-• a gentleman •-

[ 12 December, 1998 ]

"It's Sports Days!"

Fourteen -year-old Sara peeps from the window of the girls changing room at the vast fields of their school overwhelmingly flooding with students of all grades. She puts on her custom-made tshirt for the sports day, as do many other girls around her, the vivid colors displaying the sports spirit in three varieties. Hers is blue. What follows underneath are a pair of black shorts, white socks and a pair of Nike sneakers. She tightens the laces, zips her backpack close and swings it inside her locker and slams it shut, twisting the key before shoving it in her pocket.

"Sara, you done?" Her self-proclaimed best friend, Leigh asks her.

Sara nods with a smile. The two girls hook their arms together, exiting the tightly cramped room with a few excuse mes, sorries and thank yous.

Leigh Jamison is a recently transferred student from the US, having shifted to India because her father walked out on them to start a new life with a much younger woman, leaving her mother and her to fend for herself on a single person's salary. So when the offer for her to move countries and work in the headquarters for Jaigarh's royal family came, she took it without wasting any time. The cost of living in India is much cheaper than the US and the salary raise was worth it, she also needed the assurance of a permanent employee and its benefits.

Leigh, of course, hated the thought of starting anew, especially in a third world country that her friends and cousins back home warned her about being an unsafe place. She hated the crowded roads, loud horns, and the traffic. But then her mother enrolled her into a private school, and for someone who had been used to public schools, the grand opulence of this new student life felt not only out of place, but also out of character for her. Then she met Sara. On her first day, she had asked the thirteen year old to scoot over on the bench. Sara had meekly picked up her backpack and dumped it on her lap, surprised that a classmate was actually sitting next to her. Ever since then, the worries of starting anew faded, replaced with the comfort of having a friend in this new phase of her life.

Sara doesn't agree. She doesn't call them friends, only classmates, close acquaintances, but Leigh considers them best friends, and that's enough. They literally share tiffins, help each other cheat during exams, have the bad but contagious habit of sharing a giggle during serious situations, if that's not best friend material, Leigh don't know what is.

"Here, couple bands." Leigh snatches magnet bands from her pocket, offering one to Sara. "Let's cheer for our teams." She says, strapping the blue band around Sara's wrist.

"We're not a couple." Sara mutters.

Leigh shrugs. "You can call them best friend bands."

"We're not best friends either."

"Did I ask for your opinion, Sara?" Leigh deadpans.

Sara twists her lips disappointedly.

Leigh doesn't understand. Sara hates making friends not because she doesn't like making friends, but because they never like staying friends with her long enough. Sara cannot invite her to have sleepovers, they cannot do normal best friend stuff, they cannot even talk over phone past seven o clock. Friendships don't like boundaries, and that's what Sara's life is all about, staying in boundaries.

And Leigh is not Indian. One day she'll return to her home country, to the US. Maybe as soon as they graduate highschool. Sara will be stuck here. And when she turns twenty, she'll be married off, just like her grandfather has been planning for her elder sister. While Sara will become a housewife like her mother, Leigh will go onto become something, someone that doesn't require a man's surname, his permission, or his validation. She'll become a woman other women would want to be like. While Sara will become a woman other women will pity.

"There, go Riders!" Leigh holds up her arm. "One for all, all for one!" She exclaims.

Sara shakes her head. She's not doing that. They're teenagers now. Not kids.

"Say it, Sara!" Leigh orders. "One for all!"

Sara looks around the hallway embarrassingly. Bystanders watch them in amusement. Closing her eyes shut, Sara holds up her arm and fist pumps. "All for one." She says timidly, in a very barely audible voice.

Leigh laughs. She loves putting Sara in the spotlight. Because Sara hates being in the spotlight. They are opposites in many ways but that's what makes their friendship fun.

"C'mon now!" Taking her arm hostage, Leigh drags the shorter girl down the hallway, they descend the stairs three floors down and step out on the porch.

Sara looks around.

The smell of food, sound of cheers, and the excitement of the sports day infiltrates the air, charging it so much even she feels energetic.

"Should we get something to eat first?"

Of course Leigh wants food first, even though it's been less than an hour since they last ate a hamburger size of a grown man's fist. Sara lets her lead them down the flight of stairs and onto the cobbled streets of their campus, lined and shadowed by tall trees veiling the warm sun of the winter morning. They stop at one of the many food trucks called to cater the growing kids' appetite during the three day sports event.

"What do you want?" Leigh looks at Sara. Sara shrugs. "Someone would think you're mute considering the amount of body language you use to communicate!" She tuts in annoyance. "Uncle, two aloo tikki burgers, peri peri fries and two strawberry milkshakes! Put straws in them. Paper straws, ha!" She adds in a warning.

Sara smiles.

Leigh is also a self-proclaimed environmentalist. If she finds you asking for a polythene bag from a shop keeper, run because you're about to sit through an hour long lecture about how bad and harmful plastic is for this planet.

