[naruto9211]

 

 Innocence:
 
I know you hate surprises, Ayesha. In the interests of communicating our expectations and providing you a reasonable timeline, you should know we’re ready for grandchildren.”
 
Ayesha Naz’s gaze jumped from her breakfast up to her mother’s gracefully aging face. A subtle application of makeup drew attention to battle-ready, coffee-colored eyes. That boded ill for Ayesha. When her mother got something into her mind, she was like a honey badger with a vendetta—pugnacious and tenacious, but without the snarling and fur.
 
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ayesha said.
 
Shock gave way to rapid-fire, panic-scrambled thoughts. Grandchildren meant babies. And diapers. Mountains of diapers. Exploding diapers. And babies cried,that even the best sound-canceling headphones couldn’t buffer. How did they cry so long and hard when they were so little? Plus, babies meant husbands. Husbands meant boyfriends. Boyfriends meant dating. Dating meant sex. She shuddered.
 
“You’re thirty, Ayesha dear. We’re concerned that you’re still single. Have you tried Tinder?”
She grabbed her water and gulped down a mouthful, accidentally swallowing an ice cube. After clearing her throat, she said, “No. I haven’t tried it.”
 
The very thought of Tinder—and the corresponding dating it aimed to deliver—caused her to break out in a sweat. She hated everything about dating: the departure from her comfortable routine, the conversation that was by turns inane and baffling, and again, the sex . . .
Her mother’s voice brightened with obvious interest. “That’s wonderful, beta. Your father and I were just saying last week how happy we’d be if you finally brought someone home. You know we don’t care about all that old nonsense — caste, religion, nothing. Your father is Rizwan, a proud Shia '. from a traditional family, and I’m Priya, a Sindhi ***** girl from the building next door. We were neighbours, fell in love, and fought the world together. If we could make it work, anyone can.”
Ayesha smiled softly. Her parents had always been like this — liberal at heart, even when the rest of the extended family raised eyebrows.
Priya continued warmly, “We gave you full permission long ago to follow your heart, Ayesha. Whether the boy is '., *****, Christian, from any state — as long as he treats you well and respects you, we are happy. No pressure for ‘same community’ shaadi. We just want you to be happy and not alone anymore.”
 
 
“I’ve been offered a promotion,” she said, hoping it would distract her mother.
 
“Another one?” her father asked, lowering his copy of the Economic Times so his wire-framed glasses were visible. “You were just promoted two quarters ago. That’s phenomenal.”
 
Ayesha perked up and scooted to the edge of her seat. “Our newest client—a large online vendor who shall remain nameless—provided the most amazing datasets, and I get to play with them all day. I designed an algorithm to help with some of their purchase suggestions. Apparently, it’s working better than expected.”
 
“When is the new promotion effective?” her father asked.
 
“Well . . .I didn’t accept the promotion. It was a principal statistician position that would have had five direct analysts beneath me and require much more client interaction. I just want to work on the data.”
 
Her mother batted that statement away with a negligent wave of her hand. “You’re getting complacent, Ayesha. If you stop challenging yourself, you’re not going to make any more improvement with your social skills. That reminds me, are there any coworkers at your company who you’d like to date?”
 
Her father set his newspaper down and folded his hands over his rounded belly. “Yes, what about that one fellow, Hameed mirza? When we met him at your last company get-together, he seemed nice enough.”
 
Her mother’s hands fluttered to her mouth like pigeons homing in on bread crumbs. “Oh, why didn’t I think of him? He was so polite. And easy on the eyes, too.”
 
“He’s okay, I guess.” Ayesha ran her fingertips over the condensation on her water glass. To be honest, she’d considered Hameed. He was conceited and abrasive, but he was a direct speaker. She really liked that in people. “I think he has several personality disorders.”
 
Her mother patted Ayesha’s hand. Instead of putting it back in her lap when she was done, she rested it over Ayesha’s knuckles. “Maybe he’ll be a good match for you, then, dear. With issues of his own to overcome, he might be more understanding of your Asperger’s.”
 
Though the words were spoken in a matter-of-fact tone, they sounded unnatural and loud to Ayesha’s ears. A quick glance at the neighboring tables in the restaurant’s canopied outdoor dining area reassured her that no one had heard, and she stared down at the hand on top of hers, consciously refraining from yanking it away. Uninvited touches irritated her, and her mother knew it. She did it to “acclimate” her. Mostly, it drove Ayesha crazy. Was it possible Hameed could understand that?
 
“I’ll think about him,” Ayesha said, and meant it. She hated lying and prevaricating even more than she hated sex. And, at the end of the day, she wanted to make her mother proud and happy. No matter what Ayesha did, she was always a few steps short of being successful in her mother’s eyes and therefore her own, too. A boyfriend would do that, she knew. The problem was she couldn’t keep a man for the life of her.
 
Her mother beamed. “Excellent. The next dinner I’m arranging is in a couple months on your fathers birthday, and I want you to bring a date this time. I’d love to see Mr.Hameed attending with you, but if that doesn’t work out, I’ll find someone.”
 
Ayesha thinned her lips. Her latest sexual experience had been with one of her mother’s blind dates. He is Aswin.. He’d been good-looking—she had to give him that—but his sense of humor had confused her. With him being a venture capitalist and her being an economist, they should have had a lot in common, but he hadn’t wanted to talk about his actual work. Instead, he’d preferred to discuss office politics and manipulation tactics, leaving her so lost she’d been certain the date was a failure.
 
When he’d straight-out asked her if she wanted to have sex with him, she’d been caught completely off guard. Because she hated to say no, she’d said yes. There’d been kissing, which she didn’t enjoy. He’d tasted like the lamb he’d had for dinner. She didn’t like lamb. His cologne had nauseated her, and he’d touched her all over. As it always did in intimate situations, her body had locked down. Before she knew it, he’d finished. He’d discarded his used condom in the trash can next to the hotel room’s desk—that had bothered her; surely he should know things like that went in the bathroom?—told her she needed to loosen up, and left. She could only imagine how disappointed her mother would be if she knew what a disaster her daughter was with men.
 
And now her mother wanted babies, too.
 
Ayesha got to her feet and gathered her purse. “I need to go to work now.” While she was ahead on all her deadlines, need was still the right word for it. Work fascinated her, channeled the furious craving in her brain. It was also thebangutic.
 
“That’s my girl,” her father said, standing up and brushing off his silk kurta before hugging her. “You’re going to own that place before long.”
 
As she gave him a quick hug—she didn’t mind touching when she initiated it or had time to mentally prepare for it—she breathed in the familiar scent of his aftershave. Why couldn’t all men be just like her father? He thought she was beautiful and brilliant, and his smell didn’t make her sick.
 
“You know her work is an unhealthy obsession, Rizwan. Don’t encourage her,” her mother said before she switched her attention to Ayesha and heaved a maternal sigh. “You should be out with people on the weekend. If you met more men, I know you’d find the right one.”
 
Her father pressed a cool kiss to her temple and whispered, “I wish I were working, too.”
 
Ayesha shook her head at him as her mother embraced her. The ropes of her mother’s ever-present pearls pressed into Ayesha’s sternum, and Chanel No. 5 swirled around her. She tolerated the cloying scent for three long seconds before stepping back.
 
“I’ll see you both next weekend. I love you. Bye.”
 
She waved at her parents before exiting the ‘Tresind’ restaurant and walked down sidewalks lined with palm trees and upscale shops. After three sunny blocks, she reached a low-rise office building in the Bandra-Kurla Complex that housed her favorite place in the world: her office. The left corner window on the third floor belonged to her.
 
The lock on the front door clicked open when she held her purse up to the sensor, and she strode into the empty building, enjoying the solitary echo of her high heels on the marble as she passed the vacant reception desk and stepped into the elevator.
 
Inside her office, she initiated her most beloved routine. First, she powered on her computer and entered her password into the prompt screen. As all the software booted up, she plopped her purse in her desk drawer and went to fill her cup with water from the kitchen. Her shoes came off, and she placed them in their regular spot under her desk. She sat.
 
Power, password, purse, water, shoes, sit. Always this order.
 
Statistics Analysis System, otherwise known as SAS, automatically loaded, and the three monitors on her desk filled with streams of data. Purchases, clicks, log-in times, payment types—simple things, really. But they told her more about people than people themselves ever did. She stretched out her fingers and set them on the black ergonomic keyboard, eager to lose herself in her work.
 
“Oh hi, Ayesha, I thought it might be you.”
 
She looked over her shoulder and was jarred by the unwelcome view of hameed peering around the door frame. The severe cut of his tawny hair emphasized his square jaw, and his polo shirt was tight across his chest. He looked fresh, sophisticated, and smart—precisely the kind of man her parents wanted for her. And he’d caught her working for pleasure on the weekend.
 
Her face heated, and she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
 
“What are you doing here?”
 
“I had to pick up something that I forgot yesterday.” He extracted a box from a shopping bag and waved it at her. Ayesha caught sight of the word MANFORCE in giant letters. “Have a nice weekend. I know I will.”
 
Breakfast with her parents raced through her mind. Grandchildren, Hameed, the prospect of more blind dates, being successful. She licked her lips and hurried to say something, anything. “Did you really need an economy-sized box of those?”
 
As soon as the words left her mouth, she winced.
 
He smirked his asshole smirk, but its annoyingness was softened by a show of strong white teeth. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to need half of these tonight since the boss’s new intern asked me out.”
 
Ayesha was impressed despite herself. The new girl looked so shy. Who would have thought she was so gutsy? “For dinner?”
 
“And more, I think,” he said with a twinkle in his hazel eyes.
 
“Why did you wait for her to ask you out? Why didn’t you ask her first?” She’d gotten the impression men liked to be initiators in matters like these. Was she wrong?
 
With impatient motions, Hameed stuffed an entire militia of ‘Manforce’ back in his shopping bag. “She’s fresh out of undergrad. I didn’t want to get accused of cradle robbing. Besides, I like girls who know what they want and go for it . . . especially in bed.” He swept an appraising gaze from her feet to her face, smiling like he could see through her clothes, and she stiffened with self-consciousness. “Tell me, are you still a virgin, Ayesha?”
 
She turned back to her computer screens, but the data refused to make sense. The cursor on the programming screen blinked. “It’s none of your business, but no, I’m not a virgin.”
 
He walked into her office, leaned a hip against her desk, and considered her in a skeptical manner. She adjusted her glasses even though they didn’t need it. “So our star statistician has ‘done it’ before. How many times? Three?”
 
No way was she going to tell him he’d guessed correctly. “None of your business, Hameed.”
 
“I bet you just lie there and run linear recursions in your head while a man does his business. Am I right, Ms. Ayesha?”
 
Ayesha would totally do that if she could figure out how to input gigabytes of data into her brain, but she’d rather die than admit it.
 
“A word of advice from a man who’s been around the block a few times: Get some practice. When you’re good at it, you like it better, and when you like it better, men like you better.” He pushed away from the desk and headed for the door, his bag of condoms swinging jauntily at his side. “Enjoy your endless week.”
 
As soon as he left, Ayesha stood up and shoved her door shut, using more force than was necessary. The door slammed with a hard, vibrating bang, and her heart stuttered. She smoothed damp hands over her pencil skirt as she brought her breathing back under control. When she sat down at her desk, she was too jittery to do more than stare at the blinking cursor.
 
Was Hameed right? Did she dislike sex because she was bad at it? Would practice really make perfect? What a beguiling concept. Maybe sex was just another interpersonal thing she needed to exert extra efforts on—like casual conversation, eye contact, and etiquette.
 
But how exactly did you practice sex? It wasn’t like men were throwing themselves at her like women apparently did to Hameed. When she did manage to sleep with a man, he was so put off by the lackluster experience that once was more than enough for both of them.
 
Also, this was Mumbai, the kingdom of tech geniuses and scientists in the Bandra-Kurla Complex. The single men available were probably as hopeless in bed as she was. With her luck, she’d sleep with a statistically significant population of them and have nothing to show for it but crotch burn and STDs.
 
No, what Ayesha needed was a professional.
 
Not only were they certified disease-free, but they had proven track records. At least, she assumed so. That was how she’d run things if she were in that business. Regular men were incentivized by things like personality, humor, and hot sex—things she didn’t have. Professionals were incentivized by money. Ayesha happened to have a lot of money.
 
Instead of working on her shiny new dataset, Ayesha opened up her browser and Googled “Mumbai male escort service.”

[naruto9211]

THE GAME




Which envelope should he open first? The lab results or the bill? Aditya was paranoid about protection, so the lab results should be good.

Should be. In his experience, shit didn’t need a reason to happen. Bills, on the other hand, were a sure thing. They always sucked. The only question was how hard they’d punch him in the balls.

Tensing his muscles for impact, he tore open the bill. How much was it this month? He scanned to the bottom of the itemized invoice and located the final amount. The breath trickled from his lungs before it gusted out. Not horrible. On the scale of stinging to pulverizing, he’d put this one at merely bruising.

That probably meant he’d contracted Chlamydia.

He set the bill down on top of the metal filing cabinet nestled behind his kitchen table and opened the lab results from his latest STD screening. All negative. Thank fuck. It was Friday evening again, which meant he needed to work tonight.

Time to get himself in the mind-set for fucking. Not an easy thing to do after thinking about STDs and plaguing bills. For an instant, he let himself imagine what things would be like if the bills came to an end. He’d be free at last. He could return to his old life and—shame doused him. No, he didn’t want the bills to end. He never wanted that to happen. Never.

As Aditya padded through his modest apartment in Andheri toward the bathroom and shed his clothes, he tried to revive his old enthusiasm for this job. The taboo nature of it had been enough in the beginning, but after three years of escorting, that was pretty much old hat. The revenge aspect still satisfied him, though.

Look at your only son now, Dad.

It would torment his dad if he found out Aditya was having sex for money. A thoroughly delightful thought. Not an arousing one, however. That was what fantasies were for. He mentally sifted through his favorites. What was he in the mood for tonight? Hot for Teacher? Neglected Housewife? Secret Lover?

He cranked the shower knob and waited for steam to cloud the air before climbing beneath the hot spray. A breath in, a breath out, and he readied his mind. What was the name of tonight’s client again? Riya? Ariyana? No, Ayesha. He’d bet a lakh rupees that wasn’t her real name, but whatever. She’d chosen to pay up front. He’d try to do something extra nice for her. Hot for Teacher, then.

It was his first year of college. He skipped all of his lectures but this one because Ms. Ayesha liked to drop the chalkboard eraser right by his chair. Picturing her salwar kameez riding up as she bent down to retrieve the eraser, he gripped his cock and stroked with firm motions. When class ended, he dbangd her facedown over her desk and bunched her kurta up to her waist to reveal that she wasn’t wearing panties. He plunged into her hard and fast. If someone walked in on them . . .

With a groan, he yanked his hand away before he could fly over the edge. He was primed and ready to see Ms. Ayesha outside of class.

He kept his mind locked in the fantasy as he finished with his shower, dried off, and left the bathroom to pull on jeans, a T-shirt, and a black sports coat. A quick look in the half-fogged mirror and two swipes of his fingers through his damp hair confirmed he was presentable.

Condoms, keys, wallet. Out of habit, he reread the special comments section of tonight’s assignment on his phone.

Please don’t wear deodarant.

That was easy. He didn’t like the stuff in the first place. He slipped his phone into his pocket along with everything else and left his apartment.

It wasn’t long before he parked in the underground lot of the Taj Lands End Hotel in Bandra. As he strolled into the sleek, ultramodern lobby, he made sure the lapels of his coat were down and played his usual pre-meet-and-greet game where he imagined what his new client was like.

Under Client Age for tonight, it had said thirty. He sighed and corrected the age to fifty. Anything younger than forty was always a lie—unless it was a group thing, which he didn’t do. Bachelorette parties paid well, but the idea of destroying young love depressed the hell out of him. Maybe it was pathetic, but he wanted to live in a world where brides-to-be only had sex with their grooms-to-be and vice versa. Besides, large groups of horny women were terrifying. You couldn’t defend yourself against them, and their nails were sharp.

“Ayesha” could be a pampered fifty who indulged in sweets, spas, and designer bags, was therefore decadently rounded, and preferred to be worshipped in bed—something Aditya had no problem with. She could also be a fit fifty who liked yoga, green juice, and marathon sex sessions that worked his abs better than weighted incline crunches. Or, his least favorite, she could be a hard-ass Mumbai go-getter who chose him because, with his mixed North Indian and South Indian heritage, he looked like a popular Bollywood actor. This last kind of woman inevitably reminded him of his mom, and after sleeping with them, he needed therapy with a punching bag.

Entering the hotel restaurant, he searched the dimly lit tables for a woman with dark hair and brown eyes wearing glasses. Because he’d gotten through his mail without major incident earlier, he braced himself for the worst now. His gaze skipped over tables occupied by businessmen until he saw a solitary, middle-aged woman micromanaging the waiter on how to make her salad. When she brushed manicured nails through her lightened brown hair, his stomach sank and he began walking toward her. It was going to be a long night.

