Kapitel 5: Chapter 4 - Meeting Again (2)
"So...why are you here at this ungodly hour?" I asked, curious. Living in the neighbourhood or not, people do not wander around aimlessly on the roads at three in the morning.
"I was bored," he said, smirking.
"Ever heard of sleep?"
His smile disappeared. "Not lately."
"Why?"
He looked away without a reply and I cursed myself mentally. This was the second time was seeing this illustrious person, and I was already chatting away with him like an old friend – it must have been annoying for him, even if he was too polite to say so. I felt a wave of pity wash over me.
"Sorry, Mr Mehta, it is none of my business," I muttered, turning away myself. "I am sure you have fifty thousand things to do right now instead of being quizzed by a college student – let me not keep you."
He caught my wrist again. I looked up, surprised. His eyes were stormy.
"Do not pity me," he snarled. "I am not one of your poor little rich boys."
"I never said you were," I told him gently. "I am sorry if you thought I meant that. I looked you up on the internet, so I have read of your brilliance and success and all that stuff. No one in their right mind would accuse you of being a poor little rich boy. You are anything but an airhead."
The storm subsided and the mischievous smirk returned. He let go of my hand.
"Mr Mehta is my father," he said cheerfully.
"Mr Furry Mehta, then," I replied cheekily. "I will remember next time."
He winced. "Please, no," he groaned. "Anything but that."
"It's adorable," I said, holding back my laughter with great effort.
He rolled his eyes. "No one has ever accused me of being adorable since I was five years old," he replied. "Firdaus, please."
"All right, Firdaus," I conceded. "Mind telling me how you got to know my name? I don't think we were introduced the other day."
He smiked. "I have my ways."
"I am sure you do. But why bother with an inconsequential college student you would probably never see again in your life?" I had to ask; I couldn't resist. I needed to know. Had he felt the same spark that I had felt before I ruthlessly suppressed it? Was it even possible? Could there be an intersection in our worlds?
"That is the question, isn't it?" he said softly. "Do you believe in fate?"
I huffed, nettled at the non-answer. "Per se, no. I believe we make our own."
"You are rather pragmatic for a literature student," he remarked.
I laughed. "I doubt if pragmatism brings people to the sea at this hour to accompany a friend's painting session."
"Why did you come here, then?"
Ah, deflection. He would not reply to my question, and yet he asks me the same – clearly gathering information without revealing his own intents. One tricky customer, this man – but two could play at this game.
"You are very clever, Mr Firdaus Mehta," I told him. "You must be an absolute god at the negotiation table."
He laughed freely and held up his hands in a placating gesture. "You've caught me."
It was my turn to smirk.
"You know," he mused. "If you were at law school, I would have offered you an internship. You seem quite smart."
"Then I would have probably been bored," I replied. "We can't have that now, can we?"
He laughed again. It was a rich, full sound, and his unruly curls were ruffled by the sea breeze as he threw his head back and laughed. I decided I liked his laughter. It made him look younger, less stressed and unbearably attractive. I wondered if he laughed often.
Finally, he said, "You are a very interesting woman; I haven't laughed so much in years."
"I'll take that as a compliment," I announced. "So, when I need a job after I graduate, I shall apply for the position of your court jester, yes?"
He grinned. "I will write you a recommendation."
"Thank you, your majesty." I curtsied.
We giggled like a pair of pre-adolescents for a while.
"All right," Firdaus said finally. "I'll tell you why I was here if you tell me why you are here."
"All right," I nodded my acquiescence. "You will have to go first, since I asked you before you asked me." I aimed my best smile at him.
He chuckled. "Crafty," he murmured. "I was at a dinner meeting – there." he pointed at the five star hotel across the street. "I noticed you and him a little after midnight. After the meeting ended, I stayed behind, picked up a bit of Dutch courage to come to speak to you, and here I am."
I shot him a disbelieving look. "Yeah, right."
He flushed. It was adorable. "That is the truth. I've wanted to speak to you again since the first time we met – when you ran away without giving me your name. You were...intriguing...in an unusual way. I asked Raina about you, and she told me about your boyfriend, so I let it be. But I saw you today and...I couldn't help myself; especially when it looked like you were about to jump into the sea."
"I wasn't going to jump," I said crossly, trying to slow down the frantic hammering of my heart. He had felt it, too! My fairytale romance may have a chance, after all! Then, of course, the voice of reason stepped in. Indian girls, especially middle-class, small-town Indian girls like me, are cautioned since puberty about men who charm you, pretend to love you and then discard you as soon as you have been bedded. The programming is so innate that the moment a boy approaches, alarm bells go off – more so when the girl feels a reciprocal attraction. Remember those Disney cartoons where an angel sits on one shoulder and the devil sits on the other and they both argue over the next course of action? That is exactly what happened.
The angel won, but barely, leaving me wary.
Geschenke
-- Geschenk
erhalten Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein