CHAPTER 9: Part 2 (FIRST DATE PART 2)
~ ISHIKA (POV) ~
The car came to a slow stop in front of a small dhaba.
It was a beautiful place, built in the traditional Rajasthani style with white walls and bright blue windows.
A little house was attached to it, with a carved wooden door and a thatched roof, making it feel very cosy. Unlit fairy lights were tangled in the green vines that grew on the walls.
The air smelled of spices and fresh bread. A hand-painted sign on the door said in simple writing, "Aaj bandh hai" (Closed for the day).
My eyes were fixed on the bouquet in my hand. With both hands, I held the fragrant blooms, my fingers tracing the velvety petals as I counted them.
My breath hitched. A hundred roses. It felt like something from a movie. This is the first time I have received flowers from someone, and it feels amazing.
Mrityunjay opened his door and stepped out, his tall frame disappearing from my view for a moment.
I watched as his dark silhouette rounded the front of the car, and then he opened my door for me.
I stepped out into the warm evening. The dhaba, even with the "Closed" sign, held a captivating charm.
Just as I turned towards the entrance, his hand found mine, his grip firm as he led me towards the seemingly locked door.
As we approached, the heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing a warm, inviting interior. The scene inside was even more enchanting than the outside.
Soft, golden light spilt from lanterns hanging from the thatched ceiling, casting dancing shadows on the colourful walls adorned with local artwork.
The aroma of spices was stronger here, promising a delicious meal. Seated on a traditional charpai near a crackling clay oven was an elderly couple.
Their faces lit up with genuine warmth as they saw us, their smiles directed especially at Mrityunjay.
The old woman, with a kind face and a colourful odhani draped over her head, rose to her feet with a bright smile.
"Khamma Ghani, Hukum Sa! (Many blessings, your highness,)" She said, her voice warm and joyful.
"Itne saalon baad aaye hai. Aur aaj toh..." She paused, her eyes twinkling as she looked at me, a playful glance passing between her and Mrityunjay.
"Aaj toh Rani Sa bhi saath laaye hai! Kitni ghani sooni lage hai!" (It's been so many years, and today... you've brought the queen with you! How very beautiful she looks!)
A playful smile danced on my lips. I met the old woman's kind gaze, and with a light-hearted tilt of my head and a subtle bow of thanks, I conveyed my gratitude.
Mrityunjay squeezed my hand reassuringly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
The old man, who had been sitting quietly, stood up as well, offering a respectful nod. "Chokha kaam kiya, Hukum Sa. Bahut achchi lage hai." (You've done well, Hukum Sa. She's very good.)
"Aap dono ka aashirwaad chahiye, Baba," Mrityunjay replied, his voice soft yet firm. "Aap dono khush hai, toh hum bhi khush hai." (We need both of your blessings, Baba. If both of you are happy, then I am happy too.)
The old woman, Baa, smiled and gestured with her hand. "Aaiye," she said to me softly. (Come.) "Aapka bhojan taiyaar hai." (Your meal is ready.)
Mrityunjay led me past a row of neatly potted jasmine plants, their sweet scent a delicate perfume in the night air.
The path opened up into a small, well-maintained garden, a hidden oasis. Tiny fairy lights were strung through the branches of a gnarled old neem tree, creating a canopy of soft, twinkling stars.
In the centre of the garden, a low table was set with exquisite silverware and clay pots filled with vibrant flowers. The space felt magical, intimate, and entirely ours.
I set the bouquet of a hundred roses carefully on the table. The beauty of the place, from the twinkling lights to the gentle fragrance of the flowers, left me speechless.
I looked at Mrityunjay, my eyes wide with awe. He simply watched me, a faint, possessive smile touching his lips.
"It's beautiful," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
He took a step closer, his eyes intense in the soft light. His gaze didn't even flicker towards the garden around us, as if it didn't exist. "Is it?" he replied, his voice a low, husky murmur.
He gestured to a large cushion on the ground beside the table. "Sit."
Dinner was a quiet, intimate affair. The food, served in simple earthen pots, was a delicious meal. The warm conversations with the old couple, Baa and Baba, had left a smile on my face that refused to fade.
