JANNAT'S P.O.V
I WAS SO DAMN SICK OF MY ALLERGIES. How was a girl supposed to go out wearing her new Burberry bucket hat if her nose was relentlessly runny? How was she supposed to go buy some new scarves for fall if she only kept sneezing?
"I am going to cut off my nose if this runny nose thing continues," I remarked, and Baba let out a little laugh, stirring the steaming tea in my cup slowly. After pouring a drop of the tea on his palm and tasting it to check if it was of proper temperature, Baba passed on the cup of tea and saucer towards me.
"Drink."
"I hate ginger."
"Drink or I won't give you my credit card."
That shut me up, and I took a slow, agonizing sip of my tea. The sweet, rich flavour of the milk tea unfurled itself in my mouth, and so did the disgusting taste of ginger. I stuck my tongue out, grimacing.
"Watching you consume ginger is very comedic," Dad exclaimed from the doorway, his mouth curved into a smile. He walked in, stopping only at the foot of my bed as he gave me a warm grin. "Are you feeling any better?"
"No, my nose is so clogged and red and I have to breathe through my mouth," I said in a nasal tone. Frowning at my own voice, I continued. "See? I feel like a chipmunk."
"You are a chipmunk," Dad corrected.
"That technically makes you a chipmunk too, because you're my father."
"Well, I make a gorgeous chipmunk," Dad said. "You, on the other hand.."
"Not you too!" Baba exclaimed, slapping Dad fondly on the arm and we all laughed, and then I coughed. Ugh. I hate this bloody season.
"Your boyfriend called you, by the way," Dad murmured, tossing me my phone which I had forgotten at the kitchen island. "He says he is coming over."
"Boyfriend?" Baba resonated. "Shona? What? Who is it? When did it happen?"
I let out a nervous laugh. "Dad is just kidding!" I jumped to defense, even though my nasal voice sounded even higher in my defensive mode. "You know him, Baba. Always joking. Sobsomay."
"Sobsomay moja koro tumi!" Baba said in Bengali, laughing at Dad. Even though Dad couldn't speak Bengali, after living in a household where Baba and I would often converse rapidly in Bengali, he had learnt how to understand it. "You almost gave me a heart attack."
"I didn't mean to, my love," Dad beamed at Baba in that gross, loving way, and when Dad looked at me over Baba's shoulders, I pretended to gag. He shook his head subtly. "I was only joking. You know Jannat, our little angel. Her friends, Estelle & Adrienne had called."
"Yes, that she is," Baba looked at me fondly, patting my head. I gulped down the rest of the tea in one breath, even though it was still pretty hot and scalded my tongue, but I was used to it. I beamed back at him.
"Now that the absolutely disgusting ginger tea is finished, can I please drink some actually good milk tea with three sugar cubes and without weird things like ginger? Please, please, please," I smiled wide at him. "Can you please make it Baba? The chef doesn't make it as well as you do."
Cecily, our dear maid, grabbed the cup and saucer from the bedside table before Baba could. She gave me a reassuring smile. "Get well soon, Miss Jannat. The house seems dull with you in bed, sick."
"Cecily, you have known me for eight years. You don't need to call me miss."
She simply smiled in response.
Baba patted my hand. "I will be right back," He said, standing up. "With your tea. You know what the special ingredient is? Love."
After Baba was out of eyesight, Dad quietly settled on the space Baba was sitting previously, and I shot up. "Sinclair called?"
"Yes, your boyfriend called," Dad said, slowly, his eyes downcast as he detached his watch from his wrist before laying it quietly on my bedside table. "He sounded pretty concerned about you, actually. He asked for my permission to come over, actually."
"Please tell me you said no, Dad."
He looked up, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "I said yes."
"Why?" I whined. "Why?"
"Because he is polite and nice."
"Nice and polite? Are we sure that we are talking about the same person here?"
"Yes, I am positive," Dad said, before passing me a tissue. I took it. "Christian Sinclair is a nice boy."
"Do you never listen to me when I tell you about him?"
"Of course I do," He shrugged. "But you can't tell me that your opinion on him isn't biased."
I opened my mouth to reply, but then aptly closed it. I mean yes, of course I was a bit biased. But then again, he was my sworn enemy! I had every right in this world to be biased when it came to him.
"Whatever," I said instead, clearing my throat. "When is he coming?"
He pointed towards his watch. "In about fourteen minutes, if the traffic is light. In twenty three minutes if the traffic is medium. Around thirty four minutes if the traffic is a lot because he knows another way. That's what he said, at least."
"But Baba—"
"I will handle him, don't worry," He smiled. "I wouldn't want to stand in between my daughter and her boyfriend."
"He is not my boyfriend!"
