The team that built Blue Light should be advertising and making money out of their superhuman ability to soundproof a hoard of drunk, uninhibited sweaty young adults dancing and screaming to a mashup of TikTok famous songs that played in deafening volume. Ishita thought that night was going to be yet another quiet night with just her and a glass of whiskey to keep her company and not even the pretentious bouncers at the door made her think otherwise. She didn't notice the ugly flyers on the wall luring in the party-goers of Chennai with free drinks and free entry schemes for women. It wasn't until she opened the door to the not-so-famous restobar that she realised she'd stepped into a hellhole.
Months of blowing through her limited money at Blue Light had associated a sense of escape and relief to that shady bar. Ishita walked in, confident that a raging crowd wouldn't taint her perfectly planned night. She knew a secluded spot, far far away from the dance floor, and she trusted it to find her the non-existent peace and quiet that she was looking for. She looked at Vishant, the man behind the counter and her recent friend, and gestured to give her her usual. He grinned unnecessarily, obviously pumped up by the women trying to burn his clothes away with their illicit gaze. Good for him, she thought to herself, took her drink and went to her spot.
Ishita let herself fall onto the seat, pushing her bag to the side and crossing her legs. There were good days, bad days and horrible days. But it was the ambiguous days — the days when she did nothing worthwhile and felt empty and aimless as if walking through a cryptic blue haze — that disturbed her the most. On these days, her mental well-being took a steep hit downward and it felt like only a drink could cure her even though they were nothing but cheap bandaids. And for the past few days, every day had been an ambiguous day and she was using up all her money for these cheap bandaids.
Her best friend was married. Her other best friend was on the road to a happily-ever-after with her boyfriend. Both of them had jobs that would keep their bank accounts full and happy. And her bank account was starving, begging her to at least toss in some pity cash. She was incredibly happy for her best friends but at the same time, she was bitter and miserable that she couldn't have what they had. Not because she wasn't trying, but because she couldn't even if she tried.
Ishita was different from them. She wasn't built for a steady lifestyle like them — spinning on the same wheel for years together and finding joy in it. Ishita loved to go wild, soak up new skills, learn a new craft, share knowledge and sign up for rich experiences that would give her an endless amount of stories to tell. She was spontaneous and quite reckless, dictated by her heart and her heart alone.
And she was beginning to think her personality was the reason she was broke, unhappy and lonely.
She was beginning to hate herself.
She sipped the liquid and held the taste in her mouth before swallowing it. She had to figure out another means of income. After the art school she worked at closed due to low funds, she didn't have a guaranteed source. She picked up gigs that would pay her but she'd run out of them. She had to either start prepping for organizing workshops or get another job to pay her bills and add onto her savings. There was a three-month pottery course happening next January and she desperately wanted to take it up. She had five more months to save enough money to afford it comfortably.
She took another sip and realised it was the last one. Ugh, she thought, hoping she could sweet talk Vishant into giving her more and putting it on her tab. Before she could act on it, a looming presence sat across from her, placing a bottle of whiskey and a glass on the table. He was typing away something on his phone with one hand, his forehead scrunched. Annoyance curled Ishita's lips, ready to call this man out for barging into her space without permission. He was wearing a white button-up shirt, tucked in neat in black trousers. He had an expensive watch, glossy black hair that was styled to perfection and a thin platinum chain around his neck. Her eyes travelled lower, the first two unfastened buttons on his shirt getting the best of her. Seriously, she fumed to herself, who did he think he was? Walking proof that with money, one's manners went poof?
"Excuse me?" she snapped. He didn't look up but in his defense, the music drowned out her voice. Ishita huffed and stood up, leaning forward to snap her fingers across his face.
The man glanced up.
Ishita gasped, eyes wide, and fell back onto her seat immediately. "You! What are you doing here?" she screamed, loud enough for him to hear it. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she'd meet her best friend's ex-fiancé in a less-known bar like Blue Light.
Jai. Fucking Jai, out of all the mighty assholes in Chennai.
Great, she scoffed to herself. Just great.
