10

-• missed me, esther? •-

Taranya

Two Years and Two Months Later

Fiction fools us.

Real fights don't look epic. And they certainly don't last longer than five seconds. They're quick, aggressive and oftentimes sloppy.

"Ready to lose?" Agastya asks, smug in his stature. I unzip my bomber jacket and drape it over the ring fence. I'm only wearing a sports bra and leggings. My brother is bare from his hips upward, in his favourite black shorts.

"Three years, Agastya. It's time I win now." I shrug.

He chuckles. "Sure, try your luck."

I walk into the ring, facing off against my brother. We square off, I take my stance. He has his hands up and we begin to circle each other slowly.

Pride is an inherent part of Agastya's nature. He prances around, cocky, not giving his hundred percent because he believes he can defeat me with a flick of his wrist. That's what makes a fight more fun. The more you underestimate your opponent, the more wrong they prove you, and you grow impatient, almost desperate to prove you weren't wrong.

He throws a few test punches. I barely react.

Patience is the virtue.

He blows a few short punches. I duck. He throws another but pulls it back in and then does a spinning back kick that connects with my midsection, hard.

I recover, but God damn it hurts. He continues to dance around me, smirking victoriously. He waits for me to attack. I don't. I defend. He throws some more skilled punches and kicks. Professional, effortless, but I avoid them deftly.

Agastya grows impatient.

He starts riling me up.

Doesn't affect me.

I don't attack, until....

He boulders in hard.

Oh, I've been waiting for this.

I sidestep with a slick speed, block his attack, and counter with a hard-hitting clothesline.

He goes down in a split second, coughing hoarsely into the floor. His arms don't hold him up for more than a second. He drops. Breathing hard, fast, barely.

"And that's, what you call, a glorious win." I don't help him up. I pick up my jacket and walk out of the ring, approaching the bench where my water bottle waits for me. He sits up after a moment of break.

"That was good."

I take a sip, shrugging nonchalantly in response to his compliment.

"Tara, I think you need more professional training. WWE and I can only help until a certain point. What I've taught you is more of a street style. You need to learn some real deal. You've the potential."

I sit on the bench, hearing him patiently, taking his advice into consideration.

"And who can teach me that?" I cock a brow.

"Zoya."

I frown.

A faint memory knocks. The name's familiar, and the name has a face, a voice and a few moments in my past. "Yuvraaj Bhai's secretary?"

He nods, hopping out of the ring before he walks over to me. I hand him the water bottle. "She's best when it comes to physical combat. God, the ten year old me had this big fat crush on her when she rescued me from the kidnappers."

"You were kidnapped?" I shriek.

He startles. "Geez, calm down, woman."

I drag him to sit next to me. "You were kidnapped?" I ask worriedly.

"Yes, and no it wasn't some revenge plan or something. I had skipped school and was wandering the streets. Some local goons recognised me and dragged me into their van, driving me off to some abandoned building on the outskirts. I was rescued in less than two hours." He reiterates.

"You don't have nightmares?"

"Nightmares?" He chuckle. "No, Tara. They weren't bad men. They didn't hurt me or anything. They just needed the cash. Which they didn't get. Zoya ripped open the door, didn't even need a gun to take down three hunk of a men, undid the ropes tied around me and got me back to the palace. Unscathed. Both of us."

I gape openly. "She's hot."

He sighs. "She's marvellous."

I slap him on the arm. "First Sara Bhabhi and now Zoya? Why do you always have a crush on older women?"

"Mommy issues." His lower lip puckers out.

I burst out laughing.

He joins me a few seconds later. But is the first to sober up. "C'mon now, I need to get the dinner ready. Enough training for today." I follow him out of the gym.

"Who won?" Janet asks, seated next to Aunt Bertha in front of the television.

I raise my arm.

Janet fist pumps in the air.

Aunt Bertha's jaw drops.

"My hundred! My hundred, my hundred, my hundred!" Janet dances in front of the woman, shoulders swinging like a chicken's head, her hand stretched forward, her tone demanding.

"Aunt Bertha, you betted against me?" I ask in disbelief.

"No, she betted on me." Agastya smirks.

"Tone down that attitude. You lost." I remind him.

"Once. I have been besting you for three years in a row."

"About time." I remark.

Aunt Bertha stutters to make an excuse. Janet doesn't allow her any time to think. She keeps singing my hundred until the older woman gives up and slaps the bill on Janet's hand.

My best friend shrieks in delight. "I'm so rich!" And she runs off to her room, probably to buy something stupid online. The last time she bought an ice roller for face. Then she started to break out and her dermatologist suggested she stops using anything new on her skin without informing him first. So, now the ice roller is used by Aunt Bertha to make round popsicles.

"For the last three weeks we have been betting ten euros. And this time, she said let's bet a hundred. I was so confident I'm winning. And you're to blame." She points at Agastya before storming off to the kitchen.

He blinks, standing speechless in his spot. I pat his back sympathetically and head to my room for a shower. All the gifts stacked in the corner of my room catch my attention first.

It's my birthday the day after tomorrow.

I'm turning 23.

Since the last two days, I've been continuously receiving gifts. This morning it hit a 50 mark. And it's just the beginning. Most of them are jewelleries, dresses and shoes. I've no idea how they got my measurements. But every year, they somehow do. Ever since my following on social media platforms started to grow, many brands came forward to offer me modelling gigs. My eldest brother sent them all away. But that doesn't stop them from gifting me exclusive stuff so I wear it outside in the eyes of public and give them free marketing. I've become an influencer without even wanting to. It doesn't help that I'm about to graduate as a Journalist. Broadcasting companies are showering me with offer letters.

I'm pretty, I'm privileged, and my life is something to be envied off.

What's sad is that I, as a person, am overshadowed because of my face and status. I'm not getting job offers because I deserve them. I'm getting them because I'm beautiful, heiress of a multinational business empire, and a real, even if namesake Princess of Jaigarh.

Am I really finding things to be disappointed of when my life is a literal definition of perfect for more than a million girls in the world?

I am.

How else would I be a human if I'm always satisfied?

I step out of the bathroom after a long, relaxing shower. Before I can drop my towel, Janet barges in. She looks me from head to toe and fans herself in the face.

I snort out a chuckle and head inside my closet. "What brings you here, Miss. Williams?"

"I'm buying dress for tomorrow. Help me." She says from the bedroom.

I come out wearing shorts and a loose tee. She shifts aside, patting the space next to her. I sit down and she shows me the laptop screen and all the options she has wishlisted.

After an hour of scrolling and wishlisting, we finally settle on a black satin dress with cowl neck. Then we start to look one for me. Don't judge. I've clothes. I do. But I'm low on outfits.

"This one," she points to the white sheer dress. We look through the similar options for something more appropriate. The one she chose was see through and revealed the bra and panties. My brothers would either burn down the world, or themselves before letting me out in open wearing something like that. "This! This! This!" She bounces in her seat. I scroll back up and click on it. "It's made for you."

Perfect.

We add them to the cart and process towards the payment. The delivery is estimated until tomorrow afternoon. But the morning arrival is expected.

"Let's go to Pinterest and check what accessories go with our dresses," we both shift back on the bed, more comfortable, our backs to the headboard and spend our time in the most useless way possible.

I don't know how we end up on Instagram through Pinterest, eventually stumbling across a face I'd rather never see again.

"She's constant. It's been two years. Do you think he'll marry her?"

"On your twenty-third birthday, at 12 in the midnight, I'll be at your doorstep with a ring in my hand, asking you to marry me."

A chill goes down my spine. I quickly shake my head.

"No?"

"I don't know. I don't care." I close the window.

"Dinner is ready, sunshines!" Agastya retreats after knocking once.

Janet puts the laptop away and helps me get off the bed. We head outside together.

"So, what did you invent today, Mr. Chef?" Janet leans over the kitchen counter.

"He made something using the leftover chicken broth. I tried it, it tastes good." Aunt Bertha says. "Tara, check the consistency of the rice and tell me if it's perfect."

I nod and open the pressure cooker, flipping the lid over before picking up a cooked rice grain and tasting it. "Yup, it's good. Thanks."

"Try this," Agastya feeds me a spoonful of his new invention. It looks like curry, has the consistency of a soup, but holds Mediterranean flavours. I stare at him in awe. "It's amazing. What's it called?"

He smiles. "I don't know. I haven't named it yet."

"At this rate, you'll become her personal chef." Janet comments.

"I don't mind." Agastya shrugs.

I smile fondly.

After he found out I can't eat hard food, Agastya made it his mission to feed me the food of my comfort but also made sure it didn't miss out on all the proper nutrients. He used to stay up nights researching about food from all over the world, and fused them together to make something that suits my new taste buds. He knows maximum cooking techniques, varieties of ingredients, how to use them and what makes a dish healthy as well as tasty.

Who would believe this is the same guy who ordered muffins from outside because he was too lazy to assist me in the kitchen?

"I don't know about the personal part, but at this rate, you'll definitely become a chef." Aunt Bertha compliments. He smiles, focused on sprinkling something in the soup. "Why don't you take up hotel management? There are many colleges offering great courses. Turn it into your profession."

And as if it hits him, Agastya stiffens. He has stopped thinking about his future after having to give up on Baseball. I don't think the word career has even crossed his mind without Baseball preceding it.

I place a tender hand on his shoulder and rub it gently. He looks up at me. I lean in to press a kiss on his forehead. "Remember what Bhai said? Take however long you want. Just live." I whisper.

He nods softly.

I pull away and clap my hands, "So, dinner is ready, let's go eat! Janet, grab the plates." She obeys right away.

After dinner, I go back to my room and decide to arrange the gift boxes properly so it doesn't look like I've just haphazardly thrown them into some corner. Unexpectedly, Agastya lends me a helping hand while I'm halfway through.

"Still thinking about what Aunt Bertha said this evening?" I ask him casually.

Cheeks inflated like a squirrel, he nods cutely.

"If it's bothering you means you want to think about it."

He blows out the air, lips pursed together. Then he smacks them together in annoyance. "I don't know. It's not like I haven't thought of moving on in these last three years. I've contemplated all the options , from law to a freaking astronaut. But then I see something that reminds me of Baseball and I give up. Everything feels like a second choice. Like, okay, you don't have this, so you've to make do with this. No big deal. You won't be just as much happy."

"Agastya, second chances are needlessly demeaned. When it's the opposite." I place a hand on his knee. "You're picking yourself up again. You're not settling down, you're giving it another go. Okay, answer me this, you're on a trip, halfway down the road, and then you see in the news that the place you were headed to is prematurely shut down. What will you do?"

"Choose somewhere else to go," he shrugs.

"Why? Just sit there."

"I've already wasted gas, time, planning, might as well make it worth it."

"Exactly." I face him. "You were halfway down the road, and you realised, oh shit, baseball was never meant for me. But now what do I do? Give up? Sit in the middle of the road with nowhere to go? No. You find a way. You explore the wrong roads until you find the right one."

"I get it." He nods. "It's just not that easy."

"Of course, it isn't. So don't hurry. We're lucky we're privileged. We're rich. We can afford to take some time off. So take it. Make use of your privileges. Not many get this opportunity. Don't take it for granted."

He hums. "Let's do this now, we've wasted enough time." He nods towards the gifts. I play along with his attempt of changing the subject.

The next day, I leave early for the University. We're almost done with our last semester. Unfortunately, Tarun has a few more years to go. He's planning to pursue masters in Data Science and Mathematics. Some tough shit, I tell you. I don't understand half of the things he says while talking to his friends.

He asks me about the birthday arrangements while on our way to my building. It's like a ritual. He always drops me to my class first before going to his own.

"Janet suggested we book a club." I shrug.

"And you're inviting the whole University?" He grimaces when I inform a guy in the hallway about the party tonight and give him the invitation.

"That's right!" I nod, then laugh. "No, just my classmates and those who I get along with the most."

"So, the whole University." He surmises brusquely.

"Why are you so gruff all the time?" I stop once we reach my class and turn around to face him.

"I'm not gruff all the time. I'm just normal."

"And everyone else is not?"

"I never said that." He shakes his head.

"You're so confusing."

"Why?"

"Half of the time you look like you're tolerating me. It's offending." I state.

"Maybe I do tolerate you?" He muses sounding bored.

I scoff. "Come to the party tonight. It's an order." I spin around to leave.

"I need one more pass." His words make me turn around. I raise a brow. "My roommate."

"Oh, yeah, though I've never met him." I shuffle through my backpack and grab one from the bunch. "Here you go. Let's see what this infamous roommate of yours actually looks like."

"You'll be surprised." He smiles and walks away.

I stare at his retreating back in confusion. Sometimes I never understand what he's trying to say. Or if he intentionally says obscure things.

I brush off the thought and go to my first lecture of the day.

In the evening, I stop by my dance academy to hand out the invitation to my peers.

"None for me?" My Guru stands at the threshold.

"How does drinking and dancing in a crowded place with twenty year olds sound like?"

She scrunches her nose.

"Exactly." I chuckle. "But don't worry, we're throwing another party tomorrow. My brothers are coming from India. You're invited there."

