Monsoon Wedding Fever. Shoma NarayananЧитать онлайн книгу.
here—meet my cousin.’
Dhruv gave her a brief smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
‘We’ve met,’ Riya said, sliding into the chair opposite her stocky flatmate. ‘Gaurav, don’t use the jam knife for the butter—no wonder the chicken butter masala Ranjana made last week was pink!’
‘I thought that was for Valentine’s Day,’ Gaurav said cheerfully. ‘I’ve suspected Ranjana of nursing a secret passion for me for the last five years.’
‘Who’s Ranjana—the cook?’ A curvy, impish-looking girl walked into the room. She was wearing a black T-shirt with a skull embroidered on it—the skull sported a pink bow—and the matching pyjama trousers had ‘Sweet Devil’ embroidered over the butt in pink.
‘Look who’s awake!’ Gaurav said. ‘Riya, this is Chutki—Dhruv’s little sister and officially the most painful brat alive. Chutki, say hello to Riya like a good girl.’
Chutki stuck her tongue out at him. ‘Stop calling me by my nickname. It makes me sound like a two-year-old. Hi, I’m Drishti,’ she said, smiling at Riya. Then she looked a little closer. ‘Hey, you look awfully familiar. Have we met?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Riya replied, wondering if Dhruv had told his sister something about her.
She’d never met Chutki before, but she’d heard a lot about his cute little sister. She was the only person in Dhruv’s family that he’d ever talked about. They had a brother, too, who was a couple of years younger than Dhruv, she remembered, but Dhruv had only mentioned him once in passing, saying that he was crazy about photography. He’d never talked about his parents, giving evasive answers to even the most pointed questions, and very early on in their relationship Riya had learnt not to ask too many questions about them.
Chutki was still observing Riya closely, trying to puzzle something out.
‘I get it,’ she said suddenly. ‘Dhruv—doesn’t she look just like that girl whose photo you used to keep hidden in your cupboard?’
Riya couldn’t help it. Her cheeks flamed in embarrassment and Gaurav, who’d opened his mouth to make a wisecrack, shut it hastily after one look at her face.
Dhruv looked up.
‘Thanks, Chutki.’ He’d been furious with her when she’d found a faded photograph of Riya hidden under a stack of T-shirts in his cupboard, and he’d caught her and shaken her hard when she’d gone dancing out of his room with the photo to show it to their mother. He still remembered the shock on her little face, the tears filling her eyes—it was the first time her beloved big brother had lost his temper with her.
She looked almost as upset now. ‘You mean she’s the same... Oh, God, I’m so sorry. Open mouth, change feet—that’s me. But if you guys know each other, how come you didn’t realise you were...?’ She shut up abruptly as Dhruv gave her a look.
‘It was a long time ago—we knew each other in college,’ said Dhruv curtly, wishing he’d never been a sentimental idiot and hung on to the photograph. ‘We haven’t been in touch since then.’
‘Oh, right,’ Gaurav said easily. ‘I knew you went to the same college. Never thought to ask Riya if she knew you. I just assumed you’d have graduated before she joined. Given how ancient you are and all.’
Dhruv smiled. ‘I’m three years older than the two of you. Architecture is a five-year course, remember?’ He was hoping that they were safely off the topic—he could see that Riya had tensed up, and it boded ill for his chances of having any kind of sensible conversation on the subject with her later on. He hadn’t reckoned on his little sister’s never-ending curiosity, though.
‘You were dating, weren’t you? Why’d you split up?’ Chutki asked, interested.
Suddenly Riya had had enough. ‘We weren’t dating,’ she said crisply. ‘We were friends and, like Dhruv said, he was three years ahead of me. We didn’t stay in touch after he left college.’
Chutki looked a little abashed, and Riya felt guilty about snapping at her. It wasn’t her fault. She was just curious, and she belonged to the reality TV generation in which everyone discussed their past and current relationships in loud and public detail. She’d probably be hugely amused if she knew how Riya went all shivery and tingly each time she looked at Dhruv.
Riya pushed her chair back from the table. ‘I’m done,’ she said. ‘I’m going down to the gym for an hour. You guys staying in? Or do you plan to go out?’
Gaurav said, ‘We haven’t decided yet. Dhruv wants to buy something for Madhulika, only I’m not sure what she’d like. I was hoping you’d have some ideas...’
‘Given that you’re marrying the woman in a week, I’d have expected you to have some clue,’ Riya retorted, irritated at her flatmate for trying to palm off the decision onto her. ‘If you can’t think of something yourself, try Googling “gift ideas for morons”.’
‘I’ll make her come up with something,’ Gaurav said to Dhruv as he got up to clear the dishes. ‘She’s spent hours chatting to Madhulika on the phone about the wedding. By the way, I’ve never seen her being this snippy, and I’ve known her for some years now. Bad break-up?’
Dhruv shook his head, irritated with his cousin. ‘We weren’t in a relationship. I told you. She told you. What does it take to drive that simple fact into your skull?’
‘A lot more than just you idiots telling me so every two minutes,’ Gaurav said tartly. ‘You may not have been dating, but you were definitely not “just good friends”. Sparks fly all over the place when you look at each other.’
He would have probably continued in that vein for a few more minutes if Riya’s door hadn’t opened. She came out wearing a no-nonsense sleeveless navy vest with a pair of dry-fit tracksuit bottoms. The outfit had obviously been chosen for comfort rather than elegance, but the stretchy material of the top clung to her near-perfect hourglass figure in a way that made Dhruv’s mouth immediately go dry.
She hardly looked at him on her way out, just pausing to say over her shoulder, ‘Order the groceries, please, Gaurav. Ranjana’s made a list.’
‘Just good friends,’ Gaurav muttered, taking in Dhruv’s expression as he continued gazing at the door a good five minutes after Riya had shut it behind her.
Dhruv stood up abruptly. ‘I have some work calls to make,’ he said. ‘And, if we’re going out, isn’t it about time you had a wash and changed? Unless, of course, you’re planning to stun Mumbai with a glimpse of those psychedelic pyjamas.’
Gaurav grimaced and went to the bathroom. Dhruv was still his favourite cousin, but his tongue was as barbed as ever—he made a mental note not to bug him about Riya ever again.
* * *
‘For God’s sake, Chang, you should be able to handle this!’ Dhruv exploded forty minutes later.
He strode over to the window and looked out, frowning as his second-in-command launched into a lengthy explanation for the current crisis at work. He very rarely lost his temper with his team, but he was now at the end of his tether. This trip wasn’t going as planned, he thought as he closed the call, cutting off his employee’s explanation midway. He’d been unnecessarily harsh with Chang, and he knew the reason had nothing to do with work. Meeting Riya had unsettled him more than he would have imagined possible.
He’d thought of her often since they’d parted—for many years the memory of how he’d treated her had filled him with guilt, and an unexplained feeling of anger. She’d been head-over-heels in love with him, and he’d spurned her without much of an explanation. At that time he had thought he was acting for the best, but in hindsight he’d acted like an immature idiot.
He’d known very early on that they didn’t have a future together. For a twenty-year-old, he’d had very fixed ideas, utterly convinced by his