~ |Avanti| ~

I uncrossed my legs, shifting them away from his. Withdrawing contact from him helped bring back my focus.

Papa was a table away. That table had toddlers running around it, and my father had to dodge their tiny forms lest they collide with his knees.

I straightened my back, pointedly looking at the metal back of the chair Rajesh had occupied. I didn't even remember what my original date looked like anymore. I couldn't find an ounce of regret about that.

The overeager vlogger was on his feet as soon as my father stopped before Rajesh's chair.

I could feel Papa's eyes on me. Confused, curious, even a bit relieved. He wasn't very fond of the red chutney loving suitor, said Rajesh was too old for me.

My date crasher was the first to break the silence. He held his hand out, confident but bereft of the challenging audacity he'd spoken to me with just seconds ago. Papa shook it, more out of habit than anything else. "Namaste uncle ji," Gaurav paused, pretended to hesitate. I could hear the calculation in his head. "I'm Gaurav and I—"

"—he's an old friend." No way was this bitch talking to my father before sorting plans with me. "We were just catching up. Mai paanch minute mei milti hoon apko parking mei. Tab tak aap khana pack kara do please, I don't feel like cooking today aur Ma bhi thak gayi hongi."

If there was one thing Papa was great at, it was taking a hint. My mother was a dramatic worrier, and over the years, we'd developed silent cues for deciding who would calm her nerves on any given occasion. One reassuring glance from my side was all it took for him to nod, pat Gaurav's shoulder, say, "Nice to meet you, beta," and walk away.

To his credit, Gaurav played along until my father was at the counter. "I thought you said we're not friends."

"Papa gentleman hai, tere jaise alpha male nahi. If he knew who you were and how I actually know you, he'd have punched you." I pushed the seat across from me with my foot. "Sit."

He did. Now directly in front of me, he was near enough for me to have a good look without him getting all in my face, not that I minded. It wasn't a surprise that he was handsome, looking good was part of his job. While the Delhi sun had dented his Kashmiri complexion a bit, he was still fairer than me. A white shirt stretched over broad shoulders. Deep set, light brown eyes. Long lashes only men flaunted. A crooked, somewhat off-center nose, as if he'd been smacked by a football one too many times. And a beard. I'd never been into more facial hair than a five o'clock shadow, but it suited him.

No, I wasn't ogling, I was appraising.

He broke the silence again. "Kya?"

"You said you match my attractiveness level."

"Among other things."

"Some people might disagree with that." I wasn't exactly insecure, but reality couldn't be ignored. I got paid to cook, he got paid to look good. There were bound to be obvious differences.

"Are you among those people?" Gaurav asked, tone betraying the same hint of challenge which was present in his methodical proposal.

"No," I said. "But I would understand their disagreement. Waise toh mujhe fark nahi padhta hai ki baaki log kya bol rahe hai, but you see in the past few days the opinions of your audience have wrecked my life a little. Considering their approval fuels your career and income—and if I agree to this your income also becomes my concern—your unpopular choice of a partner would be quite a disaster for me. Mentally, emotionally, financially and professionally."

His gaze dropped mine for a second and he had the decency to look guilty. "I can change their perception, I've enough clout."

"Pata hai mujhe. Woh kar tu pehle, phir use that clout to get Yatis to take back my suspension."

"Aur phir?"

"Phir aa jaana apne mummy-papa ko mere mummy-papa se milwane, muhurt bhi decide karna hai."

~.~

Being suspended initially meant doubling down on marriage efforts. But now I was in a rut, having to wait for the go ahead of a man who'd pushed me here in the first place. I was not good with waiting. Visiting Neeti was out of question, her new baby kept her busier than ever, and my only other best friends were honeymooning in the country's Western coast.

Me? I was failing to even get off to a steamy historical drama, dispassionately staring at a duke eating out his maidservant while my own fingers remained bone dry.

When had sexy Darcy stopped being my type?

Maybe she sensed my boredom, because as soon I closed my laptop and switched the lights back on, my phone glowed with Sanya's incoming video call. I gathered my now bushy curls in a haphazard bun before answering it.

"Batao maine do hafte baat nahi ki tujhse toh itne saare kaand kardiye." Her voice was muffled as she untangled her earphones. I waited until she plugged them in and settled back on her porch chair, sounding clearer. "Where was this rebellious streak when we were in college?"

"Guarding your kaands." Sanya and her husband had been together ten years and married a month ago. I liked to think I played a crucial part in them getting through the initial months of their relationship, covering for them, lying for them and even sitting guard outside our hostel room, accompanied with my hour-long death metal playlist and sketchbook, as they did stuff inside, too broke to book an actual hotel. I didn't mind, mostly because Jay was the most precious human on earth and always carried chocolates to thank me. Speaking of. "How's Jay doing?"

