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twenty four

• AADYA •

A WEEK LATER…

A mysterious text from a random person named Advika Bansal gave me hope that my days-long questions would be answered very soon.

Drop that frown. Let me explain what had happened that day.

While meeting Ishaan for the first time, I had this pull towards him. It felt like meeting your long-lost best friend after ages. Those features were so familiar to me, but I didn't know where I had seen him. I couldn't help but search for clues on his face. I wished that I had the guts to initiate the conversation and confirm my suspicions.

Trying to ignore those overwhelming thoughts, I looked at the screen, only to see those tiresome advertisements. “Fuck! Can't they just play the movie already?”

“I think they won't.” I heard the reply from the familiar stranger, as if all the Gods had replied to my prayers. “Are they waiting for the Prime Minister to inaugurate the show?”

“Probably.” I bit my cheeks, trying to suppress my monstrous laughter, and was successful by reducing the size to somewhat minimal. “But, I don't want anyone here. I just want the movie to run right now.”

As I turned my focus to nowhere, a voice inside me— something so demanding that I should listen to it— said, “Come on, Aadya. Ask what you want to.”

“Have we met somewhere? You look so familiar.”

The look he had on his face was so deadpanned that it made me curate a list of probabilities that could be running in his mind.

“No. I'm new to this city.” As he had finally managed to come up with a reply, it did nothing but raise my out-of-the-world suspicion.

“Oh! No wonder you're here,” I joked and chuckled at it, making him chuckle as well. A good joke is one of the secrets behind gaining someone's trust. “Did you know why there's a countable number of people in this hall? Because, everyone knows that this is a movie that deserves only the attention of reviewers, cast and crew of the movie, and lovers who badly want to have a hot makeout session.” Adding a dramatic pause, I continued, “Also, people who are new to this city,” in a “no pun intended” tone.

“Oh!” He let out an airy laughter and asked, “Then… Why are you here?”

Is that okay if I confess to a stranger that I came to a random movie show to escape from my fiancé with whom I had a fight?

Adjusting my black, square rimmed spectacles and inclining myself towards his side— I replied, “I'm a freelance reviewer,’’ mentally wincing at the lie. Anyhow, he's new to the city and couldn't recognise me. Even if he found out my real identity, it wasn't like he would come to me and ask why.

“Oh, fuck! I'm extremely sorry. By the way, your name?”

Oh, shit! There he goes. I was sure that I could never say that my name is Aadya Chatterjee. At least, for that moment.

Before I could come up with a new bluff— or a name— he added, “You may know mine as well. I'm Ishaan Ahuja,” and extended his hand.

A man with messy hair, dusky skin, and dark green eyes with Indian facial features? Check.
Not a Delhiite? Check.
Named Ishaan Ahuja? Double check.

I tried to let out a chuckle, trying to get rid of the overwhelming thoughts in me, as I said, “That's fine.” I reciprocated his handshake as I introduced myself as Maya Singh. “Well, Ishaan…” I scratched my forehead and paused to propose my new plan into words, but later asked, “Before it gets dark, shall we take a selfie?”