No, this was the culmination of a semester’s worth of sexual tension. They both wanted this. He wanted this.

Before he could reach her, a reed-thin older man took the seat opposite her and covered her hand with his. Confused but relieved, Aditya stepped back and surveyed the restaurant again. No one was sitting alone . . . but for a girl in the far corner.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and sexy librarian-type glasses were balanced on a cute little nose. In fact, from what he could see of her, everything looked like it had been chosen from a sexy librarian cosplay. She wore neat pointed pumps, a gray pencil skirt, and a fitted white oxford shirt buttoned clear up to her throat. It was possible she was thirty, but Aditya put her at twenty-five. There was something young and wholesome about her, though her frown was rather fierce as she scrutinized the menu.

Aditya glanced about the room, searching for a hidden camera team or his friends cracking up behind the potted plants. He found neither of those things.

He closed his hands around the back of the chair across from her. “Excuse me, are you Ayesha?”

Her eyes shot to his face, and Aditya lost his train of thought. Those sexy librarian glasses showcased the most stunning pair of soft brown eyes. And her lips—they were just full enough to be tempting without detracting from her overall air of sweetness.

“I’m sorry. I must have the wrong person,” he said with a smile he hoped was more apologetic and less embarrassed. There was no way a girl like this had hired an escort.

She blinked and jostled the table as she flew to her feet. “No, that’s me. You’re Aditya. I recognize you from your picture.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m Ayesha Naz. Nice to meet you.”

He stared at her open expression and proffered hand for a stunned fraction of a second. This wasn’t how clients greeted him. They usually waved him into a seat with a sly curl of their lips and a sparkle in their eyes—that sparkle that said they thought they were better than him but were looking forward to what he could offer anyway. She greeted him like he was . . . an equal.

Quickly recovering from his surprise, he wrapped her slender hand in his and shook it. “Aditya. Nice to meet you, too.”

When he released her, she motioned toward his chair awkwardly. “Please, have a seat.”

He sat and watched as she perched herself on the precarious edge of her seat, her back straight as a board. She searched his face, but when he arched an eyebrow at her, she switched her focus to the menu. She adjusted the position of her glasses with a wrinkle of her nose.

“Are you hungry? I am.” Her knuckles went white as she clung to the menu. “The Thai food is good here, and the seafood. My dad likes the lamb—” Her gaze jumped to his face, and, even in the dim light, he could see her cheeks go crimson. She cleared her throat. “Maybe not the lamb.”

Because he couldn’t resist, he asked, “Why not the lamb?”

“I think it tastes woolly, and if you . . . when we . . .” She stared up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. “All I’d be thinking about would be sheep and lambs and wool.”

“Understood,” he said with a grin.

When she stared at his mouth like she couldn’t remember what she was going to say, his grin widened. Women chose him because they liked the way he looked. Few of them responded to him like this, however. It was flattering even as it was funny.

“Are there any things you would prefer I not eat or drink?” she asked.

“No, I’m pretty easy.” He kept his voice light and tried to ignore the tightness in his chest. It had to be heartburn. Simple thoughtfulness wasn’t doing this to him.

After the waiter took their order and left, Ayesha sipped from her water glass and drew geometrical shapes in the condensation with delicate fingertips. When she noticed him watching her, she drew her hand back and sat on it, flushing like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

Something about that was kind of endearing. If she hadn’t already paid, he wouldn’t believe she actually wanted this. Why did she want this? She should have a boyfriend . . . or a husband. Against his better judgment—it was best when he didn’t know—he looked at her left hand resting on the table. No ring. No sacred Mangal sutra chain.No white line.

“I have a proposition for you,” she said suddenly, pinning him with a gaze that was surprisingly direct. “It would require a commitment of sorts—for the next couple months, I imagine. I would . . . prefer . . . to have sole access to you during that time. If you’re available.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Please tell me if you’re available first.”

“I only do Friday nights.” That was non-negotiable. Escorting once a week was bad enough. If he had to do it more than that, he’d lose his fucking mind, and he couldn’t afford for that to happen. Too many people depended on him. He never scheduled repeat appointments with the same client, either. They tended to get attached, and he couldn’t stand that. But he wanted to hear what she was proposing before he declined.

“You have the next few months open, then?” she asked.

“It depends on what you’re proposing.”

She pushed her glasses up her nose and drew her shoulders back. “I’m awful at . . . what you do. But I want to get better. I think I can get better if someone would teach me. I’d like that person to be you.”

Understanding splashed over Aditya in surreal waves. She thought she was bad. At sex. And wanted lessons to improve. She wanted him to tutor her. How the hell did you teach sex?

“I think we should do a trial run before we set anything up,” Aditya hedged. She couldn’t actually be bad at sex, and she’d already paid. At the very least, he had to give her tonight.

Frowning, she nodded. “You’re absolutely right. We should establish a baseline.”

A grin tugged at his lips again. “Are you a scientist, Ayesha?”

“Oh, no. I’m an economist. More precisely, I’m a statistician.”

In Aditya’s book, that put her solidly in the brainier category, and an odd feeling ghosted up the back of his neck. Damned if he didn’t have a thing for smart girls. There was a reason why his favorite fantasy was Hot for Teacher.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“I use statistics and calculus to model economic systems. Do you know how when you buy something online they usually email you with future recommendations? I help them formulate those recommendations. It’s a very fluid and fascinating field right now.” As she spoke, she leaned toward him, and her eyes lit with excitement. Her lips curved like she was telling him a secret. About math things. “Today’s material is completely different from what I used to teach when I was in college.”

That odd feeling simmering up Aditya’s spine increased in intensity. She’d somehow gotten prettier during the course of their discussion. Brown eyes and thick lashes, pouty lips, delicate jaw, vulnerable neck. Vivid images of him unfastening the buttons of her shirt flashed in his mind.

But unlike the usual, he didn’t want to do it quickly. He didn’t want to skip straight to the fucking, get out, and go home. This girl was different. It was that spark in her eyes. He wanted to take his time and see if he could make her shine with a different kind of excitement.

His skin had gone hot and sensitive, and his pulse thrummed with eagerness. He hadn’t been this turned on in forever. And he hadn’t been fantasizing she was someone else. He reminded himself this was business. His personal wants and needs didn’t play into this at all. This assignment was just like any other, and when it was done, he’d move on to the next.

He took a deep breath and said the first thing he could think of. “Were you on the math team in high college?”

She laughed down at her water. “No.”

“Science club? Maybe it was chess club.”

“No, and no.” Her smile was a sad, barely there thing that made him wonder what high college had been like for her. Looking back up at him, she said, “Let me guess, cricket captain.”

“Nope. My dad was a firm believer that sports are stupid.”

Her brow wrinkled with a little frown. “I find that difficult to believe. You’re very . . . athletic-looking.”

“He only encouraged practical things. Like self-defense.” He hated to agree with his dad on anything, but with the family business being what it was, and his helping out with it, the techniques had come in handy when shit kids teased him.

A discovering kind of smile lit her face. “What do you do? MMA? Kung fu? Akido?”

“I’ve done a little of everything. Why do you sound like you actually know what you’re talking about?”

Her gaze dropped back down to her water. “I like martial arts movies and things like that.”

He groaned as suspicion dawned. “Don’t tell me . . . you’re a Jackie chan fan?”

She tilted her head as a smile peeked over her lips. “Yes.”

Their dinner arrived, saving him from having to respond further. She’d ordered the salmon, so he’d done the same. No way was he going to eat lamb. He snorted to himself. Woolly.

His fish was good, so he ate all of it. He suspected everything was good here. The Taj Lands End was one of Bandra’s most exclusive hotels with rooms going for a fortune. Apparently, stasticians made shitloads of money.

As he watched Ayesha pick at her dinner, however, he noticed that everything about her was understated. Her face was devoid of makeup, her nails were short and unpainted, and her clothes were simple—though they fit her perfectly.

When she set her fork down and wiped her mouth, her salmon was only half finished.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?”

“I’m nervous,” she admitted.

“You don’t need to be.” He was a damned good escort, and he’d take care of her. Unlike most of his assignments, he even looked forward to it.

“I know. I can’t help it. Could we just get this over with?”

His eyebrows twitched. He’d never heard someone say something like that in reference to a night with him. Changing her mind-set was going to be fun.

“All right.” He dbangd his napkin over his empty dinner plate and got to his feet. “Let’s go to your room.”

[naruto9211]

3. Intimacy


In the softly glowing intimacy of the Taj Lands End suite, where the distant lullaby of Mumbai’s waves met the warm glow of bedside lamps and the faint scent of fresh mogra flowers, Ayesha stepped inside, her heart fluttering like a caged bird longing for flight.

She placed her purse on the chair by the door and, almost without thinking, slipped off her elegant heels, arranging them neatly against the wall. The cool marble beneath her bare feet brought a tiny sigh of relief. But then doubt rushed in. Was this rude with company present? Her stomach knotted tightly, her pulse racing like the local trains during rush hour.

Aditya noticed her hesitation with a gentle, amused glance. Without a word, he kicked off his own polished black shoes and placed them neatly beside hers — a small, thoughtful act that eased something deep within her. He shrugged out of his dark jacket, revealing a simple white T-shirt that clung to his broad chest and strong arms, his jeans sitting low on his narrow hips. Ayesha couldn’t look away.

He was sculpted like the ancient warriors of legend — raw strength wrapped in graceful coordination. The finest man her eyes had ever beheld.

And tonight… they were going to be intimate.

She drew a shaky breath and walked into the luxurious bathroom, bracing her hands on the cool marble counter as she stared at her reflection. Her eyes were too wide, her face pale like moonlight on the Arabian Sea, her lips dry with nervousness. 'What was I thinking, choosing someone so strikingly handsome?' she wondered.

Yet she had chosen him after hours of searching. It was his eyes — deep brown, intense yet kind, like the quiet strength of the Gateway of India standing firm against the tides. His glowing reviews had sealed it. Now, standing here, she feared she might lose her dinner in the sink.

Through the mirror, she saw him lean against the doorway, his presence commanding yet gentle. He stepped behind her, taller without her heels, his reflection enveloping hers. “May I take your hair down?” he asked softly.

She nodded. With tender fingers, he removed her hairband, letting her dark waves tumble free over her shoulders like the monsoon rains finally released. She trembled, waiting for the moment her body would lock in familiar panic.

A dark tattoo on his bicep caught her eye. She reached out instinctively but stopped, remembering her own boundaries. “What is this?”

Aditya’s lips curved into a slow, crooked smile, revealing perfect teeth. “My tattoo.”

Heat bloomed across her skin. She had never understood tattoos before… until now. On him, it was breathtaking.

Her fingers hovered. He caught her hand gently and pressed it to his arm. A spark shot through her — electric, alive. His skin was warm, smooth over firm muscle, so very real.

“You can touch me,” he whispered, his voice like velvet. “Anywhere.”

Even as thrill coursed through her, hesitation followed. Touching felt so private. How did he offer it so freely?

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?” she asked.

His smile deepened. “I like being touched.”

When she still wavered, he rolled up his sleeve himself, revealing sweeping black ink that danced across his shoulder and vanished beneath his shirt — a grand design waiting to be discovered. The swell of his muscles drew her in. She had never touched such strength before. And his scent… clean, warm, intoxicating like sandalwood and fresh rain on Mumbai’s earth. She leaned closer, breathing him in.

“You smell… incredibly good,” she murmured. “What is it?”

He stiffened slightly. “No cologne. It’s just me.”

“You smell this good naturally?” Her voice held wonder. “I want this scent all over me.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. Too personal? Too strange?

Aditya bent close, his lips hovering near her ear. “Are you sure you’re bad at this, Ayesha?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“It means… so far, you’re very good at it.”

His words wrapped around her heart like a warm shawl on a cool Bandra night. She battled the urge to press closer, craving connection she had always pushed away. When he gathered her hair aside and brushed the softest kiss behind her ear, her body tensed… then relaxed as he gave her space. His fingers stroked through her hair in slow, soothing rhythms — from crown to neck to back — calming the storm inside her.

“I think you should kiss me,” he said, his voice husky with restrained emotion.

Her heart clenched with old fears. She was terrible at kissing. “On the mouth?”

“Wherever you wish. The mouth is a beautiful place to begin.”

He guided her with infinite patience, letting her lead — temple, cheek, corner of her lips. Each kiss melted something frozen within her. When she finally pressed her mouth fully to his, sensation bloomed like lotuses opening at dawn. His lips were warm, tender, teaching her gently.

When his tongue brushed hers, she pulled back instinctively. “Is that… necessary?”

He chuckled softly, eyes dancing with affection. “It can be very nice. But only if you want it.”

With his patient guidance, she tried again. Closed-mouth kisses first — glorious, addictive. Then deeper. His taste, his warmth, the way he held her without rushing… it awakened her in ways she had never known. For the first time, intimacy felt safe. Sacred. Deeply wanted.

As they moved from the bathroom to the bed, Aditya held her like she was the most precious thing in his world. In his arms, Ayesha felt seen, cherished, and slowly, beautifully whole.

In the heart of Mumbai, under the same stars that watched over the Gateway and the sea, two souls — one seeking to learn, the other carrying hidden burdens — found in each other the beginning of a love that would rewrite their entire lives.

[naruto9211]

please give a honest feedback.. about flow, font, size and length of updates.

[naruto9211]

In the softly lit elegance of the Taj suite, where the golden glow of bedside lamps blended with the distant shimmer of Mumbai’s Marine Drive lights filtering through sheer silk curtains, Ayesha balanced precariously on the very edge of the vast king-sized bed, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

Aditya rubbed his lips to hide a tender smile. If he kissed her right now, she might tumble right off the mattress. She was the kind of woman who became beautifully undone when desire touched her — and he cherished every moment of it. Every careful step it had taken to earn her trust had been worth it.

Freed from her neat bun, her dark hair fell in soft, wild waves around her face. Arousal had brightened her warm brown eyes, and her lips were gently swollen from his kisses. She looked breathtaking — almost too much for his guarded heart to bear. For a fleeting second, he wished this night didn’t have to end.

Instead of sitting beside her, he stretched out near the center of the bed, propped himself on one elbow, and patted the space next to him with quiet invitation.

After a brief hesitation, Ayesha crawled across the soft sheets and lay down beside him, her body straight as a temple pillar, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat, and she held herself rigid, as though bracing for an unseen storm.

That wouldn’t do.

“I’m going to kiss you again,” he said gently, sensing she needed the warning. “With everything that feels right.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He leaned over her, starting slowly — innocent brushes of lips, tender teases, before deepening the kiss with patient reverence. She had little practice, yet what she lacked in skill, she made up for with pure, heartfelt enthusiasm. Her tongue followed his with sweet curiosity, and when she buried her fingers in his hair, scbanging her nails lightly over his scalp, a shiver of pure pleasure ran through him. He forgot about dimming the lights. He forgot everything except her.

His hand glided along the length of her body, cupping the soft curve of her breast through the thin fabric. He felt the tight peak of her nipple and ached to worship it properly, but there were still too many layers between them. She arched into him with a small, involuntary sound that made his blood run hot.

He pulled back slightly to catch his breath, admiring the flushed beauty before him. She was ready — or so he thought.

His fingers moved to the top button of her blouse. The change was instant and heartbreaking.

One moment she was soft and languid in his arms. The next, she was tense as a drawn bowstring. Color drained from her face. Her expression shifted from sensual to frightened. Her hands dropped to her sides, clenched into tight fists.

“Ayesha?” he whispered, concern flooding his voice.

She gulped a ragged breath and began fumbling with her own buttons. “I’m sorry. Let me do it.” Her fingers trembled, uncoordinated.

He covered her hands with his, stilling them gently. “What are you doing, jaan?”

“Undressing.”

“I’m not going to continue like this,” he said softly, his heart aching. “Not when you’re scared.”

She turned onto her side, facing away from him, her shoulders shaking. Tears. The sight gutted him like nothing else. He hesitated only a second before wrapping himself around her from behind, holding her close despite her attempt to shrink away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. What happened? Did someone… hurt you?”

“No one hurt me,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I’m just… like this. Can we please continue and establish the baseline?”

“Ayesha, you’re trembling and crying.” He stroked damp strands of hair from her face with infinite tenderness.

She wiped at her eyes fiercely. “No more crying.”

He held her tighter, his own chest tight with protective rage at the thought of the men who had taken from her without care. “You need someone to go very slow with you.”

“You have been going slow,” she said quietly. “The others were finished by now.”

“I don’t want to hear about the others,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You need patience. You deserve it.”

He glanced around the luxurious suite for inspiration and noticed the large television on the wall. “A movie and cuddling. We can try again afterward, only if you want.”

Her face showed hesitation. “I don’t really like cuddling.”

He smiled softly. “You might with me. My scent seems to wage a sweet war on you.”

She searched his face, then slipped away briefly to the bathroom. When she returned wearing her glasses and carrying his neatly folded shirt, she set it on the nightstand, picked up the remote, and sat on the edge of the bed. Dressed once more in her professional blouse and skirt, with her hair beautifully messed up from his fingers, she looked both composed and endearingly undone.