"Yes, my bad," He shrugged. "Fake boyfriend. I meant, fake boyfriend."
"Sure you did," I huffed.
"I did," He said, standing up now. After patting my hair fondly and pressing a kiss on the top of my head, he added. "Oh by the way, the secret ingredient to your Baba's ethereal tea is adding a bit of milk powder to the milk-leaves mixture when the leaves are boiling, and letting the tea leaves settle in for an extra minute. They work wonders. Your Baba likes to be dramatic." He paused, the side of his lips quirking up. "Like father, like daughter, I guess."
"Dad!"
● ● ●
SINCLAIR SOMEHOW ARRIVED A MINUTE EARLY. Despite the heavy traffic.
"One minute before the promised time," Dad had commented as he left Sinclair off at the doorway to my room. "I like this boy."
"You're very flattering, Mister Roy-Walter."
Dad gave him a cool glance before tapping his fingers against the door. "Door stays open. I am too young to have grandchildren."
"Dad!"
He ignored me, his gaze on Sinclair, who stood there in a off-white shirt, beige and white checkered sweater vest, and cream colored pants. He almost looked like he had… actually taken his time and put together an outfit for this visit. And he also definitely looked like he wanted the marble floor to split open and swallow him whole. "I am talking to you, young man. No funny business, but then again I don't think I ought to give you this speech, seeing that you're responsible."
"Yes sir," He replied meekly. I stifled a laugh.
"Perfect then," He said. "Cecily will be here in a bit with some refreshments. Enjoy. I will be in the study, if you need me."
When Dad was out of sight, he let out an audible sigh of relief, walked towards the foot of my bed, and plopped on the mattress. I narrowed my eyes on him. The mattress bounced under his weight. He noticed it. He dug deeper into the mattress, and it bounced back, and then he sighed.
"Your Dad scares me," He exclaimed. "A lot."
"Pfft," I blew out a small breath. "My Dad is the more easy-going one!"
"You've got to be crazy," He murmured. "Have you noticed your Dad's stoic face? I think your Baba smiles a lot more, I saw both of your parents at the dinner, remember?"
"Oh, you saw him outside, when he was at someone else's house and that's why you're saying that," I said, stifling a laugh. "If he saw you here in my room, alone with me, and knew that you were sitting this close to me, you'd have been thrown into the dungeon. Dad said he would handle Baba and that's the only reason you're sitting here right now."
He frowned. "A dungeon? You all have a dungeon?"
I offered him a wry smile. "Maybe."
"God, now I am scared of both of your parents," He said quietly, his eyes dancing over my room. The air between us suddenly felt awkward. I cleared my throat.
"Why are you here?"
"Because," He said, enunciating the word. "You are sick."
"You honestly didn't need to—"
"Oh shut up, you rubbish," He cut me off, clicking his tongue. "I am supposed to be your boyfriend, a fake one, but a boyfriend nonetheless. Offering you company when you're at home — sick — is basically in the job description! Plus, I am also a decent fucking human being, so I brought you some mom-made soup, which will go great after your dad-made tea, which I assume you've already consumed, judging by the empty tea cup on your bedside table which is still stained by the color of the tea tannin."
"I hate it when you talk all smart to me. Mister Detective."
"It's called having some basic observational skills," He said, handing me the chicken soup that he had carried in his thermos. "Which you probably don't have because you're too busy having your head in the clouds."
For a second, I truly speculated smashing the lamp on his head. I wondered if Baba would find it strange if he caught me dragging a bleeding Sinclair out of the house. Instead, I sighed, taking a sip of the piping chicken soup straight from the thermos.
"I had half expected you to ring a bell and have your servants rush up to you and offer you various cutlery to sip your soup from," He remarked. I rolled my eyes, taking another sip. I really didn't want to beat him up here and then later give Baba justification for my actions.
"Wow," He said. "You really are sick. No comebacks. That's new. And eerie."
"Shut up, Sinclair."
He giggled. He actually had the audacity to let out a giggle! "Your nasal voice is so funny, I can't take anything you say seriously," He wheezed out. "Not that I ever took you seriously, but that's another scenario."
"Not you talking about my allergies when you breathe like a donkey after running around?"
"I have asthmatic tendencies, okay?"
"And I have allergic tendencies, okay?" I mocked him, copying his exact tone. He scowled.
"You're so irritating," He said, rolling his eyes.
"You're so annoying."
"I loathe you."
"And," I paused. "I abhor you."
"I wish I could burn all your clothes and watch you howl in anguish."
"I wish I could defenestrate you and watch you bleed out."
"Did you swallow a dictionary before I came over?" He huffed out. "Because I know for a fact that your vocabulary isn't that good."