They pay after receiving their order and make their way towards the field, finding themselves a spot on the open bleachers filled with girls and guys of their team cheering for the ongoing dodgeball competition.

Sara picks up her milkshake first and takes a sip, her eyes latched on the game. Seniors and juniors play mixed with the opposite team. Sara spots a few familiar faces among them, two being their classmates, one being the girl she sat next to during their final exams for seventh grade, and two boys belonging to the royal family of Jaigarh; Vivaan and Yuvraaj.

The PT teacher allocated as a Coach for their team walks up in front of the bleachers, a writing pad in his hand. He blows a whistle to catch everyone's attention. Sara looks down at the man.

"We'll be qualified for the Semi Finale but we need two more players to play from our side. Any volunteers?"

Sara and Leigh automatically look down at the sporty students of their team. Nobody raises their hands.

"Sakshi? Jeevan?"

"I'm already in the crickets team, sir." Jeevan says.

"And I'm representing us for a tennis match." Sakshi shrugs.

"Alright, anyone here who hasn't participated in any of the games?" The man runs his inquiring gaze across the many students.

Sara and Leigh shrink into themselves, hiding their existences from the monster waiting to pluck them out of their comfort zone.

"Ms. Rajawat and Ms. Jamison, come on."

Leigh grunts, popping her head out to look at the teacher. "Sir, I'm on my periods."

"Is that supposed to be an excuse?" He cocks a brow.

"Sir, don't be sexist." Leigh counters.

He exhales a breathe of annoyance. "Pull up your socks and on the field in ten. I'm putting your names in the list."

"Sir, we're worst players. We'll make the team lose!" Leigh persists. "Say something!" She nudges Sara in the ribs.

Sara nods hurriedly, offering her support through, as you already guessed, body language.

"It's better to lose than not to play at all." The man states. "C'mon! Enough of the tantrums. And put that carbonated food away. You're here to play, not to stuff your cheeks with that junk." Then he stalks away.

Leigh huffs. "Tell me a swear word!"

"Huh?"

"Say a swear word!"

"Uhm," Sara clears her throat, then lowers her voice to a whisper, "Chutiya."

"Chutya!" Leigh growls, before her brows plunge in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?" She looks at her best friend.

Sara twists her lips downward. "Dad said it to someone on the phone last night."

"Then I'm sure it's something bad." Leigh nods. "Okay, c'mon now, let's get done with this!" She says in frustration.

Sara follows.

The Semi Finale game is set to start after a fifteen minutes break. The two girls walk up to their team's side. Sara shields herself with her friend's back, wringing her fingers nervously as they walk through the tall, muscled bodies of the senior boys, finding a corner near the girls.

"Are you excited?" One of the girls ask them.

Leigh and Sara shake their heads.

The senior girl chuckles. "Cheer up, at least we get to ogle them." She nods towards the senior boys, preferably the crown prince of Jaigarh.

Leigh sighs dreamily.

Sara steals a shy glance of him.

He stands with a group of boys his age, ruffling his wet hair from the sweat, and thanking his younger brother who offers him a bottle of water. Then he tilts it to his mouth and chugs it down in heavy gulps.

"He's so cute." Leigh mumbles, "Isn't he?"

Sara nods, unable to deny. He's white as ice, but his hair is midnight black, and he rarely laughs, but sometimes he smiles, and that gets her heart paddling like a bicycle racing down a steep road with no brakes.

"Okay, c'mon, it's time for the game!" Sharp whistles blow off, making her wince. Their team coach arrives and ushers the kids back onto the field. Six players stand on the right side of the field, and six on the opposite one. Sara and Leigh hide themselves behind the broad backs of the male players, avoiding the hit as much as they can.

"This is so exhaust- Ah!" Leigh shrieks, dodging the ball instead of catching it.

The boys throw her exasperated looks, since from their point of view, it is easier to catch the ball than to avoid it.

She glares back until they look away.

"Just hide. It works." Sara advises.

Spoke too soon because the boy she was hiding behind moves, leaving her defenseless to the ball hurled her way with a force to reckon. Sara stands frozen in shock before an arm whips her around, bringing her into the confines of his tall built, taking a hit on his back. Her breath catches in her throat as their feet twist and they hit the ground with their limbs entangled. A massive arm cushions her head.

Hands on her mouth, shocked aureate eyes flutter open to gaze into the dark onyx ones. She stares up at him unblinkingly, mesmerized.

"Get up."

"Huh?"

"You're lying on my arm. Get up." He states.

"Oh, sorry!" She reacts fast.

"Bhai, are you okay?" His brother squats next to him, helping him sit up. Yuvraaj folds his arm, revealing the bloodied bruise on his elbow. "C'mon, I'll take you to the infirmary."

"We need you in the game, man." One of the male players says. "Let her take him. She's of no use anyway. The coach will get someone else to replace her."

Sara shoots him a stinking glare but doesn't resist. It was her fault he was hit anyway, the least she can do is take him to the nurse room, so she agrees wordlessly.