"Dettol khareedne gaya hai, our room's first aid kit didn't have one."

"Maine bola that four-star mei mat jao, I'd have hooked you up with a discount in Yatis Goa, they give us employee credit."

"I know yaar, but koi na. It's a nice resort aur view bhi ekdum sea facing." She switched to back camera, showing me said view from her porch. "Besides I kind of agreed with Jay, we wanted to start our married sex life without your presence hovering around in any way. No offense."

"None taken. And how's that going for him?"

Sanya burst into a fit of giggles. She held up and shook her wrist, half covered with faded mehndi under red and silver bangles of her traditional Punjabi choora, an accessory she'd been flaunting ever since her wedding, even in pictures where she wore short shorts and floral dresses on her honeymoon. "Yeh dekh rahi hai? Mere suhag ki nishani?"

"Haan...?"

"Well, it kinda gave him cuts all over his inner thighs, hence the rush to buy Dettol. He's sworn off hand jobs now."

Her giggles turned into guffaws at my disgusted face. "That's what you get for having sex without adult supervision. Bechara Jay. Tu kyu nahi gayi dawai laane?"

"Period hai na, he wanted to act all chivalrous." She rolled her eyes even though I knew she adored that about him. "Woh chodh, tu apna bata, koi ladka mila?"

I hadn't heard from Gaurav in four days. I had, however, reinstalled my Instagram after our conversation, only to find a new follow request from him. My presence on social media was restricted to posting recipes and the occasional selfie, with more people in following than the few hundred followers I had. Even that was considered worthy of attack in the last week, forcing me to go private. I'd accepted his request only to find a sincere public apology on his story along with a reel asking for people to stop harassing me without knowing the whole context.

He hadn't DMed me though. And no, I wasn't going to text first.

"Nahi, dhoondh hi rahi hoon."

"Mil jayega koi na, nahi toh Jay ka woh pilot cousin hai na? Usse setting karwati hoon bol toh."

I wanted to remind her that I'd already pushed said drunk cousin off me at Jay's twenty-sixth, and avoided his slobbery self at their wedding. But before I could put a damper on her matchmaking plans, my phone flashed with an incoming call.

A chef's jacket and Neeti's smiling face.

"Sanya I'll call you back okay? This is important."

Hanging up without hearing her byes, I answered Neeti. "Everything okay?"

"For me? No, I'm out of diapers. For you? Haan, tera suspension wapis le liya hai HR ne, you rejoin from Monday."

"Seriously?! Shit yes." For the first time in three days, I bounced from my bed without the intention of eating or excreting. "Did Nishant take his complaint back?"

"I don't know, I think someone lobbied YouTubers to not hold their annual meet in Yatis unless you were reinstated. Apparently, Delhi's biggest influencer was involved." Neeti was being obvious but I didn't know how to start answering whatever questions she had. Thankfully, Kamya wailed in the background, making her mother sigh. "This isn't over though, kal ghar aa aur poori kahaani suna."

A hasty yes later, I ran to the lawn, telling my Pranayama practicing Papa to order sweets and help me rearrange the drawing room furniture.

When I returned to my phone three hours later, it was to two new notifications from Instagram telling me a person I didn't follow was trying to DM me.

@gauravpanditavlogs "Badhai ho Mohtarma, hogaya aapka kaam. Sunday ko ladke wale aayenge dekhne."

@gauravpanditavlogs "Wear your hair down."

@gauravpanditavlogs "And ffs follow me back, Samar won't shut up about that."

I liked his texts. I didn't follow him back.

@cookwithavanti "be a man and listen to his taunts."

Not waiting for his reply, I locked the door and changed into a large shirt. My laptop glowed in the dark room, and I don't know why but I clicked on the very same talk he'd delivered at Yatis, on the day he'd livestreamed my meltdown. It was a good speech, even though he'd overused terms like alpha. His voice rang in my earphone as I slipped under the covers and finally scratched an ever-growing itch.

I guess I wouldn't be turning to sexy Darcy anytime soon. 

~.~

a/n 

When I was six, my newly married computer teacher slapped me across the cheek, ringing ears and everything because I was eating my aaloo parantha during her class right after break. Her choora scratched me, making my jaw bleed a little. On some level, I've always associated those gorgeous gorgeous heavy set bangles with injuries. Would I still fawn over them on Pinterest? Yes, they're so pretty. Would I ponder over the logistics of honeymooning with those on? Also yes, they're quite scary. 

Idk why people believe wearing bangles is a sign of weakness, when a choora can traumatize the wearer's enemies and loved ones alike. It's like a pretty, glittery wrist armor.

Anyway, this chapter's dedicated to Sanya_Goel for allowing me to be cheesy and use her name in my story.

I hope you liked it!