Ishita hated him. He acted so entitled that he expected even his fiancé to inform him beforehand whenever she wanted to talk to him so he could make time for her and clear out his busy schedule. Even on his engagement day, he'd left immediately after he pushed the ring on her best friend's finger and took a picture with her for courtesy. Even God wouldn't be as busy as this man pretended to be. He couldn't deal with last-minute plans or changes in plans, treated his parents like corporate clients and couldn't live without his fingers strapped to his phone, tapping tapping tapping like a fucking lunatic. He should probably just get married to his phone. He'd have a better relationship with it than a human. There was no person happier than Ishita when her best friend asked him to call off the engagement. She hated him.
"Why would a person come to a bar, Ishita?" he asked dryly, taking a seat, not even surprised by her presence. "Or are you too dumb to know that?"
For some reason, she could hear his snarky comment over the noise.
"At least I don't lack basic manners like you, you asshole," she said, reaching for her glass just to realise again that it was empty. The momentary rage she felt caused her to slam the glass on the table and lean back against the seat like a stubborn little child. "I hate this! I hate everything!"
Jai seemed genuinely amused. He grabbed the bottle and his glass, lifted his expensive stuck-up ass and crossed the table to sit next to her.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" Ishita snapped, giving him a deathly glare.
He winced at her volume. "I couldn't hear you properly there. But now I can hear you too much," he said pointedly, making her roll her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
For some reason, the words seemed like they held so much concern. She glanced at him to find nothing but an impassive expression on his face. Ha, that's more like it. She must be deluded to ever think Jai had feelings. "None of your business."
"I'll pour you a glass if you tell me," he offered, pouring himself one. Ishita watched him with distaste written on her face and then when she saw him swallow the drink, she pressed her eyes close and screamed internally. "Fine, you fucktard. Pour me one," she pushed out the words between her teeth and slid her glass towards him.
Jai grinned and Ishita slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand. "Don't you be smug about this. I'll kill you."
Jai didn't say anything but patiently waited for her to tell her story. Ishita started it, irritated that she had to share her miserable tale with someone who had it all in his life. She kept thinking the whole time how he must be feeling pitiful for her and how he was probably looking down on her. But there wasn't a glimpse of that on his annoyingly pretty face. He held her gaze, nodded empathetically and even offered her a comforting smile once in a while.
Maybe it was because of that or the third glass she found herself pouring, she began to vent. "I can do anything, I can pick up any job in no time. But with a home economics degree attached to my name, I am reduced to just that. My skills are far more better than anyone in the company, I swear by it, but with that degree, I don't even qualify for an interview. It's so pathetic how it matters so much. I mean, those stuck up organizations are missing out on amazing talent. That's all I can say. One day, someone will see me for who I am and not my degree and I will rise to a successful position. The position would be so influential and if at all, someone interviews me, I'm going to give them a list of all the organizations that didn't even give me a chance, those motherfuckers! Let's see who regrets their choices then!"
Ishita hiccupped and fell back against the seat. She clutched Jai's sleeve, pulling it from side to side. "I am so angry. I hate myself. I hate myself right now so much," she mumbled, closing her eyes. "Pour me another glass, asshole."
"I have a name, you know?" she heard him say but she didn't respond. She reached for the bottle but he took it away. "That's enough, Ishita. Where's your house? I'll drop you off."
"I'm not drunk. I can go on my own. Just help me book an Uber," she said, fumbling for her phone and put her hands on her ears. "God, these fucking animals. Can they be any less loud? They don't know what is waiting for them in a few years. Unemployment's going to kick them in their asses."
"Ishita."
"What?"
"I can't let you take an Uber. I'm not that much of an asshole," he said.
"You're not?" Ishita tilted her head to the side, her eyes mirroring disbelief.
"Yeah, sorry to disappoint. I'll make it up to you some other time," he said, putting her phone back in her bag and helping her stand. "I'll drop you home tonight. Tell me your address."
"Fine," she huffed. "Only because I know you're not a pervert. You're just the biggest asshole on planet Earth. And Mars. And Venus. And—"
"Yeah, I get it. Let's get you home, astronaut."
a/n: sorry lovers of ragav, it's jai. it's always been jai! don't come at me, i gave so many signs but you didn't even see the signs 😭