Dil Beparwah | ✔

forty five

||CHAPTER 45||
《¤》

┊A R V I K A┊

"Whiskey or scotch?"

Varun raised a brow drily. I'd have offered lighter beverages, but he didn't like coffee and I had not yet experted the finery of tea brewing.

"Just water."

Sober talk. Fine, we could try something new. "Okay."

While he sat down, I became slightly conscious of the way he observed the after-party state of my living room. Three boys never made for considerate roommates. Though I had cleaned most of the habitable space before the shopping spree, random remainders of pre-bachelors still littered the house.

"Bahl's got some business in Mumbai too?"

"Nope," I said, grabbing a bottle from the fridge. "He's here for Arnav's bachelor party. Dropped me en route to the port."

"So that wasn't a date?"

My hesitation gave it away. There was no right way of reflecting upon that topic of conversation, and I did not owe Varun any explanation, did I?

I brought him his glass of water, sitting beside him. "No. Left to his charms, he doesn't sweep me off my feet."

"Anyone who does?"

His beard was a little overgrown from the last time I'd seen him. A thin trickle of water dribbled down the corner of his lips as he drank, forcing my eyes down his neck, lingering over the faded marks hidden under the shirt.

I looked away. "What's with the sudden questioning?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," he set the glass on the table. "Just asking."

Varun never fumbled. "What's bothering you?"

From the corner of my eye, I registered a silent scoff. He leant back on the couch, clicking his tongue. "What's bothering me? Let's start with the part where you haven't spoken to me since..."

"Since you told me you were married to someone?"

"That's not the kind of stuff people write on their resume."

That threw me off. "Is this relation a professional duty to you?"

"Of course not," he argued, "Which is why it fùcķìñg bothers me that you haven't uttered a goddàmñ word since that night, Arvika! "

I pressed my lips together lest I blurt something I'd regret. Like how his candid admission about his ex-wife had launched a strange pattern of notions in my mind, wondering if I was intruding upon someone else's compact bubble. Wondering which bubble belonged to me and why even the thought of him not being in mine tortured me, so much that I did not want to think about it.

He watched me pace the room, annoyed. "Tum kuchh bolne bhi wali ho?"

I had so many questions, but it still felt out of line for me to be asking him about his failed marriage. We didn't have defined boundaries, and I didn't want my emotions to be stripped if this was just a fleeting occurrence. But the truth remained that I felt something, I felt a lot actually. 

"You want me to ask you about Latika?"

"I want to know what changed all of a sudden."

Perhaps I could try and explain. Perching on the tea table, I faced him. "I... don't want to know. About your ex-wife or the divorce."

"I'm not going to lie to you about Latika. She—"

"Exactly," I interrupted before he could start about her. "Varun, I know you'll be honest which is why I don't want to know about her."