Page 36 of Born in Grief

“Namaste Beta. So nice to see a young, happy couple like you.”

Dhrithi’s smile turned brittle as Varun’s fingers purposely dug into her sensitive skin. The older man had moved on though, to the next brownnosing businessman who waited to fawn over him.

“Smile darling.” Varun’s hot breath feathered over her ear as he whispered. “The press is watching.”

She was smiling, Dhrithi wanted to retort. Her face felt like it would crack in two from her fixed smile. But wisdom gained from painful past experiences had her keeping her mouth shut.

“Varun!”

They turned at the call, the sickly sweet voice turning Dhrithi’s stomach even before she caught sight of her. Sparsha Bhavnani. Varun’s ‘best friend’ and Dhrithi’s sign that the evening was only going to deteriorate further.

“Varun!” Sparsha said again, exclaiming his name like it was a prayer. “Tonight’s the night, my friend. Tonight’s your night.”

Dread clutched at Dhrithi’s heart as she watched the two of them. What did that mean? What was happening tonight?

Varun laughed, the bright sound, calling attention to them with several people glancing over with indulgent smiles of their own.

“Every night is mine darling,” he told Sparsha, his eyes on the other woman’s plump, red lips. “Tonight is just extra special.”

“What’s happening tonight?” Dhrithi asked, unable to keep quiet any further.

Varun’s fingers grabbed a fold of bruised flesh through the fabric of her Anarkali kurta and pinched hard. Dhrithi gasped, tears stinging her eyes from the flash of pain.

“Tonight is when I become king of the world, a very special world.” His eyes had the bright, brittle light that always lit terror in her soul. She didn’t know what he’d smoked up or swallowed or injected but whatever it is….it never boded well for her.

“What does that mean?” she asked, an unnamed fear propelling her to ask more questions.

Varun leaned close, his lips to her ear. “It means that I rule, that world and yours. Now shut up or I’ll shut you up.”

Dhrithi came awake on a gasp, her body drenched in sweat as the snippet of memory swam through her brain, infecting her present. She sat up in the bed, arms wrapped around herself in a desperate bid for comfort.

He was dead, she reminded herself. He was dead and even Varun Gokhale didn’t have the power to rise from the dead. Or so she hoped. She shivered as a frigid blast from the air conditioner struck her skin. She lay back down on the bed, huddled under the comforter and closed her eyes. But sleep proved elusive.

Dhrithi slowly got out of bed, taking small, hesitant steps towards the open plan kitchen she’d explored when Ishaan had dropped her off earlier. Whoever owned this place they’d stashed her in was manic about cleanliness. She supposed she should be grateful. She could certainly see why Amay had thought it was a good place for her to recuperate in. Clean to the point of being sterile, it was sparsely furnished and had the look of a barely lived in guesthouse.

Ishaan had dropped off a tiffin carrier with some khichdi earlier in the day with a terse, ‘patient food’ tacked on before disappearing without another word. He clearly hated her. Not that Dhrithi found that strange in any way. She was used to being hated. She searched through the fridge for the khichdi and pulled it out. She spooned a little bit on to the plate and stuck it in the microwave, watching the plate revolve inside like she was hypnotized by it.

That was when she heard it. The sound of the front door code being fed in before the beeping that signalled it was opening. Fear slammed through her, visceral and unchecked, remnants of her nightmare plunging an ice pick through her nerves. Instinctively, she opened a kitchen drawer, her handrummaging through the utensils there until it closed around the handle of a knife. She held it to her side as the microwave beeped the end of its cycle.

She saw Amay first, relief coursing through her at the sight of him. It was the first time she was seeing him in anything other than hospital scrubs. Her greedy gaze took in his worn, comfortable tracks and the t-shirt which stretched across his lean, muscled frame.

“Hi,” he said, his serious gaze going to the plate of khichdi in the microwave. “Is that all you’re eating?”

Ishaan sauntered in behind him, ignoring her but shooting a derisive look at Amay for the question.

She was about to answer him when a third man walked in. Her brains scrambled as she looked at him. He looked like he’d been carved from the minds of angels on a good day. And then they’d given him life and sent him to earth to torment the world with his ridiculous good looks. Unlike the others, his gaze went directly to the knife she was still clutching to her side.

“You remember Virat?” Amay asked. “From school.”

Of course, she remembered Virat from school. But Virat from school had been a quiet, bespectacled boy who kept to himself and spoke to an extremely small circle of friends, primarily Amay and Ishaan. He’d never spoken to Dhrithi.

This Virat, who stood in front of her, looked like he’d walked off a cover of a pin up magazine.

“Dhrithi?” Amay prompted. Ishaan laughed, a derisive sound. Virat shot him a look that had him shaking his head but cutting out the laughter track he employed around her.

“Hi Dhrithi,” Virat said quietly, stepping closer and slowly taking the knife from her hand and placing it on the kitchen counter. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Hi.” It was all she could manage in the moment. The past was colliding with her present with a viciousness that left her reeling. “So you guys all stayed friends?” she asked finally, wincing internally at the stupid question. Of course they had stayed friends. They were standing here together, weren’t they?

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