After a final, heartfelt exchange of goodbyes and blessings, Mrityunjay led me back to the car. The engine purred to life, a low rumble that felt out of place on the quiet, unlit road.
We drove in comfortable silence, the city lights a distant shimmer in the rearview mirror. I was lost in thought, replaying the events of the evening, when the car suddenly lurched to a stop.
His hands, which had been so steady on the steering wheel, tensed. The low rumble of the engine sputtered and then died, leaving us in a sudden, deafening silence.
He turned to me, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "I think there's something wrong with the car."
He got out of the car, the heavy door clicking shut behind him, and walked to the front of the vehicle.
I sat for a moment, the silence of the night pressing in on me. I watched him from my seat as he popped the hood, the metal latch groaning softly. A flicker of anxiety stirred within me, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of adventure.
Leaving the beautiful bouquet on the passenger seat, I pushed my door open and stepped out onto the deserted road.
I walked over to where he was, peering over his shoulder as he looked at the engine. The air, which had been warm and still just moments ago, suddenly felt heavy and charged.
A single, fat raindrop splattered on my cheek, followed by another on my forehead. I looked up, bewildered, as the sky, a deep black void a moment ago, erupted in a sudden, torrential downpour.
Within seconds, the air was a curtain of rain. Mrityunjay swore under his breath, slamming the hood shut with a loud clang. He didn't hesitate.
His hand shot out and grabbed mine, his grip firm and warm as he pulled me with him. We ran, slipping on the wet asphalt, the thunder rumbling in the distance as we sprinted towards a grand gazebo.
We stumbled into the shelter, laughing, breathless, and entirely soaked.
The gazebo was surprisingly ornate, with intricately carved pillars and a domed roof. Soft lighting emanated from hidden fixtures, casting a warm glow on the wet stone floor.
I stood for a moment at the edge of the gazebo, oblivious to the way my white saree was now clinging to my body, the wet fabric almost translucent.
I reached out, catching the heavy raindrops in my palm, mesmerised by the sudden downpour.
Then, as if orchestrated by magic, music began to play. It was a classic Bollywood melody, I recognise the song it's - Wada Karo (from "Aa Gale Lag Jaa").
Mrityunjay's deep voice started singing with the song, my feet moved on their own, pulling me away from the edge of the gazebo to look at him.
He extended his hand towards me, I smiled and put my hand in his, and he pulled me into his arms, his grip on my waist firm and possessive. I laughed, a nervous, breathless sound.
(Male Voice - Mrityunjay) "Vo tehro... meri jaan... (Wait... my love...) vaadaa karo nahin chhodogi tum mera saath... (Promise you won't leave my side...) jahaan tum ho vahaan main bhee hoon..." (Wherever you are, I am also there...)"
We were swaying together with the rhythm. I tried to pull away, going with the flow of the song, but he didn't let go and pulled me back in, resting his forehead on mine.
(Female Voice - Ishika) "Chhuo nahin dekho zaraa peechhe rakho haath... (Don't touch me, look, keep your hands behind you...) javaan tum ho javaan main bhee hoon..." (You are young, and I am also young...)"
He leaned in, his eyes intense and possessive, singing the next verse directly to me. My playful resistance melted under his gaze as I sang my response, my voice a soft murmur against his shoulder.
(Male Voice - Mrityunjay) "Suno mere jaan, hans ke muje ye kah do... (Listen, my love, tell me with a smile...) bhiige labon kee narmi mere liye hai... (The softness of your wet lips is for me...) Jawaan nazar kee masti mere liye hai... (The intoxication of your youthful gaze is for me...) Haseen ada kee shokhi mere liye hai... (The playfulness of your beautiful charm is for me...) Mere liye le ke aayi ho ye saunaat... (You have brought this blessing for me...) jahaan tum ho vahaan main bhee hoon..." (Wherever you are, I am also there...)"
I pulled away, going to the edge of the gazebo, playfully running away from him. His steps were slow as he followed me. I was having fun. In the next verse, I sang while walking backwards and looking at him.
