. Sugar is a slow poison." Here we go.
"Yeah, so do you want me to die from this slow poison? The quantity you brought is for more than four people. If I'm getting fat, you're getting fat too." I shrugged and put the pastries and ice creams in the refrigerator.
"I didn't think that," he mumbled. I pressed his forehead back with my finger.
"You're stupid."
"To be called stupid by you is equal to being..." Before he could complete his flirt, I walked out of the kitchen, smiling all the way.
"That was so mean, wifey." He followed me back and glared at me cutely. My eyes fell on the bag on the dining table. I immediately sat down and started opening the containers.
"Thanks." After serving him the food and then myself, we started eating.
"You know what," he said, and I looked at him curiously. "Today, a girl came up to me."
He has fans. When I say that, I mean it. I've seen girls gawk at him every time we go out together. It's a good thing he still doesn't realize the power he holds, or he'd be dancing on my head.
"Uh-hm," I waited for him to continue.
"She started the conversation by asking if I'm from here. She was Canadian. When I told her no, I'm Indian, her mouth dropped. Literally, she was like, 'You're Indian?' with her jaw open and eyes wide."
"No, but are you actually full Indian? You're not half-American or something?" I asked him, and he shook his head.
"Nope, I'm full time-Indian." It was his attempt to joke, which failed miserably. "Saare jagah se accha Hindustan hamara," he sang in a serious tone, and for some reason, I burst out laughing.
[India is the best place in the world.]
Okay, this was lame but so am I.
"Okay, okay, I get it. But how did you inherit blue eyes? Did one of your parents have them? Because it's rare to see an Indian with blue eyes."
"No, actually, my grandmother fell in love with a British officer. Stockholm Syndrome is real. He had blue eyes, but my mother didn't inherit them. So, I guess her dominant genes suppressed the recessive ones, and they showed up in me or something. I'm not a biology student, so don't judge me," he said, throwing his hands up in surrender. I nodded.
"Got it. So you're a full-time Indian."
"Yes, I'm a full-time Indian," he replied. "But forget that, listen to my story."
"So, she said I was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, and it was shocking to her that I was Indian," he continued with a smirk, and I smiled while dipping my bhature in the chole.
"You didn't ask for her number?" I asked, and he shook his head. "Why?"
"Why should I? When she started asking my name and where I stayed, I told her, 'I'm so sorry, but I have a wife waiting for me to get home.'" He mimicked the girl's accent and attitude with such accuracy.
"I think you should start acting. I can see your potential in that," I remarked.
"Only if I get to work with you," he said with a wink.
â§
"Will this black thing take off my beard?" Deven asked me, sounding a little scared. I gave him an 'Are you serious?' look.
"It won't," I assured him. Tonight was my night to apply the charcoal face mask. As soon as Deven saw me with it on, he wanted to try it too. He was fascinated by it.
"It won't hurt when I take it off, will it?" he asked again, and I shook my head.
"No, genius."
"This is my first time applying something like this. I trust you, but if something happens to my skin, I'll blame you," he warned, making me pause as I opened the tube.
"Aye haye haye, I'm not taking the risk, baba. Don't apply it," I replied, about to put the tube aside, but he grabbed my hand.
"No, no. I want to try this," he insisted. My lips formed a line as I reopened the tube. He wouldn't be satisfied until he got this black stuff on his face.
"You're way too tall for me. How am I supposed to apply this?" I asked, folding my arms.
"Um, you can sit there, and I'll stand," he suggested, pointing to the large medium-length table with drawers at the end of the bedroom. It had a mirror behind it and was multipurpose.
"Fine." We went over, and I tried to sit on the table, but my short legs didn't support me. I even tried jumping, but it didn't work.
"Why is your house made only for tall people?" I asked, frustrated.
"It's you, shortfoot," he replied, lifting me by the waist and setting me on the table.
"Thanks for the help, giantfoot," I retorted, taking some peel-off cream and applying it to his face. His hands gripped the sides of the table as I sat between them, our faces just inches apart as I worked on his skin.
I spread the cream evenly from his cheeks to his forehead to his nose while he kept staring at me, smiling every now and then.
"What does this do, by the way?" he questioned.