They leave the field together and enter the school building. He stops abruptly. She puts unexpected brakes on her feet, looking up at him alarmed.

"You can go back. I'll take care of it myself."

"But I can help." She offers. "No, I want to help."

"You could have helped by moving away from the ball or shielding yourself with your arms. You're not supposed to just stand there while a ball is thrown at your face with a force enough to break your nose. That could have helped a lot. This," he shows her the bruise, "I can take care of. Excuse me."

"That I could not help with because I'm not really a sports person," he stops and looks down at her. "This I can help with because I regularly volunteer at Mankind Medicare health camps with my sister. I know how to do first aid and CPR. Please, let me." She presses her lips together, avoiding eye contact in case he rejects the offer again and she has to do the walk of shame back to the field.

But he doesn't say anything and continues walking towards the infirmary. So she takes that as a yes and follows him.

As he takes a seat on the edge of the hospital bed, she drags a stool near the drawer chest to reach for the wall cabinets. He watches until he has to look away as her t-shirt rides up, revealing the hint of her skin around the waist. "Found it!" She grabs the first aid box and gets down the stool, dragging it in front of him before settling down.

She opens the first aid box on her lap, grabs the necessary things and does a perfect work of cleaning and treating his wound. "You know you could have just let me be?" She looks up from his elbow. Their eyes meet and her breath hitches in her throat. He's so surreal. "You didn't have to get hurt on my behalf."

"I'm taught to protect women and kids first, in any situation." He says softly.

She chuckles. "Silly boy," she shakes her head. "You don't have to take responsibility for something you're not responsible for." She tells him.

"I don't?"

"No. But you're a gentleman, and I appreciate that. So, thank you.... for protecting me."

He shrugs. "If a similar situation arises, I'll do it again."

"You don't have to."

"I'm a gentleman. I want to."

Sara smiles.

🕛

[ P R E S E N T ]

"There's something about you that absolutely irks me," she hisses as he tugs her closer with his arm around her waist.

"And there's everything about you that makes me feel the same way." He counters, hiding the flinch of his hands as they mould to fit her body against his. "Focus now. Arms steady, eyes on me." He instructs.

Trust him to turn a fun activity into a training session 101.

She snorts and drops her gaze to the ground.

But the tip of his finger comes under her chin and she's forced to look up, in a daze at his gentle approach. Their eyes connect under the dimly lit stage. "I said, eyes on me."

Sara clenches her jaw to school her features blank.

There was a time in her life when this man had her enraptured in his charisma. But that was when he was just a boy. So much better than the man he grew to become. Sara resents the person he stole from himself to become who he is now. He was so much better when he knew how to smile, how to be considerate of others in his own unique ways.

Their feet glide, arms shoulders width apart, and he leads her across the floor so elegantly like they're dancing at a ball in the Regency Era of England. She struggles to keep up with his agility, sometimes she steps over his toes, and after a disappointed glare her way, he trains her to do better.

"This will be in the news tomorrow." She tells him in a whisper.

"I know," he replies.

"Rumours will spread about us."

"I know."

"Fake rumours. People will assume-"

"Sara, I'm aware of how the media industry works." He cuts her off.

"Then why are you doing this?" She asks, agitated. She wasn't dancing for fun. She needs to get close to Karan, to be his friend again. She needs people to defend her when she re-enters the Sehgals house. 

"Told you," he pauses, "taking my prize."

A frown siezes her delicate features. "What prize?"

"I won the bet."

She scoffs out a chuckle. "And who decided the prize was a dance with me?"

"I did. I decide what I want as a prize."

She sighs. "So typical of you."

"What?"

"This attitude." Their eyes meet again; blazing, heated, fierce, battling an unseen war in the witness of their troubled minds. "That you can have anything you want."

"Attitude is assuming you can have what you want. I take what I want. It's no longer an attitude. It's an attribute." He corrects her.

"And you were clearly born with it." She comments sarcastically.

"I was." Unlike her, he's serious.

Sara shakes her head. There's no point in arguing with a narcissist. He'll always make it all about himself. She decides to focus on their dance, ignoring the heat warming her skin where their hands are interlaced. Some time later, she feels his cheek rest on top of her head and stiffens, sucking in a deep breath, accidentally inhaling a mouthful of his scent. She turns her face, looking past his arm absentmindedly as they slow dance to the music playing in the background.

The audience outside the dance floor throw fugitive, curious glances towards the strange pair of exes swaying in each other's arms.

Rudra puts the glass of his champagne down, crossing his legs as he looks at the dance floor. "Look at them," he smiles in mock amusement, glancing at Zoya who's the audience of the same show. "No one will be able to tell he hates her to the point he'd willingly drown her."

"I don't think he hates her." She mumbles. "He resents her."

Rudra chuckles. "And you'd know? What are you? A mind reader?"

"The eyes, Rudra," She looks at him. "They don't lie."