"Alright, I can't wait for it." She grins. "I've to go now. A class is waiting." I nod in response.

Luckily, our packets are already delivered. I pick them up from the reception and thanks Emma for keeping them on our behalf. She waves it off dryly.

Janet squeals when I walk in with the brown packets. She tears open hers first and shows off the dress to Agastya and Aunt Bertha. My brother barely looks up from his laptop, simply nodding to pacify her.

She then proceeds to open mine. "Worth it. Worth every penny!" She puts the dress on my body. "What do you think, Aunt Bertha?"

The woman nods with a smile of approval. "It's beautiful."

"Let's go get ready. We've to be at the venue by seven." She collects her dress from the couch, slaps Agastya's laptop close and runs away before he can catch her. "Get ready, guys!"

"It's your birthday. Why is she so excited!?" He grunts at me.

"You ask me the same question every year."

"I know. Because I'm tired. Someday I'm committing a murder and she's to blame." He strides off to his room.

Aunt Bertha and I share a glance. We both shake our heads.

I go to my room to change.

After a long shower, I wear the bathrobe and dry my hair using the towel. Then I untangle the curls, put on the rollers and leave them be while I put on my dress and makeup.

It's white.

With low, sweetheart neckline.

Velvet soft fabric.

And backless.

I do my make-up heavy, with bright red lipstick and dark eyes. The straps are slightly tight, borderline uncomfortable. I constantly have to fix them since they prick me in the skin. But I love cheap dresses so I'm keeping it on.

I wear my metal stocking and shove the sheathed knife in the pocket. Knives and women should go hand in hand, especially in clubs. I wear my white gloves, put on the diamond ring and remove the rollers from my hair. The luminous black curls cascade down my shoulders and breasts gracefully.

Janet knocks on my door. I open it with an elegance of a model and make a show of walking the ramp for her. She whistles, video recording me in her phone.

"Now you!" I take the phone from her and shove her inside my room to make an entry. And when she walks out, my my, who Kardashians?

"C'mon, now stop wasting time. You told me to get ready by seven. It's six thirty." Agastya shouts from the living room.

"Coming!" We both echo and grab our bags and phones.

The drive to the club lasts over thirty minutes. We get a VIP entry, of course. We booked the place. A bollywood song plays when I enter the flashy place and the DJ announces that the birthday girl is here.

I act like a model, posing stylishly when the spotlight falls on me and the crowd cheers. Embarrassed, I cover my face, laughing softly in the cup of my palms. All of my close friends come over to congratulate me on turning 23. I haven't yet, but I will this midnight.

The night is fun.

We dance, we drink, we are unabashed and brazen on the floor, and we don't care what the fuck is going outside this club.

Sometime later, Tarun comes up to me when I'm at the bar and leans against it.

"You're late." I shout over the music.

"I know." He nods. "I was arranging a surprise on the top floor."

"Surprise?" I frown.

"Yeah, you wanna see?"

"I'll turn 23 in half an hour. They'll start looking for me if I'm not around."

"It won't take much of your time. C'mon," he beckons encouragingly.

I follow him upstairs. He takes me to the elevator and I enter. We ascend, the doors open to the fourth floor. "It's so quiet here." I chuckle, walking out after him. "Is this where you kill me?"

He looks at me, as if saying, "Seriously?"

"You can't blame me." He rolls his eyes.

"You've watched too many murder mysteries." He leads me down the hallway and towards the last room in the row. Then he opens the door and nods at me to walk inside.

"I'm excited." I meet his eyes.

"You won't be disappointed."

"Careful, I've high expectations now." I warn playfully.

"They'll be met. In you go," he pulls the door wider.

I inhale a deep breath and walk in, startling when the door slams shut behind me. I whirl around in shock. "Tarun?" I ask, knocking on the frame. "Tarun, what is this? Are you there?" No one answers. "Tarun, it's dark here. Look, this is not funny anymore." I say sternly. Nothing. Complete silence. Fear grips me. "Ta- Tarun?"

I flinch when the lights turn on. My feet move slowly, facing around. The hallway is empty, dimly lit. Well, that is until a shadow steps in, followed by the man owning it.

And there he stands, in flesh and blood, dark embodied, the night himself.

My heart skyrockets.

"Shourya," I whisper.

He smiles, half a lie, half a sin. "Missed me, Esther?"

Do you hear a squeal? Yeah, that's me.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to vote and comment. Makes my day.