-• fabricated truths •-
Taranya
Time skipped by so fast it was already the day of my graduation. The event had commenced in the morning, and it lasted well until three o clock in the afternoon. Agastya and Janet had come to the function as my moral support, stayed for my speech and then went home because we are flying to Jaigarh day after tomorrow and we have a lot to pack at home. My brothers couldn't come, I had thrown a well deserved, spoiled feat over it, but then moved on pretty quickly.
The jitters of wearing the gown and tossing the caps in the air drained down halfway through the ceremony and now I was in the library, along with my three friends, and we were doing this weird photo shoot that showed off our degrees less and our dresses more.
"Stop sexualisng the gown. We've to give it back." Nazia rolls her eyes.
Anna snorts. "I'm sexy. Not my fault I sexualise everything that I put on." She sweeps her dark black hair over her shoulder, her bronze skin literally shining.
Nazia shakes her head in disbelief.
"Let loose and have fun," I shove her playfully on the shoulder.
She gives me a stink eye. "I'm just waiting for you guys to get done because I'm hungry and you promised me a chicken shawarma."
I chuckle. "I know, I remember. Once they're done, we'll leave."
My phone rings in that moment. I read the name on the screen and excuse myself. "Hello,"
"I just landed."
I close my eyes in exasperation. "I seriously don't understand the logic behind this."
"What?"
"You're flying to London to take me out on a date when I'm coming to India in two days!"
"It's practical."
"It's expensive."
"I can afford." He argues. I blink. That's true. He can. I just find it a tad bit dramatic, and exaggerated. Who flies thousands of miles to take their contracted future wife on a date on the day of her graduation? "And we need to breeze the rumours. Me coming to London on the day of your graduation to meet you will spread the word that we had something even before you came to India. If your brother asks you why you want to marry me when it's been less than two days you're home, what will you say?"
"That you're the man of my dreams?" I mock. "Or that it was love at first sight, except that it's probably my hundredth time seeing you. Or you're my knight in shining armour. Or Stockholm Syndrome."
"I never kidnapped you."
"You bet?"
He falls quiet. "Okay - I might have, but it was nothing like the traditional kidnap. I held you hostage. For like, an hour or so. That's not- that's not kidnapping."
"By definition, holding someone hostage by force without their consent is kidnapping, Shourya."
"Do they not take time in consideration?"
"Did you write that book yet?" I ask.
"No, I'm still writing the dedication page. It's getting descriptive." He counters.
I grit my teeth. "Great, rip off that page, shove it in your mouth and choke on it, you bastard."
"I'll pick you up at six, Esther. Wear something nice. Don't show your legs."
I hang up.
"Tara!" Nazia calls out. I turn around, noticing the girls were done with their little photo shoot session. "Let's go, I'm starving." Calming myself with a deep breath, I nod at the ladies and we head out of the University for the last time.
"I think we should gather tonight for a party," Jennifer suggests.
"Yeah, there's a club at-"
"Girls, count me out." I tell them.
"Why?" Jennifer leans between the front seats, looking at me inquisitively, ready to insist if my reason sounds lame.
"I've a date." I answer.
Anna shrieks.
Nazia's head snaps towards me.
Jennifer freezes.
"Woah," Anna yanks her best friend back and replaces her in the middle of the seat. "Who's the lucky guy?"
"Someone I know," I shrug. "We used to study in the same school. He's from India."
"You're not talking about the guy from three months ago, are you?" Nazia inquires.
"Oh, that sexy Indian man waiting for you at the welcome desk?" Jennifer squeezes next to Anna.
I nod. "Yeah, it's him."
Anna shrieks once more. Jennifer's jaw drops. Nazia nods, the only calm, sane and unbothered response in the car.
"Let's ditch the food. We should be shopping right now!" Jennifer piques excitedly.
"No, you don't do that to food!" Nazia bursts.
"Calm down, girls. We're getting food and then we're parting ways. I already have too many clothes."
"There's no such thing as too many clothes. We're buying a dress for you!" Jennifer insists.