“What would you like to watch?” she asked.

“No heavy dramas, please. My sisters make me watch them and laugh when I get emotional.”

Her lips curved in a shy smile, melting the distance between them. “Do you really cry?”

“Who wouldn’t? The misunderstandings, the sacrifices… it touches the heart.”

They settled on a thrilling martial arts film — a story of discipline, honor, and graceful combat that reminded her of his strength. As the opening scenes played, Aditya eased her close, wrapping his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, and slowly, wonderfully, her body began to relax against his.

As pictures of him training like a fierce warrior — punching through frozen blocks of ice at an akhada, his powerful form moving with disciplined grace — flitted through her mind, Ayesha forgot her partial undress. Her breathing evened out. Her body unwound completely in his arms. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat, his warm sandalwood-and-rain scent, and the low volume of powerful fight sequences on the screen lulled her into the deepest, most peaceful sleep she had known in years.

Aditya held her close, his own eyes growing soft with wonder. In the quiet Mumbai night, with the city’s lights twinkling like a thousand blessings beyond the windows, he realized this woman had already begun to change him. What started as a night of guidance was becoming something far more sacred — a tender beginning of true love.???

[naruto9211]

In the quiet dawn of a new Mumbai morning, where the first rays of sunlight kissed the Arabian Sea and filtered gently through the silk curtains of the Taj suite,Ayesha’s eyes fluttered open. The digital clock on the nightstand read 9:24 a.m. Her heart lurched with quiet alarm.

She had slept in. She 'never' slept in.

As she sat up, the blankets pooled around her waist, cool air kissing her bare skin. She was still wearing yesterday’s underclothes. Panic flickered through her — she had skipped her entire sacred night routine. No flossing, no brushing, no shower, no soft cotton kurta. She had fallen asleep in Aditya’s arms, her body trusting him completely.

Aditya stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered, a white towel wrapped low around his lean hips. The morning light danced across his dragon tattoo, making the intricate ink look even more alive and powerful. He grinned around his toothbrush, eyes warm with affection. “Good morning, jaan.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth, suddenly self-conscious about her breath.

He moved with easy grace, pulling fresh clothes from a small overnight bag. Ayesha couldn’t help but watch — the fluid play of muscles across his back, the tempting twin dimples at the base of his spine. She longed to trace them with her fingertips, to pull the towel away and explore every inch of him.

“It wraps around my right thigh,” he said softly, glancing over his shoulder with a knowing smile.

Her cheeks warmed. The grand tattoo truly covered much of him — a majestic dragon winding across his body like a protector of ancient legends. She imagined herself wrapped around him the same way, skin to skin, heart to heart.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the dryness overwhelmed her. She slipped out of bed, grabbed his white shirt from the nightstand, and hurried to the bathroom, pulling it over her head as she went. The fabric still carried his warm, intoxicating scent — sandalwood, rain-kissed earth, and something uniquely 'him'. She breathed it in like a secret before beginning her routine.

Aditya joined her briefly, spitting into the sink after brushing. He leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to her cheek. He smelled of hotel soap, mint, and that same addictive essence that made her knees weak. Lucky her, indeed.

When she emerged, he was almost dressed — clean jeans hugging his hips, a fitted black T-shirt stretched across his chest. The sight of him made her heart ache with a strange mix of longing and fear that this beautiful night was ending.

“We need to talk,” she said, voice steady despite the storm inside.

His expression turned serious, and her stomach dropped. He was going to refuse. Last night had been filled with her fears, her tears, her awkwardness. Of course he wanted nothing more to do with her.

“I have something at ten I cannot miss,” he said gently, slinging his bag over his shoulder. His eyes held heartbreaking kindness as he looked at her.

“I need to know if we’re moving forward with the lessons or not,” she whispered.

He shook his head slowly, a sad smile touching his lips. “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry, Ayesha.”

Her heart plummeted, but she lifted her chin with quiet dignity. “I’ll leave you a glowing review. Thank you for everything. The kissing… it was beautiful.”

He stepped closer, his jaw tight. “Girls like you don’t need escorts, Ayesha. You deserve someone who sees how extraordinary you are. Someone who will love you properly.”

Anger and hurt flared in her chest, but beneath it was a deeper ache. “Girls like me intimidate men. Girls like me have to fight for every connection. I 'will' get better at this. I will learn to be someone worth loving.”

The words hung between them, raw and vulnerable.

Aditya’s expression softened with something profound. He took her hand, his thumb brushing tenderly over her knuckles. “Three sessions. That is the most I can give.”

Her heart soared so suddenly she felt lightheaded. “Three sessions?”

“If we do this, you must promise me — when it ends, no clinging, no calls, no gifts. My life… it’s complicated. I cannot handle attachments.”

“I promise,” she whispered, though the thought of this ending already hurt more than she expected.

He pulled her close, pressing her back against the door. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay,” she breathed.

Aditya touched his lips to hers, and pleasure jolted straight to Ayesha’s heart, racing down her arms, down her legs. Tilting his head, he kissed her deeper. Once. Twice. Again. Until she sighed and leaned fully into him, tangling her fingers in his cool hair. He claimed her mouth with his tongue in a way that was both new and beautifully familiar. She kissed him back with everything in her, trying to tell him all the things she wasn’t articulate enough to say.



“God, Ayesha,” he rasped against her lips, his dark eyes dazed and heavy-lidded. “You learned that fast.”



Before she could respond, he took her mouth again. She forgot about the time, forgot about work, even forgot about her anxiety. His strong body pressed against hers, and she arched into him, reveling in his closeness.



Her phone buzzed with her mother’s ring tone.


Aditya tore away at once, flushed and breathing heavily. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he stared deep into her eyes, looking like he was two seconds away from kissing her again.


“I should get that.” She slipped inside, sat on the edge of the bed, and pressed the talk button on her phone with a shaky thumb. “Hello?”


“Ayesha dear, your father’s—oh, hold on a second.” Her father’s deep voice rumbled on the other end, and Ayesha held the phone away from her ear as her parents discussed weekend plans.


Aditya approached her “I need to go, but we’re on for next Friday.”


“Next Friday,” she confirmed with a nod.


Instead of leaving immediately as she expected, he leaned down and brushed a fleeting kiss to her mouth. “Good-bye, Ayesha.”


She watched his departure in a dazed state. They were meeting again. In a week.


“Who was that?” Even with the phone several inches from her ear, Ayesha could hear her mother’s surprise.


“That was… Aditya.” A breathless kind of nervousness filled her. She might like it that her mother had discovered her male visitor.


A brief silence ensued, followed by, “Ayesha dear, did you spend the night with a man?”

“It’s not what you think. We didn’t do anything. Other than kissing.” The best kissing of Ayesha’s life.

“Well, why ever not?”


Ayesha’s mouth worked without issuing words.

“You’re a mature adult, and you make good choices. Now, tell me all about this Aditya.”

[naruto9211]

In the humid evening air of a modest fencing hall tucked away in the bustling lanes of Dadar, Mumbai, where the distant hum of local trains blended with the sharp, rhythmic clash of foils, Aditya moved like a storm contained in human form.

Destroy. Defeat. Deceive.

He scanned his sparring partner’s white-clad form for any weakness he could exploit. In the heat of these matches, he allowed the base, restless instincts he fought daily to rise freely. And it felt so damn liberating.

No matter how hard he battled against it, at his core, he carried echoes of his father’s darkness — passed down like an unwelcome inheritance in his blood.

He lunged and aimed for the head. When his partner’s foil rose to block, Aditya pushed for that extra burst of speed and arched his blade down. The tip connected cleanly.

Point scored. Match over.

Everyone bowed respectfully and set their foils aside before kneeling. Aditya hated this part — not because practice was ending, but because it was time to shed the mask and return to his burdened self.

This was the quiet beauty of the gear. The fencing uniform transformed him into a disciplined duelist. But when the protective jacket and mask came off, reality always crept back in like the monsoon humidity. Heavy thoughts stacked one upon another — responsibilities, bills, family obligations, his day job as an architect sketching dreams he could barely afford, and his night job that kept everything afloat.

After class ended, he stored his gear on the crowded shelf along the back wall. The changing area was too cramped, so he slipped his uniform off in the hallway. 

Two young college girls giggled and hurried past, and he rolled his eyes as he pulled on his jeans. Aditya now quietly serving a hidden world few knew about.

“We’re probably going to have a bunch of new female students next week,” said Sunny, his cousin and regular sparring partner, with a knowing grin.

“I’ll let you teach them the basics,” Aditya replied as he retrieved a slightly wrinkled T-shirt from his bag.

“They might be disappointed.”

“Whatever.” He yanked the shirt on, trying not to linger on the contrasting reflections in the full-length mirror. Sunny, with his buzzed hair and dense tattoos running down his arms, carried that intense, street-smart vibe. Aditya, by contrast, was the pretty one — a blessing and a curse that paid the bills but left him feeling hollow.

Except with "her". Ayesha had looked at him differently. Not like an expensive object, but like she truly saw the man beneath the surface. The way she had melted into his kisses once trust bloomed between them… he couldn’t forget it.

When he caught the direction of his thoughts, he mentally scolded himself. She was his client. It was wrong to dwell on her like this.

“If we get new students, I’ll handle them,” offered Bunny, Sunny’s younger brother, still practicing precise lunges in the mirror with machine-like focus.

Sunny rolled his eyes. “He never minds. Even when they throw themselves at him…”

Aditya smiled faintly, his mind drifting again to Ayesha’s shy enthusiasm, her vulnerable courage. Three more nights. The thought sent a quiet thrill through him, warmer and deeper than anything he had felt in years.

As they stepped out into the humid Mumbai evening, the city lights beginning to sparkle like scattered diyas, Sunny clapped him on the shoulder. “You should come out with me one Friday. There’s a new pub in Lower Parel.”

Aditya’s chest tightened with longing. It sounded good — normal life, laughter, freedom. But Friday nights belonged to her now.

“Can’t,” he said quietly. “I have something.”

Sunny studied him. “Or someone?”

Aditya simply shrugged, the weight of his double life pressing on him once more. Yet beneath the burden, a tender hope flickered — the memory of Ayesha’s trusting eyes, her soft sighs, the way she had fallen asleep peacefully in his arms.

In the heart of this relentless city, two lonely souls were slowly finding their way to each other. And for the first time in a long while, Aditya allowed himself to feel the quiet, dangerous pull of something real.


❤️

[naruto9211]

6 updates.. no encouragement or no feedback.

[naruto9211]

By the time Friday night rolled around, Ayesha was a jittery mess. She couldn’t stop her fingers from drumming on the restaurant table as she waited for Aditya to arrive. She’d arranged the appointment through the agency’s mobile app—with the state-of-the-art setup, it was as easy as booking airline tickets, but without the frequent-flier miles. 

They’d sent a confirmation email, but that was the only indication she’d gotten that the date was still on. She couldn’t help worrying that Aditya had changed his mind. She wished she had his cell phone number, but she figured he never gave that to his clients. 

It was too personal. Especially if his clients had the tendency to get obsessed. Which was actually one of her main weaknesses, and a defining characteristic of her disorder. She didn’t know how to be semi-interested in something. 

She was either indifferent . . . or obsessed. And her obsessions weren’t passing things. They consumed her and became a part of her. She kept them close, wove them into her very life. Just like her work. Going forward with Aditya, she had to tread carefully. 

Everything about him pleased her. Not just his looks, but his patience and his kindness. He was good. He was an obsession waiting to happen. Hopefully, she could keep a cool head during the coming weeks. Perhaps it was for the best there were only three sessions. 

Once they were finished, she’d focus on someone she could actually have. Like maybe Hameed Mirza. When Aditya entered the hotel restaurant, she noticed right away. Tonight, he wore a perfectly fitted black suit over a white oxford shirt. No tie. His collar hung open, drawing attention to his Adam’s apple and the sexy base of his throat. 

His gaze swept over the room and landed on her. She looked down at the menu without seeing it, horribly aware of his slow advance toward her. Keep a cool head. “Hello, Ayesha.” He sat down across from her and folded his hands on the tabletop. Her lungs drew in a slow breath, and she caught his light scent. Everything inside her turned over and sighed. 

With a sense of defeat, she lifted her eyes to his, counted to three, and looked away. “Hello, Aditya.”
 “Are you nervous already?” She laughed slightly. 
“I’ve been nervous since Saturday.” 
“About that . . . Who was that on the phone when I left?” Her lips tightened as she tried to suppress a smile. 

“It was my mom. She thinks you’re my boyfriend now, by the way.” He pressed a knuckle to his grinning lips. “I see. Will that be a problem?” 


“Actually, I think it’s a good thing. Now that she thinks I have a boyfriend, she should stop trying to arrange blind dates for me.” 

“Ah, the mother-arranged blind date. I’m very familiar with those.” “Does that mean you don’t have a girlfriend?” As soon as the question left her mouth, she winced. 

“I’m sorry. Forget I asked that.” She had no right to inquire about his personal life, but the intense curiosity burned inside her.

 She wanted to know everything about him. And if he did have a girlfriend, whoever that lucky girl was, Ayesha hated her guts. 

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend.” He said it like it should have been obvious. Thank God. “What kind of girls does your mother try to hook you up with?” He rolled his eyes.

 “Doctors and Nurses, who else?. By now, I think my mom’s tried to hook me up with the entire second-floor staff at the Lilavathi Hospital.” Ayesha couldn’t help being impressed. “That’s really determined.” 

“That’s nothing. You don’t know my mom.” She forced a smile and focused on the menu. What did it say about her that she wanted to know his mom? No, wait, she knew the answer to that.

 It said she was nuts. Mothers were scary she-bears when it came to their sons, especially sons like Aditya. And Ayesha wasn’t a doctor. Enough of this. She wasn’t dating Aditya. 

It didn’t matter what his mother thought of her. Ayesha was never going to meet the woman. She needed to get back to the matter at hand. “Let’s discuss my lessons,” she said briskly. “That’s a good idea.” 

Aditya leaned back in his chair, looking at ease. Ayesha tried to copy his relaxed air as she retrieved three folded sheets of paper from her purse. 


“Because we’re pressed for time, I took the liberty of drawing up lesson plans. They’re not set in stone. In fact, please suggest changes where you see fit. I have no idea if what I’ve written is feasible, but it helps me to keep things structured.

 I don’t deal well with surprises.” Aditya’s expression went unreadable. 

“Lesson plans.” “Exactly.” She pushed the salt and pepper shakers and candle aside. 

After placing her papers in the middle of the table, she smoothed the creases out with her fingertips and pointed at the first sheet, which was labeled Lesson One. 

“I put boxes next to each item so we can check things off as we go.” Eyes on the paper, he opened his mouth to speak, caught his breath, and tapped a finger to his lips.

 “Give me a moment.”

 LESSON ONE

 ☐ Hand Job Lecture and Demonstration 
 ☐ Hand Job Practice 
 ☐ Performance Review 

 ☐ Missionary Intercourse Lecture and Demonstration 
 ☐ Missionary Intercourse Practice
 ☐ Performance Review 


Aditya read and reread the clinical lesson plan, and surprise melted into amusement, which then dissipated as frustration crept over his back and up his neck. 

He curled his fingers and restrained the sudden urge to crumple Ayesha’s papers into ugly balls. Irritated. He was irritated. Fuck if he knew why. With words like lecture and demonstration involved, he should be getting off on this. 


“Who’s going to check the boxes? You or me?” 

“I can if you don’t want to,” she offered with a helpful smile. 

A picture of her pausing in the middle of sex to put her glasses on and scribble notes on a legal pad flashed in Aditya’s head. 

Like he was a sexbot or a fucking science experiment. “I notice there’s no kissing,” he said.

 “I was under the impression we’d moved beyond that.”
His eyebrows twitched.

“How’s that?”

“You said I’d picked it up, so it’s best not to waste time on it. 

Kissing you makes it hard for me to think, and I really want to get this right. 

Beyond that, it feels like something people do when they’re dating—which we’re not. I want things to stay clear and professional between us.” 


She took a prim sip office water and set the glass down, leaving a sheen of moisture on her pink lips

—lips he wasn’t allowed to kiss.


Her kisses weren’t for him anymore. He was supposed to fuck her and let her jerk him off, but she was saving those soft lips for someone else. The
thought made him almost violent, and he shoved his feelings down deep.


“You’ve watched Pretty Woman too many times. Kissing doesn’t mean
anything, and it’s always best if you’re not thinking too much in bed. Trust
me,” he said.

Her mouth thinned into a stubborn line. “This is too important for me not
to think. I’d rather not kiss anymore if you don’t mind.”

Aditya’s irritation redoubled, and he forced his hands to relax before he
popped all his blood vessels.

 How the hell had he gotten himself into this? 

