Dil Beparwah | ✔

nine

||CHAPTER 9||
《¤》

┊A R V I K A┊

I've never liked noodles.

Sure, for a fast-food option it might be delightful to many, but no matter what kind of sauces it was presented coated in, my dislike for the dish didn't deter.

And being served Hakka noodles at a place with hard tarpaulin for a roof, a faux wooden fencing serving as a barricade between us and the road, and tables painted in oil stains? Nuh-uh. I wasn't a germaphobe, or neat freak—quite far from it. But excuse me for not wanting to eat something I did not fancy in the first place.

Instead, I had my eyes glued in the general direction of the original Bandhan contract. Varun sat comfortably in the seat opposite mine, two bowls of tangy noodles and two cans of Sprite on the table separating us. For the past few minutes, he had been flipping the pages, skimming through the contract.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably. I've been shady before, but using a company contract secretively? I kept reminding myself that it was for my mother's sake– for her husband's sake. If I didn't do this, I wouldn't be able to control the damage and my mother wouldn't help me convince the Board members to vote in my favor. It was thin ice and I needed to cross it as quickly as I could.

"Mhmm," Varun cleared his throat, closing the file and tying its ribbons. The edges had thinned out and were slightly wrinkly. "Obviously I can't have a lawyer look into it, so the terms are up to my interpretation."

I pressed my lips together, nodding. While he fixed the papers back into the box file, I reached out for the tin can of Sprite, thumbing the edge. Maybe I'd drink it. I wanted to order a straw, but I didn't want to come off as a prude. I wiped the drops on the cool metal surface of the cylinder.

"Any new information you gained by looking through the contract?" Most of it was common knowledge. Except for the precise figures, what could he possibly snitch?

Varun pushed the file towards me, shrugging. "At least now, I know I won't be shooting in the dark."

My hands were itching to grab the file and shove it inside my bag but I did not want to look like I was nervous or scared or anything that would give away my restless turmoil. So, I snapped the clip of the can instead. "What a waste, huh?"

Varun clicked his tongue, "Not really. The food here is not over-priced and something I can pronounce without knotting my tongue." He rolled the sleeves of his shirt before grabbing his bowl of noodles and the white plastic fork it came with. Trimmed nails, classy watch, veiny hands... Why was I observing that?

I forced my eyes back on my cold drink. He was poking fun at me, again. "In the scorching sun, with grease for table cloth and misspelled menu," I counted with my fingers.

An expression of amusement took over his demeanor, as he rolled the noodles with the fork and popped it into his mouth. He didn't have to say anything— I had made a fool of myself yet again by responding instinctively. What I pointed out in defense was exactly the snobby brat figure he had stereotyped me into.

Grinding my teeth, I was so busy plastering a confident smile to counter his gloating face, that I didn't realize that my palm had been squeezing the can in my hand. Before I could respond, the fizzy drink spilled out of it's canister and splashed over the box file. "Shìţ!"

I was on my feet instantly, reaching out for a tissue paper which wasn't there. In a split second, Varun had extended his hand over the table, wiping the cover of the box file with his napkin.