"And did you take up lessons on how to be completely obnoxious before coming over?" I copied his tone. "Because you're being very, very unpleasant. But then again, you always are unpleasant, so my bad."
"I can't believe you're saying that, after I drove thirty three minutes to bring you chicken soup."
I shrugged, taking another hearty sip. The chicken soup was really damn tasty. "I mean, you get to enjoy the presence of my sparkling personality, so I think it's a pretty fair deal."
"Fair deal?" He questioned. "My ass."
I spared his ass a glance. "I mean, your ass is nice too. Not as good as this deal, but who knows, maybe it will be."
"Don't talk about my ass!" He stumbled over his words. "I never knew you were so crass."
"We have never actually had a proper conversation without being at each other's throats," I pointed out.
"Which is your fault, because it is always you resorting to your barbaric tendencies," He retorted.
"Says you, who sucker punched a guy in the jaw in the middle of the football field and almost broke your own damn fingers."
"Because he was insulting you!"
"You didn't need to defend my honor. I can do it myself, thank you very much."
"I know, but maybe I wanted to!" His words cut sharp in the air between us. I took an audible sip of the soup, not knowing what to say. He cleared his throat. "And also, he was being a jerk. He deserved it."
I shrugged, putting an end to the conversation. We were sitting in silence, when Cecily came in with milkshakes and a bowl full of freshly cut fruits, crushed oreos, and loads of dry fruits. She insisted on me consuming the soup from a bowl instead of the thermos, which she almost magically conjured out of thin air, and asked me to eat as many berries as I could. I thanked her and introduced her to Sinclair, who gave her a heart-stopping grin — something I didn't know he had in him. He watched my exchange with Cecily in silence and only spoke up after she left.
"Why can't we get along?"
My only response was a shrug. "I don't know. Maybe we just don't have compatible personalities."
"Or," He said, picking up a fresh strawberry and biting into it. "Maybe we just challenge each other. Think about it."
"Think? With this dull, throbbing headache?" I rolled my eyes at him. "No, thanks."
"I can give you a head massage."
I scrunched up my face at him. "Why?"
"What do you mean, why?"
"Why are you being so nice to me?"
"Because you're sick and I am a knight in shining armour who always helps people?"
"Yeah. Right."
He sighed. "Maybe I am sick of our rivalry." Pause. "Maybe I want to be friends."
Now, that took me by surprise. "Damn."
"Yeah."
"Well that's good then," I said, bringing my knees to my chest as I sat up. "Feel free to resign from being my arch nemesis. I don't have any problem. It only means that I will come out victorious from this rivalry, and you will not."
That made him choke on his crushed oreo. I smiled, picking up a grape and aptly putting it in my mouth. "So, ready to back out, Sinclair? Will miss you."
"Now, now, wait," He interrupted, shoving a mouthful of cashews in his mouth. "There is no competition."
"Maybe you don't think of it as that," I smiled at him. "But my friends, and I do."
"Now, hold on," He gaped. "This is an interesting development."
I pulled my knees closer. "I know."
With his gaze fixed on the wall, he picked up his milkshake, took a hearty sip, and curled his lips into a straight line. I knew this face. He was deep in thought. I grinned, relaxing back onto my pillows.
"Well," He took another sip. "I have thought of it. And I won't be the one to back out of this rivalry. Not at all. This rivalry will continue," He said. "But, I have a little request."
"And what makes you think that you're even allowed to make a request?"
He looked at me, widening his eyes and then blinking slowly. Was he…?
"Are you trying to... bat your eyelashes at me?"
He widened his eyes further, blinking again so that his lashes swept across the upper skin of his cheek. "Maybe, is it working?"
"No," I hid my laugh. "But you do look a lot like Mr.Bean."
He gasped dramatically, his mouth hanging open comically and his hand rushing to rest upon his heart. "Walter. Is it because I am British?"
And then, I couldn't control my laughter anymore — I laughed out loud. And then, I laughed some more.
When my laughter finally subsided, and I finally took a deep breath — I caught Sinclair looking at me intently, a little smile on his face. I instantly became self conscious, straightening my back and sitting up straight.
"What is it?"
"Nothing," His smile widened. "You just hardly ever laugh like that."
"Maybe you're just not funny usually."
He shook his head, smiling, unfazed. "No, you were really laughing. Without a care. Your hair fell over your forehead because the laugh knocked the breath out of your lungs and you threw your head back, and you crinkled up your nose. It was… cute. You never do that."
I looked down at my intertwined fingers sitting over my lap, trying to find an appropriate response. What would I even have answered him? That he has never been this real with me before? That he has never been this unbothered, genuine, and… open with me before? He was talking with me like we were… friends. And I hated that I actually kind of liked it.