Ah yes, he’d been worried about his escort colleagues taking advantage of her.
Stupid of him. His life was complicated enough without worrying about his
clients. This was exactly why he had the one-session policy
He would have backed out—it was tempting—but he’d promised. He
always carried through on his promises. It was his way of balancing out the
universe. His dad had broken enough promises for the both of them.


“All right,” he made himself say. “No kissing.”

“Do the other plans look okay?” she asked.

He forced himself to read them and found them pretty similar, only she’d
moved from hand jobs to blowjobs and changed the sexual positions.
Amused despite himself, 
he said, “I’m surprised you used the terms doggy
style and cowgirl.”

Her cheeks went bright red, and she adjusted her glasses. “I’m
inexperienced, not clueless.”

“Your plans are missing something important.” He held his hand out, and
she placed the pen in his palm with wary motions.

She tilted her head to the side as she watched him write FOREPLAY at the
top of all the plans in capital letters. As an afterthought, he drew a box in
front of each iteration with hard stabs of the pen.

“But why? I was under the impression men don’t need it.”

“You do,” he said flatly.

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “You don’t have to bother with
me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It’s not a bother. Most men like foreplay. I do.
Getting a woman hot is satisfying as hell.” Besides, he was not having sex
with her if she wasn’t ready. No fucking way.

Swallowing, she stared down at the menu. “So you’re saying I don’t have
a chance to improve.”

“What? No.” His mind scrambled to figure out why she might say that and
came up with nothing.



“And then you slept with me all night. You were basically naked, and you
cling.”

“Are you two ready to order?” the waitress interjected. Judging by the
amused glimmer in her eyes, she’d caught the last part of their conversation.
Ayesha perused the dinner options, her nails picking at the fabric edging of
the menu.

“We’ll have the special,” Aditya said.

“Wise choice. I’ll leave you to it.” The waitress winked, gathered the
menus, and disappeared. “What’s the special?” Ayesha asked.

“I have no idea. Let’s hope it’s not woolly.”

A troubled frown bracketed her mouth, and she leaned forward hesitantly,
meeting his eyes for the briefest second. “What exactly do you mean by
‘cling’?”

Aditya grinned. “It means you like to cuddle when you’re asleep.”

“Oh.”

She looked so horrified, Aditya couldn’t help laughing. “I confess to
liking it.” Which was the truth, and unlike him. Cuddling was an obligatory
thing he did for his clients because he understood they needed it. He usually
spent the time counting the seconds until he could leave and go home to
shower. Holding Ayesha had been nothing like that. They hadn’t had sex, so
there’d been nothing to wash away, and the trusting way she’d curled into him
had made him feel things he didn’t want to think about. Especially when she
found it so distasteful. His irritation increased even further.


“Where does this leave us with regard to the lessons? How do we proceed
when my limitations are such big roadblocks? By focusing on you, I thought
I’d found a way around my problems.”

“We’re not going to go around your problems. We’re going to go through
them.”

She crossed her arms and tapped out an unusual rhythm with her fingertips
on her elbow. “How?”

“We’re going to . . . unlock you.” That made him sound like an arrogant
jackass, but he hadn’t gotten those five-star reviews by luck alone. When he’d
lost his virginity at the ripe age of eighteen, he’d discovered he had a natural
talent for fucking. Going pro had taken his skills to a whole new level.

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She slanted her lips like she was listening to
a used-car salesman.

“Did you think you’d like kissing?” And she had liked it—once she’d
gotten over the pilot fish thing. There was hope for her. Girls didn’t do that
weak-in-the-knees, fainting heroine stuff when they weren’t into sex. He just
had to figure her out.

She tapped one of the foreplay boxes. “What happens if you try everything
and I don’t like it? We’re under a pretty extreme time constraint.”

“I don’t think it’ll come to that.” But if it did, they’d deal with it then.
After a long stretch of silence, she said, “Let’s try it your way, then.”

[naruto9211]

Once the hotel door shut behind them, Aditya toed off his shoes and
ambled to the windows. Not really what he wanted to think about right now.
He yanked the dbangs shut and turned around, locating Ayesha standing at
the foot of the bed. She looked away from him and fiddled with the folded
sheets of paper in her hands. Her lesson plans.
He imagined himself shredding them into confetti. He couldn’t explain it,
but he detested those lists. Instead of acting on the fantasy, he approached her,
took the papers, and set them carefully on the nightstand. He found a narrow
silver pen in the nightstand’s drawer and put it on top of Lesson One.

 If she was clearheaded enough to check boxes tonight, he needed to analyze his
technique. He dimmed the bedside lights.
“How should I—what should I—maybe I—” She gripped the collar of her
shirt. “Should I undress?”
“I don’t know. It’s not in the lesson plan.” Once the words were out, he
wanted to take them back. Her lists annoyed the hell out of him, but he didn’t
need to belittle her. “I’m sor—”

“You’re right. I didn’t think to include that.” She hurried past him to the
nightstand. After she considered the list for a moment, she bent down and
picked up the pen, demonstrating the only reason why a woman should wear a
pencil skirt: to show off the perfectly rounded curves of her fine ass.
That had to be why it took so long for her cluelessness to register. 

She hadn’t caught his rudeness or his sarcasm. Maybe she was one of those book-
smart people who didn’t know how to socialize, and he was being too hard on
her. “If I told you your lesson plans are insulting, what would you do?” he
asked quietly.

She looked at him over her shoulder with alarmed eyes. “Are there parts I
should reword? I’d be happy to change things.” She turned back to the lesson
plan and skimmed her fingers over the lines at a thoughtful pace.
The ball of irritation in his chest loosened. He couldn’t be annoyed with
her when she didn’t understand.

She worried the inside of her lip and tapped her fingers on the table with
increasing speed before sending him an anxious look. “Should I have written
something other than Performance Review? I hope you know when I wrote
that, I meant my performance. There’s nothing wrong with your performance.


Even if there were, I wouldn’t know. I’m not qualified in any way to judge—”
Before she could work herself into another panic attack, he said, “It was
just a hypothetical question. Forget about it.”

She seemed confused for a second, but she blinked the look away and
released a relieved breath. “Oh, okay.” After adjusting her glasses, she turned
back to her papers and neatly wrote Ayesha’s in front of each iteration of
Performance Review.

That was a good reminder. This was about helping with Ayesha’s
performance. That was it. So what if she wasn’t viewing this as the fulfillment
of secret fantasies like his other clients did? He needed to take his own advice
and stop thinking.

When she flipped to the second page in the pile, he shrugged out of his
jacket, dbangd it over the arm of a chair, and unbuttoned his shirt. Tugging the
tails free, he sat on the bed next to Ayesha. She snuck a quick glance at him,
and her gaze dropped to the portion of skin revealed by his open shirt. The
pen paused in midscrawl, clattered to the tabletop.


He smiled with satisfaction. Not so clinical now.
She squared her shoulders before she lifted her hands to her collar. Buttons
came undone at a painstaking pace, and white fabric fluttered to the floor,
followed by her gray skirt. The set of her jaw was determined as she let him
look at her. And look he did.

He usually preferred women with bigger breasts, lusher hips, and rounded
thighs. He liked their softness, the way they filled his hands. That was not
Ayesha. Everything about her was modest. Wearing only a bra and
panties, her curvy body was composed of elegant shoulders and arms, a little
waist that flared to gently curved hips, thick thighs and shapely legs with delicate ankles.
She wasn’t what he’d thought he’d always wanted, but she was perfect.

“Take your bra off.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, but he
couldn’t help it. He was dying to see the rest of her. She might not have
fantasized about their time together, but he had.

Down at her sides, her hands fisted. “Is that necessary? They’re not my
best feature. They’re not big.”

“Yes, it’s necessary. Men like to see them even when they’re small or big.” And
touch them. God, he wanted to touch them.

She grimaced, looking like she wanted to argue with him. When she
reached behind herself and slid her bra off, he caught his breath.

Then he bit his lip as he grinned. Ayesha didn’t seem to know it, but she had
the kind of nipples men dreamed about. Rosy-tinted areolas gave
way to extravagantly protruding tips that—no question about it—had to stay
pointed 24/7, hot or cold, rain or shine. Ayesha, conservative economist,
had pointy nipples. And he wanted them in his mouth.

“What now?” she asked in a near whisper.
He slipped his shirt off and tossed it on the far side of the bed. “I think you
get to check a box.”

She peeled her eyes from his chest and stared at him like he’d spoken
another language. After several hard blinks, she shook her head and said,
“Right.”

Leaning over, she checked a box at the top of the list. She adjusted her
glasses and paused. The glasses came off, and Vulnerable brown eyes searched
his before she focused on the wall to the side.
The air seeped from his lungs as his internal organs melted and the rest of
him hardened. So gorgeous.

And scared. How did he ease her fear?
“Let me hold you.”

She inched as close as she could get without actually touching him.
He suppressed a smile. “It might help if you sat on my lap.”

Biting her lip, she crawled onto him and straddled his hips. Fuck, so close.
That part of her, opened wide. He went hard in an instant but forced himself
to take things slowly. This was about Ayesha.

 He expected her to sit stiff as a board until he thought up some kind of sorcery to make her relax, but she immediately settled in close and rested her cheek against his shoulder. 

When his arms encircled her, she released a ragged sigh and went boneless.
Seconds stretched into minutes, and he let himself savor the moment—not
speaking, not fucking, not doing anything, just being with someone. The room
was so quiet he heard the cars driving by outside. Talking voices passed their
room, receded.

“Are you falling asleep again?” he asked finally.
“No.”
“Good.”

He ran his fingertips down the length of her arm and smiled when
goose bumps rippled outward. Nuzzling her neck, he breathed in the soft
scent of her skin and kissed the sweet spot just behind her jaw. Her lips called
to him, but instead of trespassing, he sucked on her earlobe and bit it, startling
a shaky sigh from her.

“This is foreplay?” 
The breathy quality of her voice sent satisfaction
curling through him.

“It is.” Even though he knew the answer, he asked against her ear, “Do you
like it?”

She shivered and burrowed closer to him as additional goose bumps dotted
her skin. “Yes, but it’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”
She shook her head.

“Tell me if you want me to stop or there’s something specific you want.”
As he spoke, he threaded his fingers into her hair and angled her head back.

He trailed kisses along her jawline, nipped her chin, and kissed the corner of
her mouth.

Too close to the temptation of her lips. His body ached at the thought of
taking her mouth in a deep kiss, and he almost did it despite everything. He’d
been dreaming of that mouth all week. Feeling like he was swimming against
the tide, he forced his lips down to the column of her throat.

“Touch me.” He brought her hands to his chest.

She scbangd her palms over him until they encountered his nipples. As if
fascinated by the texture, she rubbed her thumbs on the hardening tips. His
muscles tightened, and he shuddered with pleasure.

“Is that right?” she asked.

“I like that. And this.” He cupped her handful breasts in his palms and pinched
the nipples just so.

Her breath broke, and she gazed down at her chest. With his tanned hands
on her pale skin and her decadent nipples captured between his fingers, it was
an erotic sight, indeed. He couldn’t resist pinching her again and enjoying her
sharp intake of breath.

“Why does it feel so good when you do that?” The wonder in her voice
had him grinning.

“Want to try something even better?” At her hesitant nod, he said, “Come
up on your knees for me.”

Her thighs flexed as she rose off his lap. Body stiff and breaths shallow,
she settled her hands on his shoulders. Just as he’d planned, the new position
brought her nipples to face level. 

Though, if she wasn’t careful, she’d poke an eye out with those things. Only in his line of work was blindness by nipple assault a true hazard. To be honest, however, he didn’t really feel like he was working. 

There was no fantasy playing in his head, and he wasn’t telling
himself a new lie every fifteen seconds. This moment, this woman, and his
undeniable attraction to her were all real.

He smoothed his hands up and down her back until her muscles relaxed
beneath his palms. That was when he gave in and kissed the underside of one
breast. She curled her fingers, and her nails pricked his skin.

Pulling back, he asked, “Are you okay, Ayesha?”

She cleared her throat twice. “Tell me what you’re planning. Please.”

“I’m going to suck on your pretty nipples and lick them with my tongue.”

Her grip tightened on his shoulders. “That was a bit more graphic than I
was expecting.”

“How would you have said it?” He ran his mouth from the underside of
her breast up to the place where pale skin gave way to dark areola.

“I don’t know what—”

He covered her nipple with his mouth and sucked hard.

“Aditya.”

The sound of his name falling from her lips was just as unexpected as it
was hot. He pulled her closer so he could feast on her. No man could stay
sane with breasts like this in his face, in his mouth, rolling on his tongue. He
could play with these for days. Relinquishing one, he licked his way to the
second.

She worked her fingers blindly through his hair, twisted and arched her
back with unconscious demand. Ayesha was loving this, losing her genius mind
over his caresses.

Before he knew what he was doing, he dragged his lips up her throat,
along her jaw, back toward her mouth. He caught himself at the last second
and pressed their cheeks together as he mentally shook himself. He was
seriously fucked up. 

She’d said she didn’t want it, and he kept—Their lips touched.
He stiffened from the electric shock of it. She stroked
his bottom lip with her tongue, and his instincts took over. He claimed her
mouth like a starved man.


Her taste, her softness, her nails on his scalp, kiss after kiss after kiss.
“I’m sorry. I know I said no kissing.” She kissed him again. “But I
couldn’t resist. I thought about kissing you all week.” Her words sank into
him. He hadn’t been the only one, after all. Another drugging kiss. “And now,
I can’t seem to stop.” A murmuring sound hummed in her throat as she kissed
him yet again.

“Then don’t stop.”

Aditya twined his tongue with hers, and her body went soft in his arms.
She undulated her hips against the aching bulge beneath his tool and scbangd
her nipples over his chest. He bit back a groan. He hadn’t wanted a woman
like this in . . . Had he ever wanted a woman like this?

When he drew back, her lips were parted on soundless gasps of desire. It
took a moment for her eyes to clear enough to focus on him, and he expected
her to turn around and check another box off her list. Instead, she wrapped her
arms around his neck and pressed close, holding him. She crushed her lips
against his temple.

A shocking sense of being cherished spread through him. She wasn’t
acting like what happened between them was services rendered for payment
received. She was acting like it meant something, like she cared, maybe even
about him.

Another hotel room, another bed, and another client in his arms. It was a
regular Friday night. Only he’d never felt so exposed, so raw, and he still
wore his goddamned pants.

This was supposed to be plain fucking. There wasn’t supposed to be any
caring. He couldn’t keep doing this if he cared. Caring would turn the escorting into cheating, and he refused to cheat. Time to shake this nonsense
out of his head and get down to business.

[naruto9211]

Aditya’s weight settled between Ayesha’s legs. Icy coldness dug into her
belly, jolting her back to reality. Metal. His belt buckle.
They’d fallen off track. What were they supposed to be doing? She called
up the list in her head. Hand jobs. It was time to learn hand jobs.

He trailed kisses to her neck, leaving her mouth free for talking, but by
that time, she couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say. His teeth
scbangd her skin, and shivers cascaded over her body. Her nipples tightened to
the point of hurting, but warm palms soothed them. He flicked his tongue at
one tip before he drew on her again, making her toes curl.

A rough hand skated down her stomach and slipped beneath the waistband
of her panties. his fingers caressed her slit with bold strokes. He was touching
her there. Right where she needed him to, She only responded
like this when she was alone, and never with this intensity.

“Ayesha, you’re drenched.” With each syllable, his lips grazed her stiff
nipple. A hot exhalation gusted over her hungry flesh before he closed his
teeth around her and bit with care.

Her body clenched hard, clenched even harder when he pressed a finger
deep, filling her. He massaged her clit with lazy swirls of his thumb, and she
started trembling. He licked her tortured nipple back into the heat of his
mouth, and that was all it took. She climbed quick and sharp toward release.
And it scared the hell out of her.

She clawed at his wrist. “Stop, stop, I’m not ready.”
As he pulled away, she dug her heels into the mattress, propelling herself
to the far side of the bed. She hugged a pillow to her chest to hide her
nakedness. Its coolness helped to dampen her arousal, and she took deep
breaths. The impending orgasm retreated.

Aditya’s face was a mask of slack-jawed incomprehension as he
considered her. Her cheeks burned, and shame weighed down on her chest.
She had to be the worst client he’d ever had. When he lifted a hand, panic
spiked and she backed up farther.

He dropped his hand. “Ayesha, calm down, I won’t . . . touch you. Not if
you don’t want it.”

She clutched at the pillow. “I know. I’m sorry. I just . . .”

“What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing.”

His eyebrows rose in patent disbelief.

“I’ve never orgasmed with another person,” she confessed.

He parted his lips, shook his head, started to speak, shook his head again.

“Does that mean you’ve never . . . at all?”

Her face burned so hot, if she had been wearing her glasses they would
have fogged up. “I have. By myself.”

“You don’t like it?” he asked in bewilderment.

“No, I do.” 

She exhaled a tight breath and sifted through her thoughts,
trying to structure a coherent explanation. 

“I just feel safer experiencing that alone. 
And I’ve had sex before—very bad sex. I spent the time watching as
the men grunted and sweated and heaved over me.

