All Strings Attached

Chapter Three

"Hello." I extend my hand in greeting, which the man immediately accepts.

"Hi, sir," Sita greets with a smile. "How are you doing?"

We exchange pleasantries, and continue to talk about the event, where mostly this man does all the talking, sharing all the "must-try" items on the dinner menu.

"Are both of you here together?" He wonders.

"Oh, no," Sita jumps to explain, while I simply deny the question. "We met here, we were just talking."

"Oh, I see," the man comments, buttoning his jacket over his raised tummy. "Are you seeing anyone, Sita?"

"Oh- uh- no, sir," she answers, albeit hesitantly, "I'm single."

"I was just asking," he says, chuckling, seeing that he's made her nervous, "the chairman's looking for potential brides for his grandson," Bhanu Prasad explains.

"I'm not looking to get hitched right now, actually," she tells him, smiling. I notice how her eyes remain hesitant.

"Oh, well," he says, and eyes me, "that's quite a pity."

"It's only a pity if she has to do something she doesn't want to, I think," I interject, "she seems quite fine by herself."

"Oh, no, of course," he rushes to explain, "I only meant that it is a pity that Sachin might lose out on such a great girl."

I only smile plainly in response, not indulging the conversation anymore. Bhanu Prasad seems to understand he isn't welcome to our conversation anymore, so he excuses himself.

"I could've handled it myself," Sita says, "you didn't have to jump in and be my hero."

"You could just say thanks and not be such a brat, Sita."

She rolls her eyes. "It's not your place," she insists.

I breathe out of my mouth in exasperation. "It's not that deep, kid. I was simply expressing an opinion."

"I'm not a kid," she says, her round eyes glaring at me as her cheeks puff up in apparent indignation. "I'm almost twenty-seven."

"The news channels know," I assure her, keeping an ironic cordial smile on my face.

"Asshole," she grits, her cheeks turning redder when she realises she just cursed at me. "You bring out the absolute worst in me," she accuses me, turning on her heel to leave.

"Maybe you're just your truest self with me, not some goody two shoes."

She turns to throw a final glare at me, and leaves without turning to look back. I bite down the smile that threatens to spread onto my face. What about interacting with Sita Cherukuri should have me grinning anyway?

The view.

~.~.~.~.~

Somehow, by the end of the night I end up getting pulled to a round table, someone pours me a drink, and then another, and seem to take it upon themselves to never leave any space for air in my glass. When I wake up, it takes me a couple minutes to realise I'm in my bed at home.

I feel my left arm cramping, and wonder how I slept. I'm still wearing the same clothes from last night, I realise, and blindly frisk my blankets to find my phone and call Dhruv.

How did I get home?

I can feel the daylight on my back, which only makes me want to keep my eyes closed for longer. I am not ready to deal with a morning recollection or daylight or my aching body.

'Fucking hell. What did I do last night?' I wonder, as my body aches with every movement. When I manage to find my phone, I turn it on, only to be nearly blinded by the brightness of the home screen. "Fuck you," I groan out loud, feeling a thundering headache take over my entire being.

Gathering the courage, I pick up my phone again, turning off the brightness to the lowest possible setting and notice missed calls from my mother and Dhruv.

I see a text left by Dhruv, 'spending the night at Dhriti's, see you tomorrow.'

So he must have no idea how I got home. I return Dhruv's call first, holding the phone a reasonable distance from my face.

"Hello?" I hear him, and bring the phone closer to my ear, letting my burning eyes close.

"Did I do anything last night?"

"What do you mean?" Dhruv asks, alarmed, op"how drunk did you get?"

"I don't know," I groan. "Where are you?"

"I'm at Dhriti's," he answers, "I'm going to have lunch with friends and be home afterwards."

"I'm dying," I complain, "who do I ask for headache medicine?"

"They'll give you paracetamol if you ask for headache medicine," Dhruv says, "and they'll tell amma. It's like you want to be dead."

"What do you think is the worse option? The paracetamol or our mother knowing?" I ask Dhruv, trying to understand his priorities.

"Don't get sassy," Dhruv shuts me up. "I'll tell Gopal to bring you some painkillers and some buttermilk with lemon juice. He won't tell amma. Do you want me to bring you anything when I'm back?"

"I don't know," I moan, "my head feels like someone's hammering it from the inside. Who poured me so much to drink?"

"Last I saw, you were sitting next to Rithvik and letting him pour you a tanker load of whiskey, so you deserve the suffering. God knows what you said to them."

"I don't say crap when I'm drunk," I defend myself.

"Let's hope not," Dhruv says, "or my lawyer career is going to be more about covering up for you than taking actual clients and cases."

"Oh, shut up," I tell him. "Amma called me. Do you have any idea why?"

"She might just be checking on you," Dhruv says, "please tell me you didn't drive yourself home?"

"I'm trashed," I state, "I don't even know how I got to my bed. I still feel dizzy from all the alcohol. Do you think I'd have any idea how I got home?"

"Let's hope you were too drunk to even remember you had the car with you," Dhruv says. "I'm going to get Gopal to bring you the painkiller and the drink and some food, shut up and eat whatever he brings you."

"I'm the elder brother."

"Clearly."