So, I did what any natural human being would do.
I punched his shoulder.
"Ouch," He yelped, caught off guard. "Are you actually sadistic? Is this one of your sick fetishes? Getting off on my pain?"
"Shut up," I rolled my eyes. "Also, how is Lucas? Haven't been seeing him around much lately."
His whole demeanor seemed to shift when Lucas' name registered in his mind. "Well, you know, he has been spending a lot of time on the field for the upcoming inter-school match, and the rest of the time he obliges to being micromanaged by his girlfriend, so I'd say he is pretty fine."
"Are you okay?"
That stumped him. He took a hot minute to himself before answering. "No."
"Is it because of Lucas?"
"Kind of," He said. "Yeah, it's because of him. I just feel so far away from him, nowadays, you know? If I text him tonight, I'll not get an answer before tomorrow afternoon. Now if he was always like this, I wouldn't have minded. But, he just can't say no to anything Ava says, he has been like this all the time! I know he is probably in love with her, but this time it just seems to be out of hand."
"So you think Ava is causing the problem between you two?"
"No. It's Lucas, and maybe me too, to a certain extent," He admitted. "He just completely spun, did a whole one hundred and eighty degree flip, and when I asked him about it, he shrugged it off. So I stopped asking, because I didn't want to be annoying. And of course, I have a bloody ego, and also a lot of anxiety, which stops me from texting him non-stop. Now if it was any other time, I wouldn't have thought anything about it before texting him like a hundred times. But after Ava's reappearance, it feels like something… changed in him. He didn't tell me about her coming back, about them getting together, or anything like that. It felt as if he… completely alienated me, and it hurt so bad. So I stopped pursuing my best friend back too, because I thought that if this friendship does fade away and maybe if I don't try, I'd live blaming myself for not trying. I can live with that. But what I can't live with is accepting the fact that maybe my intense dependency on Lucas — who is the only friend I have — drove him away from me, like this."
"Maybe you just need to say all of this to Lucas instead of me."
He considered my words for a moment. "Maybe," He paused. "But thank you, for listening."
And suddenly, I didn't know what to do with myself. Would it have been appropriate for me to put my arms around him? Or maybe pat his back? Or hold and squeeze his hand? What should I have done?
So, I did what any normal human being would do.
I punched his shoulder.
"Ow," He said, inhaling sharply before rubbing his shoulder. "There is seriously something wrong with you."
"Of course there is something wrong with me," I said, rolling my eyes. "As if you didn't already know that? But who cares, I have amazing hair and sharp wit to make up for it."
He reached out, tugging at a lock of my hair. I slapped his hand away. He tilted his face at me. "You're right about the hair."
"I am right about everything, it's about time you all accept that," I said, smiling sweetly. I pushed the tray with my untouched milkshake and the snacks towards him. He raised an eyebrow.
"What's this?"
"A comfort offering." A pause. "It's chocolate."
"And…?" He urged me to continue. " Is this chocolate supposed to give me magical properties or what?"
"No, silly," I internally face-palmed myself. "Chocolate helps give little serotonin boosts. Chocolate is linked to the neurotransmitter serotonin through a key compound called Tryptophan, which is an amino acid found in small quantities in chocolate and is also the precursor for serotonin."
"Oh," He said, picking up the milkshake before looking me right in the eye. "I love it when you smart talk to me."
"Shut up."
"Only if you smart talk to me again," He remarked. "Smart talk some more so I can have dreams about you seducing me with scientific facts."
"Ew," I grimaced, making a face at him. "I am this close to kicking you off the bed."
He shrugged, taking a long sip of the milkshake.
I bit on my lip, turning over the words in my mouth, over and over again. "You know, Lucas isn't your only friend, Sinclair."
"Hm?" He hummed, distracted by the various posters on the wall above my bed. I sighed before adding further.
"Lucas isn't the only friend you have. You have Neil, who has asked me almost everyday about how you are doing — by the way, I'd really appreciate it if you swapped numbers with him, thanks. And you have… me. I might be your rival, but I am not a total bitch, and I am also your friend."
He was quiet for a moment before he talked. "This is the second most romantic thing you've said to me today, you know?" He said, slowly. "Smart talking, and sweet talking. Oh, you're coming in my dreams tonight, that's for sure."
I rolled my eyes.
And, kicked him off the bed.
A/N : a quick bengali to english translation for my readers (who are probably very confused) :
- Baba : father
- Shona : a term of endearment (literal meaning of the word is gold)
- Sobsomay : all the time
- 'Sobsomay moja koro tumi' : (a phrase) you're making fun (basically, having fun by teasing, in this context) all the time