 To be honest, it disgusted me. I wanted the sex to bring me closer to someone,
 but it only made me feel more distanced. I don’t want to do that to you.”

“Not even close. I was right there with you, loving it.”

She made an exasperated sound. “I’m paying you to say those things.

Well, you think that’s what I’m paying for. That’s not what I want.”

“Do I look like I’m disgusted by you?” He waved a hand in the vicinity of
his hips, where an impressive bulge strained at the zip of his pants.

She pursed her lips as she kept silent. If she spoke right now, chances were
high she’d say The Wrong Thing. He was a seasoned escort. His body
probably took commands like a show dolphin.

“You think I’m a liar.” A predatory light shone in his eyes, and he crawled
over the wrinkled bedcovers toward her.

She backed up reflexively.

And fell off the bed.

As she rubbed at her head, he peered at her over the side of the mattress.

“Are you okay?”

Her throat clogged with embarrassment, and all she could manage was a
curt “Fine.”

He assessed her ungraceful, ground-crumpled form for a long moment. 


“I think we should call it a night.”

She leaned against the wall and hugged her legs to her chest. The
unchecked boxes of the lesson plan weighed on her, but she needed to
understand and untangle all the emotions clashing inside her head before she
could move forward. “Do you mind?”

He shook his head. Without a word, he stood, pulled his shirt back on, and
did the buttons. She swallowed a protest as he covered up skin and muscle
she’d been too preoccupied and rattled to properly appreciate.

After he put on his shoes and shrugged into his suit jacket, she
remembered something, jumped to her feet, and retrieved her tablet from her
purse. “One second.” It was difficult to cue up the page while one of her arms
still held the pillow to her front, but she eventually managed and handed him
the tablet.

“What’s this?”

“Could you sign up for an alternate phone number, please? I think it’s a
good idea to be able to contact each other during the week if we need to. For
logistical reasons.” In case he wanted to cancel things. “I spoke to customer
support at the agency and suggested they develop some kind of anonymous
texting program, but in the meantime . . .”

A funny smile touched his lips as he considered the glowing screen. “You
gave me your real number. I’m surprised you’re not expecting mine in
return.”

“This is better for you, right?” Because it was definitely better for her.
Once lessons ended, neither of them wanted her calling him over and over
just to listen to him hanging up on her. She couldn’t see herself acting so
desperate. 

But she’d never been obsessed with a person before, either.

Not that she was. Yet.
His facial expression was difficult to read as he said, “It is better for me.
Thank you.”

He fished his phone out from his jacket pocket and tapped through a series
of screens on both gadgets. After a few moments, a vibrating sound emanated
from her purse.

“Done,” he said with a smile.

“Perfect. Thanks.” She forced her lips into an answering smile.

He took a step toward the door before he paused. “We should do
something new next Friday. I could take you out.”

Her heart squeezed. “Out?”

“Maybe dancing? Drinking? At a club? I hear there’s this new place in Bandra . . .”
“I don’t dance.” And she didn’t drink. And even though she’d never been
clubbing, she was certain she didn’t do that, either.

“I can teach you. It’ll help with lessons when we get to them later in the
evening. Trust me.”

Trust.

This was the second time he’d told her to trust him. What would he think
if she told him how difficult it was for her to do things like dancing and
drinking? Going out was supposed to be fun. For her, it was work—hard
work. She could interact with people if she wanted to, but it cost her. Some
times more than others.

In this case, was the reward worth the price?

“How will it help with lessons?” she asked.

“You think too much. It’ll help get you out of your mind, make you relax.

Also, I’m really good at dancing. We’d have fun. Are you up to it?”

She told herself it was the idea of getting out of her mind—whatever that
meant—and checking boxes on the lesson plans that decided for her. But that
was only a small part of it.

The biggest part was the eager sparkle in Aditya’s eyes. He wanted to go,
and he wanted her to go with him. It was like a date. But not, of course. She
knew it wasn’t a date.

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to dance.”

“Does that mean you’ll go?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

She lifted her chin and nodded.

White teeth flashed as he smiled. “Great. I’ll make plans and keep you
posted. Looking forward to it.” He leaned down and pressed a fast kiss to her
cheek before he left the room.

Ayesha bolted the door and sank onto the bed in a daze. These were
supposed to be simple sex lessons. Why was it getting so complicated? Why
had her body betrayed her? And why did she want to please Aditya so badly
she’d go clubbing for him? Who was she? She didn’t know herself anymore.

[naruto9211]

In the sunlit living room of their spacious Juhu home, where the soft scent of jasmine from the garden drifted in through open windows and the distant roar of the Arabian Sea formed a constant, comforting backdrop, Ayesha sat curled on the large sofa with a cup of chai she had barely touched. Her lips curved into a private smile for what must have been the tenth time that morning. The memory of Aditya’s hands, his mouth, the way his powerful body had pressed against hers the previous Friday still lingered like warm honey in her veins.

She had woken earlier than usual, already smiling. Even while brushing her teeth she had caught her own reflection and blushed, remembering the feel of his chest hair under her curious fingers, the solid strength of his arms as they held her. Everything about him felt different from any man she had ever known. Different and dangerously addictive.

Her mother, walked in carrying a plate of fresh poha and stopped mid-step. A knowing, mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. She set the plate down and settled opposite her daughter, folding her arms with theatrical patience.

“Arre, what is this?” she asked, voice full of playful suspicion. “My serious, data-loving Ayesha is sitting here smiling at the walls like a collegegirl who just received her first love letter. And that blush on your cheeks… beta, it looks permanent.”

Ayesha tried to laugh it off, waving a hand dismissively. “Maa, it’s nothing. I just slept well.”

“Slept well?” Meera raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. “Or someone made sure you slept well? Come on, tell your mother. Is it this Aditya? The one whose name you keep whispering when you think no one is listening?”

Ayesha’s face heated further. She stared into her chai as if the tea leaves might offer an escape. “Maa, please…”

“Please what?, beta. I know the difference between a good night’s sleep and the kind of sleep that comes after a man has thoroughly… attended to a woman.” 

She leaned forward, eyes sparkling with crude humour. “Your father used to leave me walking like a newborn calf the morning after. Don’t think I don’t recognise the signs. So? Did this Aditya leave you walking funny?”

“Maa!” Ayesha covered her face with both hands, half laughing, half mortified. “You are impossible.”

“Impossible? I am observant. And right now I am observing my daughter glowing like she has been thoroughly kissed, thoroughly touched, and thoroughly… well.” 

She made a crude gesture with her hands that left little to the imagination. “Come, sit properly and tell me. What does he look like? Does he have those strong arms that make a woman feel small and safe at the same time?”

Ayesha lowered her hands slowly. The need to speak about him was almost overwhelming. She had kept everything locked inside for days, and her mother’s playful insistence cracked the door open.

“He… he smells like rain and sandalwood,” she began softly, staring past her mother toward the garden. “Not cologne. Just… him. When he holds me, the scent settles into my skin and stays there for hours. I keep smelling my own wrists just to remember.”

 “Ah, the natural smell. The best kind. And his body?”

Ayesha’s voice grew quieter, more intimate. “Powerful. His arms are thick and strong. When he wraps them around me I feel… protected. Completely. His chest has this soft trail of hair. I… I played with it. Ran my fingers through it while he kissed my neck. It felt so warm, so alive. And his hair… slightly longer on top, always a little messy after I touch it. He looks like he belongs on a film poster, but when he looks at me it’s like he sees only me.”

Her mother leaned back, eyes dancing. “So he has the body of a god and the patience of a saint. Tell me more about the patience part. Did he make you feel good, beta? Properly good?”

Ayesha’s cheeks burned crimson. She nodded once. “He… he touched me in ways no one ever has. Slowly. Like he had all the time in the world. My body responded before my mind could catch up. It felt… intense. Almost too much. I got scared and stopped him.”

Her expression grew both understanding and wickedly amused. “Stopped him? Beta, when a man has you that close to the edge and you pull back, he must have been hard enough to cut glass. Poor fellow. Did you at least let him finish later, or did you leave him aching?”

“Maa!” Ayesha laughed despite herself, burying her face in a cushion. “You are shameless.”

“I am a mother who wants grandchildren,” she replied cheerfully. “And right now I am a mother who can see her daughter’s breasts sitting higher and looking fuller every time she thinks of this man. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Your blouses are fitting differently this week.”

Ayesha’s hands flew to her chest self-consciously. It was true. Day after day, the mere thought of next Friday had made her body react in ways she could no longer ignore. Her breasts felt heavier, more sensitive. The slightest memory of Aditya’s mouth on them made the tips harden against the soft fabric of her Tshirt. 

The week crawled by in a haze of anticipation. At the office Ayesha found herself staring blankly at data sets, only to realise she had been replaying the feel of his belt buckle pressing cold against her stomach, the way his fingers had slipped beneath her panties and discovered just how ready she already was. Each memory sent fresh heat pooling low in her belly. By Wednesday her stomach was permanently filled with butterflies. By Thursday she could barely concentrate.

That evening her mother caught her standing in front of the bedroom mirror, gently cupping her own breasts through her blouse, eyes distant and soft.

she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, grinning. “Practising for Friday?”

Ayesha jumped, then laughed helplessly. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t. You love me. And right now you love the idea of that man’s mouth more than you love your algorithms. Tell me honestly… are you wet just thinking about him?”

“Maa!”

“What? It is a medical question. Arousal increases blood flow. Your breasts look bigger because they are. Your body is preparing itself for him. Nature is not subtle, beta.” she walked over and hugged her from behind, resting her chin on Ayesha’s shoulder. “I am happy for you. Truly. Just don’t fall too hard too fast. Men with bodies like that and hands like that can ruin a woman for ordinary life.”

Ayesha leaned back into her mother’s embrace, eyes closing. “I think he already has.”

Friday morning arrived with a sky washed clean by overnight rain. Ayesha stood under the shower longer than necessary, letting the water cascade over skin that already felt hypersensitive. Every time the spray hit her breasts she bit her lip, imagining Aditya’s mouth instead. She dressed carefully—soft silk blouse, a skirt that would be easy to remove, delicate lingerie she had bought earlier in the week while her cheeks burned.

Her mother intercepted her at the front door, eyes shining with both affection and mischief.

“Go,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to Ayesha’s forehead. “And this time, beta, don’t stop him when it gets too good. Let yourself fall. Sometimes the only way through the fear is straight into the pleasure.”

Ayesha hugged her tightly, heart pounding with equal parts terror and longing.

All day the awareness of Aditya’s approaching presence hummed under her skin. Her breasts felt full and heavy. Every brush of fabric against her nipples sent sparks racing through her. By the time evening came and she stood once more in the elegant lobby of the Trèsind Mumbai, waiting for the man who had somehow become the centre of every private thought, Ayesha knew the truth with absolute clarity.

She was no longer simply learning how to give and receive pleasure.

She was falling—deeply, helplessly, completely—for the man who had taught her body to want.

And somewhere in the quiet of her heart, she already feared that three sessions would never be enough.

[naruto9211]

“It’s really bad to eat dessert first, you know,” Ayesha commented.
She knew she sounded boring, but she couldn’t help the
nervous chatter spilling from her mouth. Her anxiety over clubbing had been
escalating exponentially during the past week, and the main event was just
hours away now.

Also, Aditya was holding her hand.

Her palm sweated so badly she didn’t know how he could stand touching
her, let alone act like it was the most normal thing in the world. Oddly, she’d
handled foreplay better than this—up until the end, that was—and she’d been
naked for that. She couldn’t blame her reaction on her usual aversion to touch.
She liked Aditya’s touch.

As she and Aditya walked down the busy Mumbai sidewalk hand-
in-hand, passersby smiled at them. An old man in a newsboy cap winked at
her.

They thought she and Aditya were a couple.

Ayesha would have laughed if she didn’t feel like she was somehow taking
part in a duplicitous charade. A gaggle of party girls in low-cut dresses
flocked by, giving Aditya double takes, then triple takes as they giggled into
their hands and whispered to one another. They glanced at Ayesha with open
envy that she enjoyed even as she knew she didn’t deserve it. Wearing a slate-
gray suit and black oxford shirt, he was particularly scrumptious-looking
tonight.

“Here it is.” Aditya released her hand and held open the door for her as
she walked into 'Copetto Artisan Gelato', Sealink- Bandra. Black and white tiles
checkered the floor. chandeliers illuminated display freezers filled with
gelato and toppings. “What’s your flavor?”

She could barely think about ice cream with his hand resting at the base of
her spine like that. Did he know he was doing it? She’d seen men do that with
their girlfriends. Ayesha wasn’t a girlfriend.

“Mint chocolate chip,” she said.

“Really? That’s my favorite, too. I’ll get something else, then, so we can
try something new.” He idly rubbed her waist as he considered the gelato
flavors, and her body heated with awareness.

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘we’?”

A mischievous grin curved on his lips. “You don’t want to share with me?”
The college-aged girl behind the counter stared at Ayesha like she’d kicked
a puppy.

“No, that’s not it.” Not entirely. After all the kissing they’d done, she knew
it was silly to worry about germ transference. The fact was she’d made a
detailed analysis of ice cream flavors, and she’d decided this one was the best
in existence. “I just know what I like.”

“We’ll see about that.” He tapped on the display case. “Mint chocolate
chip for her and green tea for me.”

Ayesha wanted to pay, but he dug bills out of his wallet before she could pry
the credit card out from the bodice of her sapphire-blue sheath dress. Once
they were seated at a black wrought-iron table by the window, he dipped his
spoon into his gelato, tasted it, and grinned a slow, wide grin as he slipped the
clean spoon from his mouth and scooped out more.

“Oh, that’s just ridiculous,” she said. “You look like you’re auditioning for
a Colgate commercial. No one smiles like that after eating ice cream.”

He laughed. “It really is good.” His grin was out in full force, and, God
forbid, did he have a dimple?

“Now, I have to try it.” She lowered her spoon toward his bowl.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Instead of letting her scoop up some herself, he held his
spoon to her lips. Her eyes jumped to his, and conflicting thoughts skittered
through her mind.

She shouldn’t do it. This was too intimate. It was crossing a line of some
kind. It felt too much like dating—which they weren’t.

It was just gelato. Just his spoon. He might take it as rejection if she didn’t
do it, and she could never, ever in a thousand years hurt him, not even in a
trivial way.

She parted her lips and let him feed her the gelato. Her heart knocked
around her chest like a pinball as sweet green tea melted on her tongue. He
watched her with expectation, oblivious to his effect on her.

“Okay, it’s good.” She tried to sound casual. This didn’t mean anything.
This wasn’t a date. She was just another of his clients. Keep a cool head. She
stabbed her spoon into her gelato.

“I told you so.”

“I still like mine best.” She put a spoonful of mint chocolate chip in her
mouth. The complex combination of vanilla and mint exploded on her palate.
Bits of chocolate crunched between her teeth. Perfection.

“Let me try it.”

She held her bowl out toward him, but he didn’t put his spoon in it. He
trailed his fingers over her jaw as he tipped her head back and sealed his lips
over hers. His tongue speared into her mouth, and the salt of him mixed with
the flavor of the ice cream. She didn’t know if she was mortified, shocked,
aroused, or all three.

With a lingering lick on her bottom lip, he pulled away and grinned, his
dark eyes intense and hazy.

“I can’t believe you did that.” Flustered, she tried to scoop herself another
spoonful. Her white plastic spoon skittered onto the tabletop.

She grabbed for it, but his hands wrapped around hers. In the next instant,
he was kissing her again—sweet, closed-mouth kisses that still felt
scandalous. And too delicious to resist. The gelato shop dropped away. The
people disappeared. In that moment, it was just her and Aditya, the taste of
ice cream, and their slowly warming lips.


• • •


As Aditya eased his tongue between Ayesha’s parted lips, the chilled silk
and mint chocolate sweetness of her mouth drove him out of his mind.

He forgot he was seducing her. He even forgot why. All he knew was her taste
and the hot sighs of her breath. He wanted to devour her.

Did she know she was making those soft humming sounds as she returned
his kisses? Or that her cool fingers had snuck beneath the cuff of his shirt and
were caressing his wrist?

He wanted to slide his hands up her bared thighs and slip them beneath the
short hem of her dress so he could touch her again. But the last time he’d
done that, he’d scared the hell out of her.

Because she didn’t want to make him feel the way she had with those three
assholes.
Clients never worried about him like that. Why did she? He wished she’d
stop. It was fucking with his head.

“Easy, man,” a laughing voice interjected. “You’re in a public
establishment.”

Ayesha tore away, touching trembling fingers to her red lips. She’d
surprised him today by trading her glasses for contacts and leaving her hair
down in loose waves. She even wore makeup, though he’d kissed off all her
lip gloss. That was fine. Like this, she was almost too beautiful to be real.