"Jen-"
"Shut up. You got us such sweet gifts for the graduation day. We didn't get you anything -"
"I didn't give you gifts because I wanted something in return."
"Yes, but we're giving you one anyway." Anna shuts me up.
"You okay with the change in plans?" I ask Nazia.
"As long as you feed me, I'm fine with literally anything."
"Alien invasion?" Anna questions.
"Yes."
"Zombie apocalypse?" Jennifer tries.
"Yes."
"Uhm, earthquake?" Anna clicks her fingers.
"Yes!" Nazia sounds agitated. "Now can we end this ridiculous conversation!?" She growls out, slamming her hand angrily on the door.
"Oh, she's hangry."
"I'm not hangry!" Nazia bellows.
We all flinch. For the rest of the drive, everyone practices a vow of silence.
The shawarma place is packed with people from corporate sector, everyone waiting in the line for a quick meal. My friends and I find a table in the corner, waiting for the line to thin out. Nazia eats a Snickers bar to keep herself busy. I understand her frustration. It's three thirty in the afternoon and we haven't had a bite of food in our stomachs. I have my tiffin on me, but I found it rude to prioritise myself when none of us has eaten anything. Finally, after an hour worth of wait, the restaurant empties and it's only the locals and a few tourists filling the tables. Jennifer goes up to the counter and returns a heavy fifteen minutes later with three shawarmas. I take out my tiffin as well and we start eating.
At five, I find myself in the shopping mall, ignoring Agastya's calls and looking for a dress suitable for my date tonight. I've one requirement figured out. No matter the color, style, or fabric, I want it short. My legs need to show. And I made it clear inside every shop, to every salesperson we met.
I try several different colors and styles. In the end, we choose this satin blue asymmetrical bodycon dress with loose spaghetti straps and deep neck. I try it out in the changing room, flare open the blinds and hear whistles of approval from my friends. The salesman looks at me starstruck as I twirl around for the camera and do a polite bow. My hair is flying, I'm smiling and my friends are hyping me up as though whatever I'm doing is the shit that goes down in history.
I wish Janet was here. But she also needs to pack her stuff. I'll put on another show for her back home.
"You're literally so perfect I'm crying." Jennifer pouts.
I laugh.
"Okay, girls, enough. It's five thirty. She has a date at six."
"It's okay. He can wait a little." I dismiss nonchalantly.
He didn't wait a little. He waited an hour and a half.
I took my sweet time going home, showing off my dress to my best friend, goofing around with her for a while before she helped me prepare for the date night. I camouflaged my outfit using a trenchcoat and then I was out reasoning that I'm celebrating my last day of University with my friends.
Shourya looked nothing less than pissed when I entered the posh, Italian restaurant that evening, sauntering in a way the slit on my dress revealed my thigh.
Presently, we are waiting for the starters to be served. There's low RnB music playing in the background. Lights are low, dimmed, romantic. And except for the sound of spoons and fork clashing together, gentle murmurs fill the chilled atmosphere.
"You're an hour and a half late." He chides.
"I know. I can read time."
His jaw clicks. "Tara, I flew over a thousand miles so we can give a scoop to the paparazzi. Not because I was dying to take you on a date."
"Okay... and?"
"Have you always been this infuriating?"
"Have you always been this entitled?" I counter.
"You came late and I'm entitled?"
"Yeah, if you think people owe you something you force them to do, that's you being an entitled prick." I remark.
"Lord, help me." He whispers under his breath, eyes shut tightly.
I bask in my ability to make him run out of his patience. Lo and behold, this is the beginning. I'm not easy to tame, and I'm absolutely wild when ruffled. He wants me as his wife? He better be prepared to live through that hell.
"Let's just get over with this." He opens his eyes and fixes his posture.
In time, the waiter arrives to serve.
By the end of the dinner, there's this strange, awkward silence sitting between us as a proud intrusion. We didn't share a word after that little argument in the beginning. I don't intend to change it.
I eat my ice cream quietly, swirling the sweet flavour over my taste buds and resisting the urge to pick up my phone. Because I'm bored as fuck. My eyes narrow on him. He wasn't like this at all. As Rudra, he used to be this mysterious, poetically rude jerk who had charm and character if not an identity. And as Shourya, he was conceited but cute, smug but sweet and still a polite, playful, charismatic Prince who knew of his effect on people. Now he's none. Just a boring, ostentatious businessman who treats even an exciting publicity stunt as a plain, old business meeting. Absolutely uneventful.
Okay, fuck it. I'm talking. I'm a talker. I like to chat. "So, how did the thing with your old fiance end? Did she create troubles for you?"
He meets my eyes. "It was mutual. She knew what she was getting into. I wasn't going to commit until I had your clear answer."
"And she didn't mind being your secret girlfriend for three years? Because you always introduced her as a friend."
"She was never my girlfriend. What we had was a deal. Practical and easily breakable."
I almost barfed up. What a liar.
"Yeah," sounds fun. "Let's go now?"
"Yeah, it's time we hit the club." I hold back a groan as he gets up. I wish he had forgotten about it. I want to go home.
The drive lasts max thirty minutes. His bodyguard stops the car in front of the club. I sit patiently in my seat as he gets rid of his blazer and drapes it across the arm rest. The perfected muscles flex, those artistic veins twitch. He undoes the cufflinks and proceeds to roll up the sleeves of his grey shirt. I swallow strongly. Then he gets out, crosses the bonnet of the car and comes around to open the door for me. I put one foot out, place my hand in his larger one, and our eyes lose the rest of the world. His hand squeezes mine, those honeyed eyes devour my whole face. The distance between us, or the lack there of, scalding, burning, hypnotising, a pain that's a relief. I step out fully and his body closes up, his free hand drops from the door, near my bare thigh and his knuckles breeze over my smooth flesh.
Breaking through the wintery daze, I step aside so he can close the door. Then he places a hand on the small of my back and guides me inside the club. My stomach automatically clenches because of the proximity. His big built, guarded, over compensating for the cold outside, exuding heat strong enough to melt me in my place.
When I say the club is busy, it's an understatement. It's overpopulated. There's no space to maneuver, let alone sit. I aim straight for the VIP floor. Perks of being rich. But my arm is grabbed from behind and I'm led to the dance floor.
I face him on the floor, my head tilting to meet his eyes.
His hands float down my sides before they settle on my hips. Proprietary. Possessive. He yanks me close. My hands fly to rest on his taut chest.
"Did you wear this dress to defy me or to seduce me?"
"None. I wore it because I wanted to." I state.
He smirks. "Tsk, liar."
And before I know it, he's pushing me apart, pulling me close, and we're dancing to the sexy, loud music booming across the club. This time, I'm able to keep up with his moves, this time I'm no longer a rookie in his arms, stumbling to count my steps, in awe of his sensual agility. This time, we're at the same level, and that, makes it even more intense. His hands, his eyes, two entities, but one existence. They touch me everywhere, bare or not, they feel and press onto my skin, as if they're lit with fire, desperate to brand me.
Our skins melt on our bones, and inadvertently, we're so close I feel every ridge of his hard muscle press against my body. His breath dances down the slope of my neck, and I feel the familiarity of the moment settle in. He loved it there. He was crazy about it.
"God, I missed this." The low groan slips from his throat, his right arm wounded tightly around my waist, holding me impossibly close, the left hand feathering down my bare arm before stopping to interlace with my fingers.
I close my eyes, trying to compose myself. If I keep this up, I'll be bred even before we get married. I can't let that happen. I can't let him win.
Making sure my voice is calm, I lean in and whisper in his ear, "I'm sure the paparazzi got enough scoop to talk about." He stiffens. "Drop me home now." I pull away unceremoniously.
The drive back home is quiet, wordless. But there's no awkwardness in the air anymore.
The way our bodies had shed off the fragments of the bitter, broken past and preferred intimacy over resentment put enough emotional distance that trusted silence more.
