Chapter 30 : Jab (When) They Met
Zoya’s P.O.V.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
These were my thoughts as I was mindlessly flicking pages of the voluminous 1500 page novel that I had picked up in an attempt to distract myself. The novel in mention was A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth. A compelling story beautifully written except my mind was stuck on a certain suitable boy that I had left behind, wondering whether he loved me enough to cross the seven seas and bear the ordeal of my family.
Shuffling of feet outside my door brought me out of my mindless musing. Before I had time to think who it could be the door burst open and I saw a pair of black pumps, long legs clad in skinny white jeans with a leather belt, a royal blue shirt tucked neatly in at the hips, two hands on either sides one of which was filled with chunky jewellery, a long neck accentuated by a single chain with an A on it, as I travelled up north, I was stunned to see the mock – furious face of my favorite girlfriend in the whole wide world.
“Ava,” I screamed jumping out of my bed and colliding into her with a bear hug. She hugged me back with the same enthusiasm.
“Z, How I missed you girl.” She said pulling me close.
“What are you doing here? How did you know where I stay?” I ask her breathless with excitement.
“Z Don’t you always tell me, If you search sincerely, you will even find God himself and you my best friend are a mere mortal.” She says with a ear splitting grin.
“I’m so glad you are here. How is Laurent and How is……” I trail off .
“Arnaud?” She completes my statement.
I nod in affirmation.
“Laurent is good. He did not allow me to come here alone. He insisted on tagging along like the sweet and overprotective boyfriend that he is.” She says with a lost look in her eye.
“Arnaud, well he,” she leaves it incomplete on purpose.
“Ava I’m dying here. Your suspense is the cause of it.” I poke her in the ribs. Just then somebody knocks on the door. I tell the person to come in. It’s my dad and he has a rose in his hand. I raise my eyebrow, he shrugs and says that Monu gave it to him. I know Monu has a crush on me so I did not give it much thought.
I continue prodding Ava and she continues evading me. My dad whom I call Appa, keeps coming in to drop either a rose or a bouquet, something fishy or flowery rather is going on here. I need to find out. We eat lunch : rasam and rice and Ava licks her plate clean. In my room I continue the interrogation but she, tough nut that she is, does not budge.
My mother arrives home around four. I think my dad told her that Ava is here because she immediately made her way over to my room.
She knocks once and I allow her in. Ava hugs her and they both exchange pleasantries. Ava then says, “Mrs Subramaniam, Zoya, I want to show you something.” She leads us towards the windows and slowly pulls the curtain back.
I am shocked. Standing right opposite on the street is the Frenchman who occupied every waking and sleeping thought in my head right there in the flesh. He looks downright delectable in his snug blue jeans, white shirt and a rose in his hand. My smexy, hot French Greek God. A grin automatically makes it’s way on my face. He made it. He is here. I feel like doing the futterwacken for some reason. He looks at me and his face breaks into a grin. I want to run and jump into his arms Bollywood style but I have to restrain myself as my mother is standing right next to me.
She mutters something inaudible under her breath. Too soft for wither of us to understand. Ava then goes on to explain but my mind refuses to register anything she said after having sighted the object of it’s affections.
My mother unwilling to break the Subramaniam clan rule of being rude to a guest simply nods her head in resignation. She takes Ava along and goes downstairs to talk to my father not without drawing the curtains with a deep sigh and issuing orders that I had to stay in bound till told. I try my level best to listen to their conversation but my parents wisely choose to talk in my dad’s study.
Unable to go out or lookout of the window, I pace like a wild lioness in a cage. Up and down adding an unladylike stomp or two just to tell them how angry I am at them. For heaven’s sake. I’m twenty four years old, not an erring twelve year kid.
Their conversation lasted for three hours. Yes, I kept an eye on the watch the entire time. I was called for dinner by my parents. When I descended the staircase, my parents were standing expressionless while Ava had that look on her face. That look is the look she wears which does not have an adequate description in the English or any other language for that matter.
When I reach the last step, Appa says, “Zoya, it’s incredibly rude to keep guests waiting. Why don’t you call that young man inside for dinner? We can sort out whatever the problem is after a good feed of dosa and payasam.”
My face breaks into a wide grin. I embrace him and whisper a teary Thank you in his ear before asking them to proceed. My mum purses her lips to such an extent that, they are no longer visible.
With Appa’s permission, I bundle out of the house faster than a rocket and for the first time ever not looking on either side of the road for oncoming traffic, or the way I look in my oversized baggy yet warm grey Uni sweatshirt, Hood up and full length jogging pants. I run towards Arnaud and leap with the full faith that he will catch me and he does.
My French knight in jeans. Always there to catch me.
It feels so good to be back in his arms. The one place that I belong. He makes me feel secure, comforted and loved. He tightens his arms around me and I around him.
“Zoya, mon amour. I missed you so much. I love you, you know that right?” he whispers softly in my ear. I nod. I kiss him on the cheek, my way of showing him that I felt the same way.
He cups my cheeks in his hands, they are ice cold. He must have been out there far too long. I feel a pang of sadness. He brings my face closer to his. I know he wants to kiss me, Hell I want to kiss him. Kiss him senseless. Pour out the endless hours of anxiety, sadness and hopelessness into that one passion filled, hope filled kiss. More than one definitely. One is not enough.