When the group of patrons at the next table started clapping and
cheering, Aditya expected her to grow flustered and embarrassed. She
didn’t. She ducked her head in that shy way she had and laughed along with
them. Her soft smile and the luminous look in her eyes, however, were just
for him, and they made him feel like he’d single-handedly vanquished an
army. He was the one she saw, the one she smiled at, no one else.

His plan to seduce her out of her anxiety was working. He had no doubt
that by the time he took her home tonight, she’d be ready to check the big
boxes on her lesson plans. He should have done this from the beginning.

Everyone knew if you wanted inside someone’s pants, you didn’t start in the
bedroom. That was what seduction, romance, hand-holding, and dancing were
for. That was what these ice cream kisses were for.

The problem was they were working on him, too. The more time he spent
with her, the stronger his attraction to her grew—and not just physically. If he
couldn’t check all her boxes within the next two lessons, he’d feel obligated
to extend the length of their arrangement, and that was a bad idea. He might
do something stupid and fall for her.

Never once did he imagine he could spin a fairy-tale ending out of such a
scenario. Not only were they worlds apart in terms of education and culture,
but Ayesha was rich. If she learned about his dad and the shitty things he’d
done to get his hands on money, she’d never be able to trust Aditya. 


There was a reason they had sayings like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, 
like father like son, and a chip off the old block. He fought against it and hated his
dad for it, but he carried that same badness inside himself. He was a ticking
time bomb, and he didn’t want Ayesha to be around when his endurance ran out
and he exploded, hurting everyone around him.

Sex was the way out of this. Check the boxes, finish the lessons, move on.
Only now that he knew her better, he wanted to do more than teach her how
to be good at sex. He wanted to give her the best nights of her life.
Tonight, he was giving her fireworks.

[naruto9211]

After dinner at Tresind restaurant in the Bandra Kurla Complex, Ayesha walked with Aditya down streets lined with posh department stores and skyscbangrs bearing the names of large banks. Pedestrian traffic—one part tourist, one part native city dwellers, one part young partygoer dressed to the nines—choked the sidewalks and spilled onto the roads, where cars passed at a slow crawl.

This was Mumbai at night, something she had never cared to experience. Surprisingly, she was having a good time. When it came to escorting, Aditya was the full package. He was great both in and out of bed. His very public kisses should have embarrassed her, but instead, she’d loved them. Who wouldn’t love being kissed by Aditya where people could see and admire and become green with envy? He held her hand every chance he got, and he was easy to talk to. She didn’t usually enjoy new things, but Aditya made her feel safe. With him at her side, she was a part of this busy Mumbai night, not just an onlooker. There was something novel and wonderful about being in a crowd and not feeling alone.

They neared a set of red velvet ropes where scantily clad women and men in suits waited in long lines. A bouncer raked coldly appraising eyes over Ayesha’s body and face, making her lean into Aditya.

“Is this the club?” she asked, feeling her anxiety resurface.

He wrapped an arm around her and nodded. To the bouncer, he said, “We should be on the list. The name is—”

The bouncer tipped his buzzed head toward the entrance. “Go on in.”

Aditya brushed a kiss against her temple, tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and walked with her toward the front doors of SIXTEEN33. A third bouncer held the door open for them, nodding at Aditya as they passed.

“They let us in because they think you’ll be good for business,” Aditya whispered in her ear.

Her cheeks heated, and she tried not to let his words go to her head. She’d gotten her hair and makeup done for tonight. This wasn’t really her.

A decent number of people milled about the interior of the club, and she fisted her hands and gave herself a quick pep talk. She’d been to dinners and work galas. This shouldn’t be a problem.

The space was one open room decorated in a minimalist modern style with exposed metal beams and sharp edges. A large bar occupied the back, and a DJ controlled the music from a crow’s nest on the adjacent wall. Seating was sparse and came in the form of upholstered booths centered around low metal tables. There were only four such arrangements, and two were occupied.

“I want one of those tables.” Her voice came out sure and steady, and the sound reassured her, loosened the knots in her stomach. She was doing fine.

“They’re not free.”

She slipped her credit card out from the top of her dress and handed it to Aditya, laughing when he stared at her with a surprised grin. “I had nowhere else to put it.”

He slid his hands up her back and pulled her close. “What else is in there?” he asked as he peered at her modest show of cleavage.

“My driver’s license.”

“I have pockets, you know. You could have given me your cards and phone to hold for you.”

“I didn’t think of that. I left my phone at home because I couldn’t fit it in.” But now that she knew it was an option . . . This was why women had boyfriends.

Except he wasn’t her boyfriend.

Aditya’s fingertip tucked beneath the bodice of her dress and skimmed across the front. It brushed inadvertently across a nipple, making her blood race and breast swell before he found the license and slipped it free. From the twinkle in his eye, she realized it hadn’t been an accident at all.

His expression softened as he swept his thumb over the photograph on her driver’s license. In the outdated picture, she looked young and extremely shy—an accurate description for the time. She liked to think she’d gained sophistication since then. Just look at where she was now.

“That was right after I finished my postdoc.”

“How old were you here?”

“Twenty-five.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “You look eighteen. Even now, you barely look legal.”

“Allow me to demonstrate how legal I am by drinking.”

Feeling drunk off success and empowerment, she marched to one of the empty tables and sat, eyes peeled for waitstaff. Aditya tucked a hand into his pants pocket and strode toward her with a relaxed bearing worthy of the runway. All of him was worthy of the runway, but there was also something about that suit. It looked expensive and excellently tailored, yet somehow more chic than anything she’d ever seen on other men.

He stretched out next to her, close enough that their thighs pressed together, and propped his arm on the seat behind her. She liked that. A lot. It made her feel like he was staking a claim on her.

“What brand is this suit? I love it.” With the barest hesitation, she smoothed her hands over the lapels and crisp shoulders of the jacket.

Searching her eyes, he smiled a slow, beautiful smile. “It’s custom made.”

“My compliments to your tailor.” She checked the inside and was even more pleased when she couldn’t detect the bunching of hasty seams underneath the fine silk lining. Expert craftsmanship.

“I’ll tell him.”

“Maybe I should switch. Does he do women’s apparel? Is he terribly busy?” As she spoke, she couldn’t help running her palms down his chest, loving the firmness of his body beneath the starched cotton of his dress shirt.

“He is very busy.”


A waitress in a short black skirt and a tight white top bearing the club’s logo appeared at the table.

Aditya handed her Ayesha’s credit card. “We’d like to reserve the table for the rest of the night. Water for me. Ayesha?”

He wasn’t drinking, too? She wasn’t sure she wanted to do it alone.

“Something sweet, please.”

The waitress arched an eyebrow but gave a professional nod. “Coming right up.”

After the waitress disappeared, Aditya explained, “I’m driving.”

She smiled. “I like this responsible side of you.”

“Aditya is always responsible, aren’t you, man?” A stranger appeared out of nowhere, and Ayesha watched in awe as he helped himself to the sofa opposite them. He wore a tight black T-shirt over bulldog-hunched shoulders and kept his hair buzzed close to his scalp. She tried not to stare rudely at the intricate tattoos decorating his muscled arms and neck, but it was difficult. She’d never seen so many tattoos up close.

Aditya sat forward. “Sunny—”

The stranger gave Aditya a hard look. “No, I get it. You must have lost your phone or something.” Switching his attention to Ayesha, he said, “I’m Sunny, Aditya’s favorite cousin and best friend.”

Cousin. Best friend. Her nerves jumped into high tension. She held her hand out over the table. “Ayesha Naz. Nice to meet you.”

He stared at her hand with an amused expression before he shook it and sprawled back against the sofa. “So he does have a girlfriend, after all. Let me guess, you’re a doctor.”

As she opened her mouth to correct him on both accounts, Aditya wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against his side. “Ayesha’s a statistician.”

She gazed up at him in confusion until she realized he was worried she’d divulge his escorting to his cousin. Then, she mentally rolled her eyes. Her social skills were bad, but they weren’t that bad.

Sunny surprised her by leaning toward her with a bright expression. “That’s related to economics, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Has she met Pinky yet?” he asked Aditya.

Who was Pinky?

But Aditya didn’t appear to hear the question. His attention was focused on a curvy woman seated at the bar. When she patted the empty bar stool next to her, he cursed under his breath and got to his feet. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Ayesha’s body went cold as she watched him stride to the bar. He sat on the indicated bar stool, and the lady trailed her fingers down his arm. They spoke, but their words couldn’t be heard above the music and the noise from the growing crowd.

When had so many people arrived? Their numbers had almost doubled since she’d entered. More continued to file into the club in a steady stream.

“I-is that Pinky?” she asked.

“I don’t know who that is, but it’s not Pinky.” After glancing at Ayesha’s face, Sunny smiled slightly. “He clearly didn’t want to talk to her, okay? You have nothing to worry about.”

But it didn’t feel like she had nothing to worry about. she laughed at something Aditya said and edged closer to him. Enviably luscious breasts flattened against his arm. Whatever happened next was blocked from view as people gathered around the bar.

“Are there usually this many people here?” Ayesha asked.

“Nah.” Sunny rubbed at the scruff on his head and stretched his neck side to side. “This popular DJ is spinning tonight, so it’s busier than normal. The acoustics are really good here. Prepare to be blown away.”

She swallowed past a lump in her throat, and a sense of foreboding settled in her gut. Since when was being blown away a good thing? Hundreds of bodies packed the room now. Far more than she’d anticipated.

A grating electronic boom erupted from speakers built into the ceiling, and Ayesha’s heart lurched so hard her chest hurt. The room flashed red before flames began dancing up the walls. The crowd screamed with excitement while Ayesha struggled to breathe. Lasers and smoke. The grating receded, and ephemeral, orchestral sounds whispered over the room. Before she could attempt to relax, a beat picked up in the background, gaining speed with a slow buildup.

“Don’t look so scared,” Sunny shouted. “That’s not real fire. It’s just LED lights and projectors.”

The waitress appeared out of thin air and plopped a drink onto the table. She said something, but Ayesha couldn’t hear it. In two blinks, the waitress vanished into the mass of moving bodies. The music worked toward some kind of climax, and the people grew agitated as it neared.

Ayesha picked up the drink and took a large gulp. Lemon, cherry, and Gin. She wished it were vodka, or, better yet, straight ethanol. It would work faster that way.

Sunny gave her an amused look. “Thirsty?”

She nodded.

Loud digital sirens screeched, silence hung over the room for a good five seconds, and a melody cascaded from the speakers. Without warning, the bass resumed at a frantic, adrenaline-inducing speed. The crowd went wild.

Her heart pounded in a dizzying rush, and fear threatened to swamp her. Too much noise. Too much frenzy. She bottled up her emotions and buried them deep inside herself, forced herself to take slow breaths. As long as she looked calm on the outside, she was winning this. The music raced, but time crawled.

The bodies shifted so she got a clear view of the bar. The lady was playing with the collar of Aditya’s shirt, leaning in too close.

She sealed her lips over his.

Ayesha flinched like someone had slapped her. She waited for him to push the woman away. She waited for what felt like ages, waited until the crowd moved again and blocked her view.

Acid and Gin climbed up the back of her throat.

She needed to find a place to vomit. She forced her way into the crowd, pushed through bodies swaying to the rapid tempo. The music bombarded her. Lights strobed. Sour body odor, cologne, alcoholic breath. Hard limbs and pointed joints.

Was Aditya still kissing that woman?

Her eyes flooded with tears. The bodies formed a cage around her. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t cry for help.

A hand closed around hers.

Aditya?

No, it was Sunny.

He shoved people aside. A woman swore at him when he made her spill her drink. A guy shoved him back. Sunny merely elbowed the guy to the side and brushed past. Through it all, his hold on her hand remained secure and steady. He led her through the people, opened a door, and cool, sweet air floated over her face.

The door clicked shut, muting the music. Someone was gasping. The flashing light was gone. She covered her eyes and sank down to the cold cement. Her trembling legs refused to take her weight.

“Thank you,” she made herself say.

“Are you all right?”

“Going to throw up.” Her nails clawed at the sidewalk as she tried to find a suitable place to be sick. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.

“Easy, easy. Slow breaths.” He moved as if to touch her but stopped when she flinched away. “Sit up straight. That’s it. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.”

Who was gasping like that? The sound was driving her out of her mind.

“Hold on. Let me go get Aditya.”

“Don’t.” She grabbed his wrist. “I’m fine.” She leaned back against the side of the building and turned her face into it. The coldness felt good on her fevered forehead, distracted her from thinking about Aditya with that woman. Aditya kissing that woman.

With her mouth almost touching the wall, the sound of the gasping grew louder, and she realized it was coming from her.

She gritted her teeth together, fisted her hands, and tightened every muscle in her body. The gasping stopped.

“Do you need anything?” Sunny asked.

“I’m fine. I’m just overstimulated.” She was already feeling better, though her temples throbbed.

Sunny tilted his head to the side. “My brother used to get overstimulated just like this. He’s autistic.”

Her chest constricted at his words. She shouldn’t have used the word overstimulated. Most people didn’t use it. Why would they? When he narrowed his eyes, she could almost see the connections being made in his mind, the question forming there.

She held her breath and hoped he wouldn’t ask. She could withhold the truth, but she’d never learned how to lie.

“Are you?”

Her shoulders slumped, and her throat burned with shame. She made herself nod.

“Aditya doesn’t know, does he? He never would’ve taken you here if he knew. You should tell him.”

All she could do was shake her head. Anytime people learned about her disorder, they started walking on eggshells around her. It strained the relationship until they found a way to leave. She never told people anymore. Apparently, that wasn’t enough to keep some from figuring it out on their own.

“Can I borrow a five hundred from you, please? I want to go home.” And her credit card was inside.

“You’re going to leave? Aditya’s probably looking for you.”

She doubted that. He’d been busy. As she pushed herself to her feet, she marveled at the disconnect between her body and her mind. How could her limbs still follow orders when her head felt so tired and hollow? “I promise I’ll pay you back.”

“Is this because that chick kissed him? I hope you saw Aditya trying to peel her off. He sucks at protecting himself from women.”

Hope sparked, bright and foolish. “Really?”

The door opened, and a swift techno beat radiated from the doorway.

“There you are.” Aditya stepped outside, and the door shut behind him, silencing the music. His gaze jumped from her to Sunny and back again. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I needed some fresh air.”

Sunny’s brow furrowed like he wanted to speak, and Ayesha held her breath. Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him.

He’d change. Everything would change. And she didn’t want that to happen yet.

“She was trying to borrow cab fare from me. She saw you and that lady kissing and wanted to run,” Sunny said.

Her stomach didn’t know if it should relax or knot tighter at his words. He made her sound emotional and possessive. She wished it weren’t true.

“You were going to leave? Just like that?” Aditya asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

She stared down at the pavement. “I thought you and her—that you—”

“No. With you right there? Give me some credit, will you? God, Ayesha.” He gripped her waist and pulled her against him. His smell, his arms tight around her, his solid presence. Heaven. She shut her eyes and sagged against him.

“Do you want to go back in?” he asked.

“No.” Adrenaline shot through her body, tightening every muscle that had relaxed in his embrace. As an afterthought, she added, “Please.”

“Let’s go home, then.”

[naruto9211]

Ayesha was reserved as they walked the few blocks back to her yellow Mini Cooper.


Several times, Aditya caught her massaging her temples, but when he
asked if she had a headache, her response was an unintelligible mumble. He
would have thought she was doing the silent martyr act in retribution for his
supposed cheating, but that didn’t seem her style.

No, her style was leaving him without a single word. When Sunny had told
him she wanted to abandon him at the club, it’d sucker-punched Aditya in
the gut. The last person to leave him had been his dad. But where Aditya’s
dad had left him with an enormous mess to clean up, Ayesha had planned to
leave him with her car and her credit card. Who did that?

Even worse, he hadn’t deserved it. Either time.

Tonight, he’d been busy preventing his crazy ex-client from making an
enormous scene in front of Ayesha. Sarah was a true diva and loved drama in
all forms. Now that she’d finally succeeded in divorcing her crorepathi
husband—and taking half of his net worth—she wanted Aditya back. She
was willing to pay whatever it took.

She refused to accept that Aditya would rather fuck his way through
a Cactus farm than return to her bed. She’d detained him for long
minutes, tossing extravagant numbers at him before plastering her mouth to
his. He would forever associate the taste of cinnamon gum, cigarettes, and
whiskey with Sarah.

So different from Ayesha, who tasted like . . . mint chocolate chip ice cream.
They piled into her car, and she activated the AC, sank against the
backrest, and stared out the window, absently tapping her fingers on her
knees. He turned the radio on to break the silence, but she promptly turned it
back off. Her fingers resumed their tapping. It was hypnotic but a little
annoying.

He sent her a pointed look, but she didn’t notice.

If she was artistically talented on top of being
smart, successful, and gorgeous, she was officially his dream woman in the
flesh. And so far out of his league as to be laughable.

Even if he didn’t have all the shit associated with his dad dangling
between them, he had almost nothing a girl like her could want. There was his face and his body, but anyone could have that if they paid enough. 

