Harrison watched Khushi stroll away, thoroughly confused.
He’d spent fifty-one weeks backpacking around this intriguing, mystical country, had met people from all castes, had flirted with women rivaling the most stunning film stars in beauty, yet nothing or no one had unsettled him as much as this chance encounter.
What was it about the mysterious Khushi that was so special?
Sure, she was pretty, with her waist-length black hair, shy smile, golden eyes. Eyes the unusual color of polished topaz he’d seen in many bazaars, an exotic blend of ochre and saffron, the colors of a parched outback he’d been lucky to see as a child. Before he’d lost his parents, before he’d lost everything.
She glanced over her shoulder, her smile tremulous, and he experienced the same stab of something undefinable, something powerful, something altogether frightening, as he had when their legs had tangled and she’d first glanced up at him.
He’d never been in love, never trusted the emotion, so what was this strange hollow-bellied, throat-clenching lack of control filling him with elation tinged with fear?
He waved, buoyed by hope when she waved back, a quick lift of her hand before she picked up the pace and scurried away.
She was scared of him.
Not scared exactly, wary. Reserved. Like she wasn’t used to strangers tripping over her in the shallows of Colva Beach. Probably not a bad thing. Her reserve was part of her allure, tempting him to discover everything he could about her.
The wind picked up as dusk settled over the beach like a rippling mauve cloak, teasing the edges of her salwaar kameez, ruffling the long, elegant tunic, the edges of her loose pants.
Like any red-blooded teenage boy, he’d seen his fair share of naked women in magazines, but there was something so much more seductive, sexy, in the “more is less” theory subscribed to by the elegant women of this continent.
He continued to watch her until she reached the end of the beach and stepped off the sand onto the footpath. Before she disappeared from sight he willed her to look back again, fervently wishing for it the same way he’d wished for life in hospital all those years ago.
He’d almost given up hope when she paused, glanced over her shoulder, and jubilation jived through him.
While he couldn’t see her face at this distance, he knew it wore the same goofy, starstruck expression as his. The mysterious Khushi may appear wary and reserved, but he’d seen the spark in her golden eyes, felt the flare of awareness arcing between them.
They shared a connection.
They shared a bond.
Over the following week, he intended on sharing a lot more.
***
“You’re late.”
“Sorry, Auntie.”
Khushi washed her hands under the kitchen tap, wiped them on her apron as she briskly tied the strings and joined Leela at the bench.
“Everything all right?”
“Of course.”
Her response came out too quickly, too sharply, instantly piquing her aunt’s interest.
“What happened?”
I met someone. I want to have a little adventure for once in my life. I fell a little bit in love.
She couldn’t say any of those things, especially the latter. They didn’t talk of love in this house. Not anymore.
“I got a promotion.”
Leela stopped, spatula in midair as a chapati sizzled and hissed in the pan. “That’s wonderful, my girl. Why didn’t you say so the minute you walked in?”
Because she had other things on her mind: eyes the same startling blue as her favorite comforter, a smile that could melt the wariest heart, dimples she could drown in given half a chance.
Her aunt thumped the spatula against the side of the frying pan. “I knew something good must’ve happened. You’re glowing.”
A guilty blush joined her apparent glow as she picked up a rolling pin, threw a ball of dough on the wooden board and started the familiar, soothing action of transforming the dough into flat bread for frying.
“My hours will probably change.”
“No matter, I can take care of things here.”
Khushi stifled a cough. Her aunt lived for “taking care” of things. Once the initial shock of Byron’s defection had worn off, she’d thrown herself into housework as if a maharaja would deign to visit them daily. She polished pans, dusted furniture, swept floors and cooked feasts fit for the entire neighborhood. Leela never stopped, from sunrise to sunset, her predictable routine a comfort considering what she’d been like those first few weeks after Byron absconded.
While Khushi had done her best to hide her devastation at Byron’s betrayal out of respect for her aunt, Leela had openly mourned the loss of the man she’d loved. For a month she hadn’t cleaned the house, had taken no care in her appearance and their social lives had consisted of watching countless Bollywood movies, where Leela would criticize the acting, the costumes, the music while she was transported to a magical world in which she longed to live. Away from men who cuddled and sang and promised the world, only to leave without a goodbye and never return.
“More money?”
“Some.”
Not enough to eradicate the drudgery of adding admin duties to her housekeeping ones.
“Good, good, every rupee helps.”
Khushi resumed her rolling with a noncommittal grunt. The slight increase in wages was the only plus in her lauded promotion. She could add to her nest egg, continue to grow her small savings in the hope that…what?
That she could travel one day? See the world? Visit Vancouver and Sydney and London—cities she drooled over in the movies?
Sure, and pigs would turn into parathas.
“When’s your next day off? I need help restocking the spices.”
The rolling pin sheered to the right as Khushi paused midroll, staring at the misshapen chapati, now resembling more a cracked egg than a perfect circle.
She’d never lied to her aunt, hadn’t had any reason to.
But she wasn’t going to turn her back on this opportunity, on him. Taking a steadying breath, she resumed rolling with a calmness that belied her tumbling tummy.
“Not till next week.”
Leela shrugged, dropped another chapati into the blistering ghee, the clarified butter that added such flavor to her favorite flat bread.
“No matter. It can wait till then.”
Khushi managed a tight smile and continued rolling, the steady rhythm keeping time with the silent mantra echoing through her head.
Seeing him tomorrow…seeing him tomorrow…
No comments:
Post a Comment