My faculties seemed to have fled but Arnaud still has possession of his. Miraculously so, he kisses my cheek. I sigh inwardly but I know that it’s for the best. My neighbor Dolly Dhillon will have a field day if she witnesses anything of that sort.
Arnaud then rubs his nose against mine. It feels more intimate than the near kiss he gave me. This is our sign. The sign, that everything will be okay. We will be okay.
“Arnaud, will you come to my place for dinner?” I whisper in his ear. “ I thought you would never ask,” he says jokingly.
I take his hand in mine and lead him towards my house. We enter the house and I close the door with a grin and a prayer in my heart that this meeting goes off well. Arnaud rubs his hand together in an attempt to warm them. I take each of his hand in my own and kiss his palm, hoping to transfer some heat into them.
He gives me that grin. That Grin, will kill me in the end.
“My parents are in the dining room. Come,” I tell him leading him towards the dining room.
My parents and Ava are already seated at the dining table. I enter first followed by Arnaud hot on my heels.
Arnaud walk towards my dad with an extended hand. “Good evening, Mr Subramaniam, It’s a pleasure to meet you sir.” He shakes my father’s hand. I scrutinize my dad’s face. He has a small smile on his face.
Thank you Lord. Arnaud has passed Appa’s test. Appa believes that a man’s handshake speaks volumes. Some weird guy thing, I guess and with the smile on Appa’s lips I’m sure he has aced that test.
He then proceeds to thaw the massive iceberg in the room, i.e my mother. “Mrs Subramaniam, it’s good to see you again. You look resplendent as usual. I apologize for the way, our meeting ended last time.” He says with absolute sincerity. My mother simply nods and asks him to take a seat.
He sits next to me. The meal passes smoothly, although nobody speaks a word, except the occasional ‘pass me the sambar’ or ‘could I have a little more of the payasam?’ The former by Ava and the latter by Arnaud.
After dinner, we sit in the living room with a cup of world famous Kerala produce filter coffee warming our hands.
Appa begins, “Mr Tatou, what brings you here?” He asks in his no nonsense military style.
“Sir, Frankly I love your daughter. I cannot imagine a life without her. The days that I spent in the States without her was pure agony. I might have never died, but I know what Hell feels like because I was there. Without Zoya, my life is plain torture.” He says baring his heart out.
“Mr Tatou, How can I believe this, after seeing your response when my wife met your father and brother?” Appa asks him suspiciously.
“Sir, I apologize for that. It’s my fault that I did not tell you both in advance about my family.” Arnaud is such a sweetheart. He did note even mention the fact that he had warned me in advance about them. He narrates the sad story of his family life to my parents who look surprised. My mother’s icy expression begins to thaw.
“ I will not stand by my brother because he was wrong,” he continues. “Zoya and I have more in common than anybody can imagine. She is yin to my yang, the light to my darkness, the optimism to my pessimism. He may have seen many divorces in his life but he is wrong about us. Zoya and me are bound by this invisible cord and even the law is not powerful enough o separate us.” He adds.
“Mr Tatou, how can I believe after listening to your family story, which I must admit is very sad, that you will not leave my daughter for some younger, prettier, model like, royal blooded elegant debutante?” Appa queries.
“Sir, if it would reassure you, I would write a contract in my blood stating that I have no intention of ever leaving Zoya. Today, tomorrow or in the future. I will not deny. I have met my fair share of models, princesses and duchesses but Zoya alone captured my heart. I cannot imagine a life without her. She is the oxygen that I breathe. I need her like a drowning man needs air.” He says glancing at me.
Appa glances at my mother who has thawed considerably since the time Arnaud entered the house.
“Arnaud, will you be able to guarantee me that on the circumstance that you and my daughter are married, she will not be treated badly by your family?” Appa asks with fatherly concern. Notice the change from Mr Tatou to Arnaud.
“Sir, I am a self made man. The only thing that I carry with me is my family name. If my family members cannot accept, that I love Zoya then I will denounce them. I will be okay as long as Zoya is with me. Having her as my family and you all – if you will accept me as a son-in-law is all I need.” Arnaud says while staring at my father in the eye.
“Arnaud, How do we know that we can trust you?” My mother asks him. Throughout this interrogation, she has remained eerily silent. It’s highly uncanny. She is the matriarch, the one who wields the authority yet here it was my poor Appa doing the talking. Appa prefers to be the more laid back, fun loving kind compensating for my over strict and disciplined army background mother. He gets into military mode when the situation demands.
“Ma’am, I promise you that I will always stand by Zoya. I can write that contract in blood that I mentioned but more than that I believe it’s a leap of faith. One that you have to take. You will have to trust me on this.” He says with conviction.
My parents merely look at each other and nod. They rise in unison and excuse themselves politey saying that they will be back shortly. Arnaud and I sit on the couch close to each other while Ava sits on my grandmother’s rocking chair.
We wait in anxiousness as the beat of our hearts is mimicked by the chiming of the grandfather clock.
AN: Hello Wattpaders. Thankyou for bearing it out with me. I love each and every one of you. Here is an early Christmas present from me to you. Exams are keeping me busy but I will try to update soon. keep reading, keep voting and commenting and spread the love. XOXO