Maybe she would have been attracted to the old him, the man who had been free to pursue his passions. There’d been a lot going for that guy. Aditya barely knew him anymore.



“She’s my crazy ex-client,” he said.

He felt the weight of Ayesha’s gaze on the side of his face. “The woman in
the club.”

“Yes.”

She lifted a hand toward the bridge of her nose. When she couldn’t adjust
her glasses, she clasped her neck instead. “Did you like kissing her?”

“I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me. But no, I didn’t like it.”

“Can you be very honest and answer one question for me?”

This was going to be interesting. “Yes.”

“Are you a different person when you’re with me?”

“You mean, if I bumped into you when you’re not my client anymore,
would I be a dick around you?” If she was no longer his client, she’d probably be with another man. 


He twisted his lips as a bad taste filled his mouth. “No.”

“Are you lying just to make me feel better?”

“Ayesha, I’ve never lied to you. 

You’re going to have to decide if you believe me.”


They didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. He drove up the driveway to
her smart, renovated cottage, complete with hedges and solar panels
on the roof, and parked in the surgically sterile two-car garage. Once he
turned off the car, her eyelids fluttered open.

“You’re home.”

She ran a hand over her sleep-matted hair. “I’m almost too tired to get out
of the car.”

“I can carry you.”

She aimed a sleepy smile at him, clearly thinking he was joking.


“I’m serious.” The idea of carrying her to bed was highly appealing at the
moment. 

He liked holding her, and as messed up as it was, he wanted to check
boxes. He hadn’t gone this long without fucking in three years, and seeing
Ayesha in that dress was giving him full-body blue balls.

“Don’t be silly.” She pawed her door open and stood up with movements
that were clumsy even for her. When he locked the car and met her at the door to her house, however, her eyes were steady. “I don’t have energy for lessons tonight.”


“It doesn’t have to be lessons.” He trailed his fingertips down her arm, and
her skin dotted with goose bumps. Her eyelids went heavy, her eyes sensual.

Beautiful Ayesha. “I can just make you feel good.” He stroked over her palm, and her fingers unfurled, inviting him to touch. 


“You already paid for tonight, Ayesha.”

Her hand fisted shut, and she turned to face the door. “I wanted to talk to
you about that. Please come in.”





• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •




After returning her shoes to their place in her coat closet, Ayesha padded
past her dining room, Aditya followed behind her quietly, and
she suspected he was noting how barren the space was.

No centerpiece adorned her dining room table. No artfully arranged place
settings, either. There was nothing but . . . she didn’t know what kind of wood the table was made of, but it was soft. 

She ran her fingers over the satiny surface as she walked to the far end of the table where she usually sat. 

The chairs surrounding the dining table were the only ones in her entire house.

“Did you just move in?” he asked.

She pulled a chair out for him and rubbed her elbow awkwardly. “Not
really.”


Instead of sitting down, he strode into the adjoining kitchen with his hands
in his pockets, inspecting the stainless-steel refrigerator,
and whatever else she had in the echoing space. Cold, gray,
the kitchen was her least favorite room in her house. 

At least, it usually was. It became a different place with Aditya in it. The ambience turned intimate and inviting, and the low-hanging lights twinkled more like stars than energy-efficient LEDs. It no longer felt lonely.


“What does ‘not really’ mean? A month ago? Two?” He aimed a teasing
grin at her as he asked, “A year?”

“Five years.”

His face went slack, and he stared at her house with new eyes. “So you
like it empty like this?”

She shrugged. “I’m at the office most of the time, so it doesn’t bother me.
Here, I have a bed, a nice TV, and really fast Internet.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “The essentials.”

“Is that too strange?” Like being getting overstimulated at
clubs?


“No, I think I like it,” he said with a smile. “You could use some art,
though, and a couch or two. Maybe a coffee table. You don’t need much more than that.”

A knot formed in her throat. At that precise moment in time, when she had
him standing in her kitchen, in her house, she felt like she didn’t need
anything else in the whole world. And their time together was ending soon.
She wasn’t ready for that to happen.

“Would you mind sitting so we can talk?” she asked.

With a serious nod, he rounded the oversized center island and sat in the
chair she’d pulled out. His proximity drew her like a magnet, and she seated
herself before she could do something distracting like touch him. She needed
to stay focused. Maybe if she spoke very eloquently, he’d agree to her new
plan.

She rested jittery hands on the tabletop, and within seconds, her fingers
started tapping.

A warm hand slid over hers and squeezed. “You never need to be nervous
with me. You know that, right?”

When he didn’t remove his hand, she analyzed the way he made her feel.
This was a casual, uninvited touch, the kind that normally made her want to
crawl into herself. But all she registered right now was Aditya’s warmth and
the roughness of his skin, his weight. She didn’t understand it, but her body
accepted him. Only him.

The realization made her mind sharpen with determination, and she
gathered her courage and plowed ahead. “I’m issuing you a new proposal.”

He tilted his head in a measured way. “You mean you want to extend our
lessons beyond next Friday?”

“I mean I don’t want lessons anymore. Our time together tonight—both
the good parts and the . . . not-so-good parts—made me realize a few things.


While I’m bad at sex, I’m even worse at relationships. I think I’m better off
spending my time working on that. Before today, I never shared ice cream
with someone or held hands while I walked down a sidewalk. I never had a
dinner conversation that wasn’t filled with long stretches of painful silence or those embarrassing moments when I accidentally offend people and drive
them away.”

He ran his thumb over her knuckles before he considered her with an
unwavering gaze. “I didn’t see any relationship problems—except for when
you tried to abandon me, but if I’d actually been kissing her, I would have
deserved it. You did fine tonight.”

“That’s because I was with you.”

He thought that over for a pensive moment. “Maybe it’s because you feel
like you’re in control when you’re with me. Because you’re paying me,
there’s less pressure, and you can relax.”

“That’s not it at all. I relax with you because of the way you treat me,
because you’re you,” she said with certainty.

His eyebrows drew together, and he went still for several breaths. “Ayesha,
you shouldn’t tell me things like that.”

“Why? It’s true.”

Emotions crossed his face faster than she could read them. He shook his
head, swallowed. A smile hinted at the edge of his lips before he withdrew his hand from hers to rub his jaw. 

He cleared his throat, but his voice still came out rough when he said, “Tell me about this new proposal.”

She stared down at the back of her hand, missing the warmth of his touch.
“I want you to teach me how to be in a relationship. Not the sex part, but the
together part. Like tonight. The talking and the sharing and the holding hands.

New things are scary for me, but with you, I can handle them and even enjoy
them. I want to hire you to be my full-time practice boyfriend.”

His lips parted, but he didn’t speak for the longest time. “What do you
mean, ‘not the sex part’?”

“I want to take the sex out. I don’t want to be like that woman at the club
and force you to be intimate with me. My hope is that if I get good enough at
the together part of a relationship, a man won’t mind working on the sex part
with me.”

“Who said anything about forcing?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

“Everything I’ve done with you up to now has been voluntary.”

She suppressed a grimace and laced her fingers together so she couldn’t
tap them. “The next time a man kisses me, I need him to do it because he
wants to.” Without a monetary incentive.

 After seeing Aditya with his ex-client, everything they’d done thus far left an unsavory taste in her mouth.

Her reasoning when hiring an escort to teach her sex had been oversimplified.

“I know you weren’t initially interested in doing repeat sessions, and my new proposal would require even more face time. Because of that, I’m willing to pay you Two Lakh rupees up front for the first month. Maybe we could try this for three to six months—at the same rate? Is that a good time frame for a practice relationship?

 Everything is negotiable, of course. I don’t know
what the industry standard is for this type of arrangement.”

“Two Lakhs . . .” He shook his head like he was questioning his
hearing. “Ayesha, I can’t—”

“Before you say no, think about it,” she said as her heart rate jumped.

“Please.”

He pushed away from the table and got to his feet. “I need some time.”

“Of course.” She stood up and held her breath, nervous, unsure what to do.

“As much as you need.”


Wrapping a hand around her upper arm, he took a half step toward her. He
leaned down a few inches before he caught himself. Eyes intent on her mouth, he outlined the edges of her lips with his fingertips, sending shivers of awareness outward. “I’ll tell you by next Friday. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine.”

He bit his teeth into his bottom lip like he was thinking about kissing her,
and her own lips tingled in response. “Good night, then, Ayesha.”

“Good night, Aditya.”


In a state of breathless numbness, she watched as he let himself out.

[naruto9211]

Nice start. Keep it up.

It takes a lot to write.. Thinking off situations, areas and locations from your life, things you often miss.. I waited for much better response. May be I'm not good. So I'm stopping after what i have already written.
Thank you.
Writing is a thankless job?

[naruto9211]

A persistent buzzing dragged Ayesha out of yet another heated Aditya
dream. For this entire past week, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking
about him.

At work, she tried to focus on her data, but the words and numbers turned
into body parts that fit together in fascinating ways. She fantasized about his
hands, his mouth, his smile, his eyes, his words, his laugh, his presence.
When she slept, dreams of Aditya plagued her, so intense the craving of
her body woke her at odd hours of the night.

Last Friday had tipped her over the line. There was no doubt about it.
Ayesha was officially obsessed with Aditya.

And they might never see each other again. It was Friday now, and he still
hadn’t texted or called. Was this one of those situations where no news meant
no? Her heart sank, and her limbs went heavy with sadness.

The internal buzzing continued, distracting her. She groped at the
nightstand until she located her phone. Squinting at the screen, she saw it was
her housekeeper.

She coughed to clear her throat of the sound of hot dream sex. “Hello?”

“Ms. Naz, I can’t make it today. My daughter is sick, and ...

“Oh, that’s fine. Thanks for calling. I hope she gets better soon.”

“Can I make it up next week?”

“Sure, no problem.” She glanced at the clock, and her heart almost
stopped. It was just short of eight o’clock. She was usually sitting at her desk
by now.

She’d almost hit the end button when she heard her housekeeper say, “Oh,
Ms. Naz, you’ll want to take your clothes to the dry cleaners since I can’t do
it.”

“Oh, all right. Thanks for reminding me.”

“No problem. Good-bye.”

Ayesha considered skipping the dry cleaners. Not only did she not know
which one she used, she didn’t like the idea of ruining her morning routine by
adding an extra step. It was . . . irritating and anxiety-causing. New place.
New people. And after the disaster at the club, her tolerance for new things
was at an all-time low.

In the end, it was the idea of having the wrong number of skirts and tops
hanging in her closet that had her perusing Yelp for nearby dry cleaners. She
settled on an establishment that was ranked above all the others even though it
was a little out of the way.

After about five minutes, she turned into the parking lot of a small mall
with well-maintained Old-fashioned signs labeled a coffee shop, a martial arts studio,
and CLEANOVO Dry Cleaning and Tailors.

She looped her purse and bag of clothes over her shoulder and clicked
over the asphalt toward the dry cleaners. A tiny old lady with a hunched back,
and sunken lips stood before the doors. She was quite possibly the cutest
grown human Ayesha had ever seen.


The old lady smiled as patted Ayesha’s shoulder.
Then she eyed Ayesha’s laundry bag, pulled the lip open so she could peer
inside, and placed her hand on the strap, steering Ayesha toward the front doors
of the dry cleaners. The old lady pushed the glass door open with surprising
strength. After Ayesha entered, the old lady disappeared through
a door behind the vacant front counter.

Ayesha gazed about, taking in the two headless mannequins in the window
display who modeled a precisely constructed Sherwani and a form-fitting
wedding lehanga. The interior of the store was calming blue-gray walls, soft
white dbanging curtains, and lots of natural light.

A fitting was going on in an adjacent room. A respectable-looking matron
in a sleeveless white blouse and lehanga stood on a raised platform before
a trifold of mirrors.

Ayesha went numb with astonishment.

At the woman’s feet kneeled Aditya.

He wore loose jeans and a plain white T-shirt that stretched around his
biceps, looking wholesome and beautiful and completely at home. A
measuring tape looped behind his neck and dangled down his chest,
Balanced over his right ear was a blue chalk.

“What kind of heels are you planning to wear with this?” he asked.

“I was planning on these, actually.” The lady pulled her pant leg up to
reveal regular white pumps.

“You should go open toe, Meghana. And one inch higher.”

Meghana’s lips thinned, and she angled her foot, turned it side to side. After
a moment, she nodded. “You’re right. I have just the pair.”

“I’m going to add another inch to the hem, then. How does the waist feel?”

“It’s too comfortable.”

“I figured you planned to eat in this.”

“My tailor thinks of everything.” She pivoted and stared at the profile of
her pinned-up waistline in the mirrors.

Aditya rolled his eyes, but he smiled. “Remember the lipstick.”

“Yes, yes, how could I forget? Fire-engine red. You’ll have this ready by
next Friday?”

“Yeah, it’ll be ready.”

She slinked off to a changing room in the blouse and lehanga, and Aditya picked up
a floral print garment that had been dbangd over the back of a chair. He
adjusted the pins and snatched the chalk pencil from above his ear to mark the
fabric, his eyes focused and his hands competent.

Inside Ayesha’s mind, missing pieces clicked into place. This was Aditya
in his natural state. This was what he did when he wasn’t escorting. Aditya
was a tailor.

He shook the garment out and dbangd it over his arm before turning to
retrieve yet another pin-strewn piece.

Catching sight of her from his peripheral vision, he said, “I’ll be with you
in a sec—” His eyes locked on hers, and his face went slack.

He froze.

She froze.

“How did you . . . ?” He glanced out the front windows like maybe he’d
find the answer to his unfinished question outside.

Her heart exploded. This had to look really bad—stalker bad. Not
fair, not fair. She’d only just realized she was obsessed with him today. She
hadn’t had time to stalk him like a fanatic. Now, she’d cost herself whatever
slim chance she’d had at a full-time arrangement.

She backed up a step. “I’ll go.”

He strode quickly across the room and caught her hand before she could
leave. “Ayesha . . .”

Her whole arm jumped in response to his touch, and she wanted to cry. “I
just needed my clothes dry-cleaned. I didn’t know you worked here. I-I’m not
stalking. I know it looks bad.”

His expression softened. “It actually looks like you have clothes in need of
dry cleaning.” He lifted the bag of clothes from her shoulder. “Let me ring
you up.”

He took her things to the front counter and began counting blouses with
professional efficiency. His cheeks, however, were unusually pink.

“Is this awkward?” she asked, hating that she was making him
uncomfortable.

“A little. Believe it or not, this is the first time I’ve run into a client here.
Seven shirts. I’m assuming seven skirts, too.” He counted them out into a
separate pile and searched her face. “Do you work every day?”

She nodded jerkily. “I prefer the office on the weekends.”

His mouth tilted up at the corner. “You would.” There was no judgment
from him, no criticism, no advice that it was bad for her health and her social
life. He didn’t think there was something wrong with her. Ayesha wanted to
leap over the counter and throw herself into his arms.

He began to set the laundry bag aside when he noticed there was still
something inside. As he upended it, the blue dress tumbled out.

His eyes lifted to hers and smoldered.

Ayesha gripped the counter as ice cream memories flickered through her
head. Chilled silken lips, mint chocolate chip, and the taste of his mouth.
Unhurried kisses in a room full of people.

“Do you have any special directions for your clothes?” he asked in a rough
voice.

Blinking away her memories, she forced her mind into the present. “No
starch. I don’t like the feel of it on—”

“Your skin,” he finished, running his thumb over the back of her hand.

She nodded and searched for something to say. Her gaze landed on the
blue cocktail dress. “I bought this dress because I liked the color and the
fabric.” With its crisp silk texture and structure, it must have complemented
Aditya’s gorgeous suit nicely . . . “The suit,” she whispered. “Did you make
it?”

His eyelashes swept downward, and a boyish grin covered his face.
“Yeah.”

Her mouth fell open. If he could do that, then why in the world was he
escorting?

“My grandfather was a tailor. Apparently, it runs in my blood. it started as a hobby,
apart from being an architect,  I like making clothes.”

“Would you make clothes for me?”

“You’d have to stand still for a long time. It’s not sexy. Would you really
want that?” His tone was matter-of-fact, but the look in his eyes was not. It
took Ayesha a moment before she realized it was vulnerability.

Was it possible Aditya didn’t think someone could be interested in him
for more than his body?

“I’ve had clothes made for me before, remember? I know what it’s like.
It’s worth it to me. You’re talented. I want your designs.”

“That’s right. I forgot.” That boyish grin flashed again, looking almost shy,
and she wanted to wrap herself around him and hold him forever.

“I’ve been expecting news from you,” she whispered.

His smile faded as his expression went serious. “I needed to think about
it.”

“Are you accepting my proposal?” Please don’t say no.

“Are you sure you still want to issue it?”

“Of course.” She couldn’t think of a single reason why she would have
changed her mind.

“No sex?”

She took a breath and nodded. “That’s right.”

Leaning forward, he asked in a low voice, “So you can be sure the next
man to kiss you or touch you only does it because he wants to?”

“Y-yes.” She leaned toward him as she anticipated his answer, almost
afraid to exhale.

