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Banging the door behind me, I locked the door. Rather than throwing all the antique pieces of jewelry I wore for the wedding, I patiently got them off my body.
Spend hours in Brazilian waxing, got tons of cuts and sat through hours of bridal make up only for calling the wedding off.
Stripping off the blouse and lehenga that was initially my husband's responsibility to tear from my skin, I slipped into the amber palazzo set I had worn to the venue last night. Despite my mother's innumerable protests, I denied encaging myself in a saree on my wedding day. My prime reason was comfort. But now I am thankful to my conscience for not wearing a saree.
As I stuffed all the jewelry Aman parents had gifted me, a knock on the door resonated. The last thing on my list was consolidations and consolations.
With an irritated sigh, I yanked the door open. Stood in all his glory, my boss looked nervous. Had been in a stable mental condition, I would have invited him in. But for now, I rose one of my eyebrows in question.
"I'll drop you at your place, if you're ready to go." His voice was as deep as ever and as calm as one could picture him to be. With a nod, I collected my phone, my purse and the jewellery bag.
Walking out of the room, I found Trisha standing in the middle of the hallway. She wrapped her arms around my neck and collected me in a bone crushing hug.
I gave her the bag of jewelries. "Give this to his parents." I told her.
"Sure. Call me once you're home. I'll be back at your place once I am done with everything here."
I nodded my head in acknowledgement.
Following Mr. Rathore to his car, I waited patiently as Wahaj handled the security. Taking a seat in his luxurious royal car, I heaved a sigh.
This was not how I had pictured my d-day to go. I stuck my head to the window as the trees and buildings were left behind.
"Are you... okay?" I heard my boss ask.
"Surprisingly yes." I muttered after a long pause.
Basking in the peaceful silence of the car, I self- assessed my reaction. I should have felt upset. Sad. Angry. Something. But I am numb.
A long span of silence covered the car before another question was fired at me. "Are you hungry?" He asked me. I shrugged. "I skipped my lunch." I answered .
His eyebrows furrowed. "Why would you even do that?" He paused. "Skipping meals are never advised for any reason, Ms. Rudraksh."
"I feared about bloating. I wanted to fit into y lehenga without a bloated tummy." I chuckled before turning my gaze back to the window.
I could see him texting someone from the corner of my eyes. I really hope he was not texting his best friend, giving him updates about how miserable I was.
The car stopped at aa cute café in a secluded part of Jaipur. The door was held open for Mr. Rathore. He rounded the car and held my door open on his butler's behalf.
Lingering his palm on the small of my back, he ushered me into the café.
Again, being the gentleman he was raised to be, he held the door of the café open for me, pulled the chair out and tucked me in once I was seated.
"What would you like to have?" Mr. Rathore asked me as his eyes skimmed through the menu stuck on the wall, too.
"Anything that's sweet, has a lots of fat. I had been on a diet for the past four months, to make sure I look prim and perfect on.. this day."
He diverted his gaze to my face for a few seconds before he looked back at the menu. He ordered for lemon soda until we decided.
Placing an order for chhole bhatore, imartis and a glass full of lassi, he waited for the waiter to leave.
"Honestly speaking, you're scaring me, Vaani." He muttered with his gaze fixed to my face. I shrugged lightly as I slurped on my lemon soda.
"I mean if you don't mind me calling you Vaani." He quickly added. He respected my sense of professionalism as much as I did his.
"I don't mind. It's actually refreshing to call me by my name rather than my surname." I shrugged.
"Are you really okay?" He asked me again. His eyes softer than usual. His tone no more formal. For once he looked like a normal human being rather than my boss.
Adyansh was a sight for sore eyes. With a tall built, he possessed dark hair and talkative black eyes. His face, at the age of twenty seven, was still boyish.
He was the stark opposite of Aman.
While Aman aimed for a simple six digit per annum central government service, Adyansh was the epitome of financial success. Though he inherited the textile companies of either of his parents, the idea of fusing both Pink City Textiles of Arunaditya Singh Rathore and Chauhan Textiles of Sanskriti Chauhan Rathore, to make Arundhati textiles was entirely his. The expansion of the fused company over Indonesia and India only in half a decade was his success rate.
While Aman was the guy who would remain silent at home within his family and suddenly become extrovert when he's out in the public, Adyansh Singh Rathore conserved his extrovert side only for his family.
The frown between his eyebrows deepened as I took a longer pause to respond to his question this time. Primarily because I had been busy comparing him with his so called childhood bestfriend, to fathom if I could even trust him.
"How should I feel, Adyansh?" I asked him. I took the liberty to extend the curtsy to call him by his name too.
And I was genuinely unsure about what to feel. Maybe, he could help me with what to feel.
"I don't know. Any other woman at your place would have been a puddle at the news of his fiance... running away." He pursed his lips.
"I really respect how strong you are, Vaani." He appreciated. "But you don't have to be. It's okay to breakdown." He consoled.
His words stirred something deep in my guts. But I still couldn't cry.
There was a pit formed inside me by the time the waiter brought our orders over.
Diving into the fluffy bhaturas , I hoped I could fill the hole in my system with all the carbs I ordered. I did not have my card or enough cash with me. But I doubt my boss would ask me to pay.
Had he been a man with meagre income like Aman, I would no doubt offer to pay. But a billionaire like Adyansh Singh Rathore can afford a few bucks to pay in a small cafe, I am sure.
Howling up the food like I had been a starved man for decades, I did not give shits about my boss at the moment. He had already seen me at my most vulnerable stage- as a stood up bride. I did not give two fucks if he feels disgusted over my table manners.
A throat clearing diverted my attention. With a mouth full of food, I looked up. I am sure I looked no less than manjulika, with messy hair and smudged make up.
I raised my eyebrows in question when I saw my boss's eyes glued over my phone.
"I don't have your family or your best friend's number. I think you should switch your phone on, in case they need to reach you." He advised. Thankfully, he had no judgemental looks in his eyes. Except empathy, of course.
"Do the honous, please." I managed to let out. I felt like I would die if I stopped eating before the table full of food items were finished.
He took my phone from my side of the table gracefully, making sure he doesn't knock down any of the plates.
Switching the iPhone 13 Adyansh himself gifted me on completing one year in Arundhati textiles, completely for personal use, he kept it back at its original place. I had a separate set of devices for professional use, by the way.
Not even a minute later, a series of notifications chimed in the empty cafe. Gulping down the last piece of my bhature, I wiped my hands with tissues before I picked up my phone.
About thirteen missed calls awaited for me to call back. A few from my parents, a few from the relatives who missed the weddings and one from Trisha. All of them ranged between breakfast to lunch. None of them were recent.
Looking up at the time, it was midnight. The sign of messaging app blinked at the top of my notification bar. Pulling down the screen by my thumb, I gulped at the sight of Aman's contact.
I am sorry, Vaani.
8:06 pm
That's all?
"Up for some desert?" Adyansh asked me. Keeping my phone back at it's place, I nodded my head.
"What would you like? I'll be ordering for a chocolate flavoured sundae." He asked.
"I'll take the same." I muttered.
As the waiter set our delicious deserts infront of me, my phone chimmed yet again.
A bank notification this time.
I furrowed my eyebrows as I took my time loging in my account details.
My face contoured at Aman trying to access to our joint account set up for our honeymoon.
A joint account that was accessible to both of us, but financed by me. Hence, permission was required by my end.
Reporting a fraud, I blocked any activities with the account except from my end. I clenched my jaws as I tried to breathe in and out.
Digging into my sundae, I could see my boss being curious about my reaction yet not intervening.
"The asshole of your friend is trying to access to the funds I set up for our honeymoon. I wonder who he is going with now." I chuckled mirthlessly.
At the end of my chuckle another notification rung out. Banging my spoon back on the table, I picked up my phone.
This time, my heart really broke into two parts.
Dear customer,
Joy Tours and Travels here by inform you that certain changes were made on your initial honeymoon package.
The client name has been changed from Mr. Aman Iyer and Ms. Vaani Rudraksh to Mr. Aman Iyer and Ms. Navya Rudraksh.
Your last minute corrections would be made.
Thank you for approaching us for trusting with your honeymoon.
Team Joy Tours and Travels.
This is what betrayal looks like. This time I could not stop the lone tear traitoring through my eye.
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