I look down at the ring in my right hand and roll it around my finger. It's his mother's. My heart suddenly feels heavy. I glance at him. He's staring outside the window, the scanty street lights ethereal across his visage. I nibble on the inside of my lower lip, resting the side of my head on the window as I stare outside too. I feel his eyes on me once in a while, but they don't linger long enough for me to acknowledge them.
The black Mercedes stops in front of my building. He exits the car to open the door for me. I place my hand next to his after getting out, stepping closer so he can close the door behind me. He does and backs me up against the car. His hand rises to cup my cheek, and he leans in to press a kiss on my forehead.
My gaze darts to the suv across the road. It has been following us from the time we got out of the restaurant.
I hug Shourya.
He stiffens.
"I had fun. Thanks for tonight." With a long, lingering kiss on his cheek, I pull away and smile at him softly. "Good night." My thumb brushes over the lipstick mark.
The raw emotions in his eyes are slightly off putting. As if he wants to throw me back into the car and take me somewhere only he's allowed to look at me. There's obsession in his eyes I can't deny. It's overwhelming.
"Bye," I say quickly and walk away from there, inside the gates, clutching my purse to my stomach as I hold in the urge to glance over my shoulder. The engine comes to life and the wheels screech off the asphalt. I finally take a breath of relief.
My knees give in when I enter the elevator. I hold the bar tightly, inhaling and exhaling deeply until I feel capable to walk on my own.
The doors open with a pleasant ding and I step out in the dark living room, illuminated dimly by the city lights and television screen. Janet mutes the channel and walks up to me.
"How did it go?"
I shrug. "Good."
"Why do you look so upset then?" She frowns.
I look up at her.
I think he's obsessed.
I'm worried about an out before I can even get in.
Is on the tip of my tongue but I shake my head. "Nothing. I'm just tired. Let's talk tomorrow." And I retire to my bed.
I spend the next day with Janet. She's not coming back to India with us. She is in talks with a publishing house in Oxford regarding her first book and she's hopeful they'll approve it. She has dreams. A career to make. And so, the teenage friendship that lasted through all thick and thin, will now have to take a backseat because our priorities have changed, perhaps upgraded.
It's a painful seperation. There are tears involved, but there are also smiles and jokes and a hope. She waves me bye when I get into the car. I keep the smile plastered on my face until we're out of her sight. Then I hug Agastya and weep softly. I'm finally leaving this country behind for good. And I'm never planning to return. Never. I'm relieved. But it still hurts.
We board the plane and buckle up. And we lose London in less than an hour.
Shourya had predicted right. The rumours of our dating will spread like a wildfire before I reach India. Reporters crowd us at the airport and I'm photographed, questioned, and followed until my car.
"What the hell is this?" Agastya snarls, showing me the phone screen that has me and Shourya cosying up near his car in London.
The article reads: Princess of Jaigarh and Prince of Rajgarh rumoured to be dating.
I keep my silence.
"Taranya, please tell me this is not true." He requests.
My phone starts blowing up with calls, messages and social media notifications. I turn it off.
"Tara!"
"You'll get your answers once we reach home." I aver.
This is not how I had imagined coming back home. I wanted it to be memorable, nostalgic, emotional. Getting bombarded with questions of my nonexistent relationship wasn't in the plans. Shourya ruined everything.
When we reach home, there's no one waiting outside to welcome us. And when we step inside, I see all of my brothers sitting in the living room, looking disappointed and frustrated.
Vivaan notices us first. Yuvraaj follows right after. The newspaper clenched in his hand. He stands up, storms up to me, and throws it on my face. "Explain." He demands.
I feel tears brim my eyes. "It's true." I lie. "Shourya and I are dating. We've been dating for a long time."
"Tara!" Yuvaan says accusingly, disgusted at the thought.
"We were tired of hiding. We want to get married." I look into my eldest brother's eyes as I say that.
"You want to what?" He asks in disbelief.
"We want to get married."
And she dropped the bomb!
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