"It cleanses your skin, unclogs pores, removes blackheads, and detoxifies your skin," I explained.
"Oh-ho," he replied, his lips curving downwards impressively. "I'll see a transformation when I remove it."
"It doesn't happen in one application," I laughed, and he pressed his lips together.
"That's unfortunate," he muttered. "Gud-gudi ho rahi hai."
[It's tickling me.]
"Aye, jhoote aadmi. Kuch nahi hota aaisa, maine bhi toh lagaya."
[Oye, you liar. Nothing like that happens. I've applied it too.]
"Aapko thodi hoga. Insaan thodi ho aap." I narrowed my eyes and raised an eyebrow, asking what he meant.
[You won't get it. You're not human.]
"Pari ho," he added, grinning.
[You're an angel.]
"Don't smile. Don't smile," I warned, and he immediately made a stone face. "You'll ruin it. I know you like smiling, but don't until you remove this."
"As you say, my lady." When I was done, he bent down a little to look at himself in the mirror behind me.
"I still look hot," he declared. You do.
"Whatever," I replied, my attention drawn to the tattoo on his bicep. It was a small shaded rose with two leaves on one side and another curve with a line. I squinted; it looked like there was a hidden letter in the cursive design.
That looks like an N.
Or a P.
"Which letter is that?" I asked, catching his attention. He glanced at my pointed finger, then at the tattoo.
"It looks like a P." My eyebrows furrowed as I watched him go blank, only fluttering his eyelashes.
"Or an N. What is it?"
"It's nothing," he replied, licking his lips.
"Come on, I'm not a fool. It's clearly a hidden letter. It's okay if you don't want to tell me, but at least don't lie to my face," I said, feeling a little offended.
"It's not like that. It's a P."
"Oh. Why that letter? Is it someone's name? Or a place?" I bombarded him with questions, and he looked taken aback.
"That's... Um, that's my grandmother's initial," he answered.
"The Stockholm Syndrome one?" I asked, and he nodded. "What was her name?"
"Parminder Kaur Dillon." I nodded thoughtfully.
"Oh. Okay," I said, then another question clicked. "You loved your grandmother so much that you got a tattoo with her initial?"
"Not until now," he replied, confusing me. "I mean, yeah. I did. She was my favorite."
"And why the rose?" I asked, fluttering my eyelashes and looking at him through them.
"You have a lot of questions, don't you?" he noted, and I nodded with a grin.
"I do. I want to know you. And I've heard that if a person has a lot of tattoos, each one is very meaningful. They don't let the needle go into their skin for nothing. So, yeah. The best way to know a tattooed person is by their tattoos," I said proudly. I was impressed with my monologue.
"I'm going to use this whole sequence in a film I'll make in the future. Just wait for it to hit the box offices," I added, and he shook his head, smiling.
"You're too adorable," he said, tapping my nose. I scrunched it with a smile, realizing I had the mask on.
"Thank you, thank you," I said, bending down a little. "Now give me your arm. I want to see the other tattoos."
He immediately extended his hand. There was a small tattoo of Saturn, the moon, and a star near his wrist. A medium-sized one of mountains. On his other arm, a single line outlined his arm with a date on it. I decided not to point that one out. It looked personal.
"How many tattoos do you have in total?" I asked, and he thought for a minute or two.
"Eleven," he replied.
"But I can see only five. And the other day, I saw two more on your chest, so that makes seven. Where do you hide the other four?" I asked innocently, but the smirk on his face made me regret it.
"You wanna see?" he teased, and I made an 'Eww' face.
"Sorry that I asked," I said, and he threw his head back, laughing.
"Do you have any tattoos?" he asked, and I shook my head. I've always been scared of needles. During my childhood, I never told my mom if I felt unwell because I feared getting an injection. It was another thing that she eventually found out and gave me those bitter medicines.
"I'm scared of getting one," I admitted.
"It's not that painful. The first time it will hurt, but then you'll get used to it," he said, shrugging as if it was nothing.
"What do you mean by first time? I'm getting only one in my life, and it'll be very special. That's it. I'll let the ink touch me only once, only one mark on my body."
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A long ass chapter and a little fillerish types but I tried to compensate.
Do share your views on it and don't forget to click on the start button for the next chapter.