(Female Voice - Ishika) "Chhuo nahin, dekho zaraa, peechhe rakho haath... (Don't touch me, look, keep your hands behind you...) Javaan tum ho, javaan main bhee hoon... (You are young, and I am also young...) mere hee peechhe akhir pade ho tum kyon... (Why are you ultimately after me?) Ik main javaan nahin hoon aur bhee to hain..." (I am not the only young one, there are others too...)"
The rain outside became a blur, a white noise to the rhythm of our dance. With the next verse, he caught me and pulled me to himself.
We moved together, a silent conversation passing between us that was a perfect echo of the song. His possessiveness, my playful resistance, all of it was there, in the quiet exchange of our steps.
(Male Voice - Mrityunjay) "Vaadaa karo nahin chhodogi tum mera saath... (Promise you won't leave my side...) Jahaan tum ho vahaan main bhee hoon..." (Wherever you are, I am also there...) javaan kayi hain... (There are many young women...) lekin jahaan mein koyi... (But in this world, no one...) tum see haseen nahi hain... (Is as beautiful as you...) hum kya karen..." (What should I do?)"
(Female Voice - Ishika) "Tumhein milu main... (I should meet you...) iskaa tumhein yakin hain... (You are certain of this...) hamko yakin nahi hain... (I am not certain...) hum kya karen..." (What should I do?) Aise nahin phoolo zaraa... (Don't be so elated...) dekho aukaat..." (Know your place...)"
The dance became a flirtatious battle of wills, a push and pull of control and surrender. His smirk never left his face as he held me tighter, his gaze a final, unspoken question.
(Male Voice - Mrityunjay) "Kisi ka to denaa hoga... (Someone will have to give...) De do mera saath..." (Give me your company...) jahaan tum ho vahaan main bhee hoon..." (Wherever you are, I am also there...)"
The song ended on a lingering note, our dance concluding in a still, breathless embrace. I pulled away from him, my body still humming with a lingering warmth.
I looked at him and laughed, the sound light and musical in the sudden silence. The rain had stopped, and the air was now filled with the gentle, earthy scent of wet soil.
>>>>>>>
The other car, which he had called to get since the one we were in broke down, rolled to a stop a few houses away from mine, outside Mehak's house.
I couldn't afford for him to know the truth about me, not yet.
The thought of him pulling up to my family's house, was a source of cold dread. Who knows what he might do? It could all fall apart before it even had a chance to begin.
In the soft glow of the streetlights, I turned to him.
The quiet intensity in the car was a heavy, beautiful thing. Without thinking, I leaned across the console and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
His entire body went still. The confident smirk he usually wore vanished, replaced by a look of pure, unguarded surprise. It was a small victory that felt bigger than the date itself.
After he left, Mehak dropped me off at my house.
With the massive bouquet of red roses clutched tightly in my hands, I quietly let myself into the house. The front door creaked softly, and I winced, trying to close it without making a sound.
The house was dark and still, the rest of my family fast asleep, or so I hoped. I tiptoed across the living room, my gaze fixed on the stairs. I just needed to make it to my room, and I could finally breathe.
Just as my foot touched the first step, a voice cut through the silence. The living room light flicked on, and I turned to see Piya standing there, a playful smirk on her face.
Her eyes, sparkling with mischief, were fixed on the flowers.
"Caught you," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with mischief as they landed on the flowers. "Don't think you can sneak in past me. Now, spill. Who gave you those?"
"Chup chap jake soja, badi aayi," I scolded her, but my voice lacked any real authority. (Go to sleep quietly, you've gotten so big.)
I tried to walk past her, but she followed me up the stairs, her footsteps soft behind me. "Jiji, aap mujhe nahi bataogi?" she pleaded softly. (Sister, won't you tell me?)
I sighed, turning my back to Piya and walking quickly into my room. "Nahi nahi bataugi, good night," I said firmly, but my smile betrayed my resolve.
I heard her footsteps pause at my door. "Jiji?" she pleaded softly. (Sister?)
Closing the door behind me, I leaned against it with a sigh. Through the wood, I heard Piya give up with a dramatic groan, her footsteps fading down the hallway.
I looked at the bouquet of red roses in my hands. The scent was intoxicating, a physical reminder of the evening.