“I accept.”

She smiled in dizzying relief. “Thank—”

He tipped her face upward with a hand on her jaw and kissed her. Electric
sensation crackled through her. If it weren’t for the counter, she would have
fallen. At her murmur, he deepened the kiss, taking her mouth with his tongue
in the same way she wanted him to—

The door behind the counter opened, and someone marched out.

They tore apart like guilty teenagers. Aditya cleared his throat and busied
himself with the clothes on the counter. Ayesha pursed her lips, tasted Aditya
on her skin, and wiped the moisture away with the back of her hand.

From the look on the older woman’s face, she’d seen everything . . . and
was curious. Round-lensed glasses perched on the top of her head at a
gravity-defying angle, and her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail,
though several strands stood out in busy disarray. Like Aditya,
she wore a measuring tape
around her neck.


As he bent over the garment with that sexy thinking look on his face, the
woman aimed a distracted smile at Ayesha and patted Aditya’s arm. “I taught
him when he was little, and now he teaches me back.”

Ayesha eked out a smile. Had his mother just caught them kissing? She tried
to find similarities between them, but nothing stuck out. Aditya’s facial
features were a striking balance of edges and angles. Broad
shouldered, thick, and vital, he towered over the old woman.

Ayesha pushed her glasses up and smoothed her hands over her skirt,
wishing she had a white lab coat and a stethoscope.


“What do you do for a living? Are you a doctor?” the woman asked with
ill-disguised hope.

“No, I’m a statistician.” Ayesha linked her fingers together and stared
at the tips of her shoes, awaiting disappointment.

“Is that economics?”

Ayesha’s eyes darted back up in surprise. “Yes, it is, but with more math.”

“Has your girlfriend met Pinky yet?” she asked Aditya.

Aditya looked up from his garment, his expression worried. “Mom, no,
she hasn’t met Pinky, and she isn’t my—” He stopped speaking, and his gaze
jumped from his mom to Ayesha.

His dilemma was perfectly clear. What did they call one another in public
situations now?

“She’s not what?” his mom asked in confusion.

He cleared his throat as he focused on the garment in his hands. “She
hasn’t met Pinky.”

Warmth splashed at Ayesha’s body in unexpected waves. He didn’t correct
his mom. Did that mean they were going by boyfriend and girlfriend in public
situations?

A desperate yearning gripped Ayesha, surprising her in its intensity.

“Who’s Pinky?” Ayesha managed to ask. She remembered that name from
before.

“Pinky is his sister.” There was a thinking slant to his mom’s eyes before
she brightened and said, “You should come to our house for dinner tonight.
Talk to Pinky about economics, ah? She’s studying that at KJ Somayya Institute and is
trying to get a job. His other sisters will want to meet you, too. We didn’t
know he had a new girlfriend.”

His mom’s words swamped whatever giddiness she’d experienced from
being called Aditya’s girlfriend. House. Dinner. Sisters. The words rattled
around in her head, refusing to make sense.

“Just come, ah? Even if you two have plans, you still have to eat. Aditya
can make fish curry. His fish curry is very good . . . I forgot to ask. What is your name?”

Dazed, she said, “Ayesha, Ayesha Naz.”


His mother smiled her approval. “Don’t eat anything before you come, ah?
We have lots of food.” With that, she brushed her hands together like business
was settled, filled out the invoice slip for Ayesha’s clothes, and handed it to her.

“This will be ready Tuesday morning.”

In a state of panic, Ayesha stuffed the slip into her purse, murmured a quiet
thank-you, and walked out to her car,

House. Dinner. Sisters.

The front door swung open and Aditya jogged to her side. She opened
the window, and he propped his hands on the side of the car. “You don’t have
to come if you don’t want to.” A notch formed between his eyebrows as he
hesitated. “But maybe . . .”

“Maybe what?” she heard herself ask.

“Maybe it’s the kind of practice you wanted.”

“You’d let me practice with your family?” The fact that he trusted her with
the important people in his life touched her in ways she didn’t understand,
made her feel off-kilter. That yearning from earlier returned.

“Would you be good to them?” he asked with a searching gaze.

“Yes, of course.” She always strove to be good to people.

“And keep our arrangement between us? They don’t know about . . . what
I do.”

She nodded. That went without saying.

“Then I’m okay with it. If you want to. Do you?”

“Yes, I do.” But not because she wanted practice.

“Let’s do it, then.” His eyes fell to her lips. “Come closer.”

She leaned toward him but glanced at the front of the shop. “She might be
watch—”

He pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. Just one. And he pulled away. “See
you tonight.”

[naruto9211]

Jab, jab, cross. Jab, jab, cross. Cross. 

Sweat trickled into Aditya’s eyes, burning him, and he swiped a
forearm over his face before slamming a fist into the punching bag again.
Whenever thoughts crept back into his head, he hit harder. Too many fucking
thoughts, too many fucking feelings.

Jab, dodge, hook. Jab, cross.

His arms burned, and he welcomed the pain, welcomed the way it seared
everything out of his brain. There was nothing but the hard resistance of the
sand in the bag and the jolting impact that shocked up his arm and down his
leg.

Jab, jab, jab, cross, cross, cross. Harder. Could he punch the bag straight
off its chains? Maybe. Cross, cross, cross, cross—

Loud knocks distracted him midpunch, and he glared at the front door. His
annoyance quickly morphed into worry. Shit, was it the landlord?

Throwing a towel around his neck, he went to open the door.

“’Aye Jhaatu” Sunny brushed past him, set a six-pack of beer bottles on the
coffee table, and tossed his motorcycle jacket on the couch. Without pausing
to look at Aditya, he strode into the kitchen and began digging through the
fridge. “Got anything to eat?”

“You’re the one who works at a restaurant,” Aditya said on his way back
to his punching bag.

It still swung side to side from the pummeling he’d given it, and he
steadied it before he drove a fist into the faded leather. As he got back into
beating the shit out of the bag, he heard a series of sounds followed by rumbling in kitchen.

“I’m eating your breakfast,” Sunny called out.

Aditya ignored him and continued punching.

Sunny carried a cool bowl to the couch, sat, and proceeded to eat Aditya’s breakfast. Very noisily.

When Aditya couldn’t take the slurping sounds any longer, he paused in
his punching and said, “Most people eat silently.”

Sunny shrugged. “I like this better.” He shoved a spoon of semi-frozen oats
into his mouth and slurp-chewed, arching his eyebrows at Aditya in a what
gives? way.

Aditya gritted his teeth and tried to find his rhythm again.

“You been hitting the weights hard lately? Your arms are bigger. 

Steadying the bag, Aditya asked, “Why are you here?”

“You gonna apologize to me or what? Because you’re the shittiest cousin
ever, Aditya. You really are.”

He shut his eyes, exhaling. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to ask you to try that again.”

He pushed away from the bag and threw himself onto the couch next to his
cousin. “I’m really sorry. It’s just complicated right now, and I—” He rested
his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his wrapped hands. “I’m
sorry.”

“I don’t get why you lied about not having a girlfriend. ‘No one special’
my ass. You scared she won’t like the family or what?” Sunny asked with a
sneer.

Aditya resisted the urge to tear his hair out. “I don’t want to talk about
this.”

“The fuck, Aditya.” Sunny set his bowl on the coffee table next to the beer
and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll leave, then.” He stalked to the door and grabbed
the knob.

“yesterday was crappy, okay?” He began yanking the boxing wraps from his
fists. “All my days are crap days, but yesterday was worse. I thought my mom was dead. When I got there, she was stooped over in her chair, and it didn’t
look like she was breathing. I lost my shit.”

Sunny turned around, worry lining his face. “Is she okay? Why didn’t I hear
about this earlier? Was it like the other two times when you found her in the
bathroom? Is she in the hospital right now?”

One of the wraps came off, and Aditya switched to his other hand,
reliving the fear and the relief and the embarrassment. “She’s fine. She just
fell asleep. When I went crazy, she woke up and yelled at me.”

Sunny’s expression went from relieved to amused. “You’re such a
momma’s boy, you know that?”

“Like you aren’t.”

“You should tell my mom that. Maybe she’ll stop being so mean.”

Aditya rolled his eyes as he coiled his boxing wraps back up. “After that,
someone came looking for my dad. They were trying to serve him. Not sure if
it was the same person from before, or the ENFORCEMENT DIRECTORATE, or someone new. It’s always
fun seeing people’s faces when I tell them yeah, I’m his son. I can see them
sizing me up and making assumptions. And then when I tell them I have no
idea where my dad is or if he’s even alive, I get the doubt or the pity. My
mom spent the rest of the day repeating old stories about how fucked up he
is.”

“You’re the only one she tells, you know. She won’t even talk to my mom
about that stuff, and they’re like this.” Sunny crossed two fingers. “You just
gotta let her do it.”

“Yeah, I know.” He understood it was good for his mom to talk about it,
and most times, he handled it pretty well. But lately, it had gotten harder for
him. Because he was a selfish asshole.

Like father, like son.

He was tempted to take Ayesha up on her offer even though his gut told him
he should say no. She would be better off spending her time with tech geeks
and economics laureates—people who were actually good matches for her and
could afford to be with her even when she wasn’t paying them.

Not like Aditya. He would give almost anything to take the money out of
their equation, but the bills didn’t stop, so he couldn’t, either.

“You want me to go, or you want me to stay?” Sunny asked from where he
stood in front of the door.

Aditya took two beers out of the cardboard container, popped the top off
one using the other, and set the open bottle on the coffee table. “Stay.”

Sunny snatched the bottle on his way over and sat down next to Aditya on
the couch. After taking a deep swallow, he traded the beer for the oats and
took up where he’d left off, only not as loud now.

Aditya popped the top off his own bottle with the edge of the table,
turned on the TV, and drank as he absently flipped through the channels.

“So, about your girl . . .” Sunny said. “How long you been seeing her?”

Aditya took a long drag from his bottle. He needed to be buzzed if he
was going to talk about this. “Ayesha’s not really ‘my girl.’ It’s only been a few
weeks.”

“Whatever, man, you’ve got serious pussy mojo. If you want a girl, she’s
yours.”

Aditya snorted and drank more. “I don’t want a girl who likes me just
because I fuck her right.”

He wanted a girl who liked him for him.

“You’re so full of shit.” Sunny swapped his empty bowl for his beer and
took a swig. “She almost cried when that lady SARAH plastered herself to your face. She’s into you.”

Aditya’s heart threatened all sorts of dramatic gymnastics at his cousin’s
words, and he gave himself a stern mental shake as he stared into his beer
bottle. It probably wasn’t what he thought. He shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

“That’s cool.”

“That’s cool?” Sunny arched an eyebrow. “You’re not in seventh grade
anymore. You should be like, that’s awesome, man, thanks for telling me, I
can’t see from inside my ass. Do you need sex advice? Because I know shit.”

Aditya couldn’t stop the laughter from cracking out of his lungs. “No,
I’m good on the sex advice. Thanks. But if you ever need some tips . . .”

Sunny fingered the raised letters on the side of his beer bottle like he had
something to say but was trying to figure out how. Pinning Aditya with a
weighted gaze, he finally asked, “Have you ever thought she’s kinda like
Bunny?”

Aditya smiled slightly. “Yeah, just a little, though.” Ayesha was on the
socially awkward side like Bunny, but she was far more expressive and
sensitive. “Why do you ask?”

Sunny arched his eyebrows and drank his beer. “No reason.” After a
moment of consideration, he pointed his bottle at Aditya. “So have you
two . . . you know?”

Aditya took a long drag of beer. “Nope.”

“Really?” Sunny grimaced. “Is she a virgin? Shit, is she saving it for
marriage? Run like my mom is after you.”

Aditya shrugged. “She needs me to go slow. I don’t mind. I kinda like it.”

Every new response he earned from Ayesha felt special, just like in the old
commercials. It’s better when you win it. Maybe because it had always
been so easy for him before.

“Fucking liar. You’re probably jacking off ten times a day.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t jacking off.”

Sunny shot forward to the front of the couch. “Oh fuck, am I sitting on your
'come' cushions?”

“Do you really wanna know?” Aditya asked with a smirk.

“You’re disgusting. You know that?” Sunny got up and sat on the coffee
table, brushing at himself like he’d been contaminated.

Aditya laughed, and the two of them spent a moment contemplating their
beers.

When he couldn’t hold back any longer, Aditya asked, “What did you
think of Ayesha? Did you like her?” He braced himself for the answer, realizing
he cared about his cousin’s opinion.

How stupid was that? Even if he did accept Ayesha’s proposal, he’d only be
her practice boyfriend. Their practice relationship would end as soon as she
gained the confidence to enter a real relationship with someone better.

“Yeah, she’s cute, a lot sweeter than the girls you used to go for. Your
mom is going to go nuts over her.”

Aditya downed the rest of his beer. Not fucking likely. They’d have to
meet first, and he couldn’t see that happening.

“What’s her last name? Ayesha what?” Sunny asked as he pulled out his
phone.

“Why?”

“I wanna see if she has a LinkedIn profile. I do this with every guy my
sister befriends. Aren’t you curious?”

Yeah, he was curious. “Naz, Ayesha Naz.”

[naruto9211]

She pressed on the doorbell button and waited. No one came. Her gut
knotted.
She knocked.
Nothing.
She knocked louder.
Still nothing.

She confirmed the address on her phone. This was the right place.
Aditya’s Swift car was even parked in the driveway. Before she could drive
herself crazy deciding what to do, the door opened.

Aditya smiled at her. “Right on time.”

She tightened her grip on the stuff she’d brought, basically having an
internal meltdown of uncertainty. “I don’t know if I got the right things.”

He unloaded the sweets and chocolate from her hands with an odd
expression on his face. “You didn’t have to bring anything. Really.”

Panic surged. “Oh, I can take them back. Let me put them—”

He set the items on a side table and stroked a thumb over her cheek. “My
mom will love them. Thank you.”

She released a long breath. “What happens now?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “I think the usual greeting is a hug.”

“Oh.” She held her hands out awkwardly and stepped toward him, certain
she was doing everything wrong.

Until his arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her close. His scent, his
warmth, and his solidness surrounded her. That was one hundred percent
right.

He pulled away with a soft look in his eyes. “Ready?”

At her nod, he ushered her through a marble-tiled entryway, past a formal
dining area, and into a kitchen that was open to an adjoining family room.
The massive boxy TV in the room grabbed her attention.

 A man and a woman
in traditional Marathi attire humming out a series of
fluctuating notes. After a particularly impassioned iteration, Aditya’s grandma clapped.

Sitting next to her at the kitchen table, his mom paused in the process of
peeling mangoes to voice her appreciation.

When she noticed Ayesha and Aditya, his mom waved with her peeler.
“Hello. We eat soon.”

Ayesha worked up a smile and a wave. Bracing herself for an evening of
nerve-racking social performance, she approached them and asked, “Can I
help?”

A wide smile stretched over Aditya’s mom’s face, and she set her peeler
and the plate she’d used to gather mango peels in front of the empty chair to
her left. When Ayesha unbuttoned her cuffs, Aditya flashed her a grin.

As she washed her hands in the kitchen sink, she watched him heat a large
pan, pour oil in, and add ingredients in the careless, yet somehow intentional
manner of someone who knew how to cook. 

By the time she sat down next to
his mom, the air was heavy with the scents of  tandoor, garlic,
lemon, and sauce. He’d rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and she
couldn’t help admiring his sculpted forearms as he stirred the contents of the
pan.

It took effort to redirect her attention to the mango, and she’d just begun to
peel the large fruit his mom had handed her when the tinkling of a piano in
another room caught her attention. 

His mom pushed away from the table with a tight smile. “I have something
for you to try. Let me heat it up.”

While Aditya’s mom dug in the fridge, his grandma pointed to the bowl
of already sliced mango. Ayesha dutifully plucked a small slice from the bowl
and ate it, enjoying the sweet tang of the fruit. His grandma mmmmed and
returned to peeling her mango.

Ayesha released a small breath as her stomach relaxed. She liked sitting
with Grandma most of all.


A youngish sister in jeans, a T-shirt, and a messy ponytail flopped into the
kitchen, picked a piece from the plate, and popped it in her mouth. When she noticed Ayesha, she waved. “Ayesha, right?

I’m Pooja aka Pinky.” She plucked another piece, but her mom
slapped the back of her hand, and she yanked her hand back with a yelp. Her
mom shooed her toward the table with
a fast torrent of Marathi.

Pinky sat across from her with an easy grin that was higher on one side—
Aditya’s grin. “So how do you like Aditya?”
Ayesha lifted her shoulder in a noncommittal way.
Pinky laughed and ate a large mango slice. “That good, huh?”
Before Ayesha could think up a response, Aditya’s mom set a plastic
container on the table and opened the lid. Steam rose from a light green
spongy cake. “Eat, ah? Kaman Dhokla. It’s very good.”
Ayesha set her peeler and fruit down and stretched a hand toward the
container when she noticed it was cheap plastic, like the kind takeout came in.

“You shouldn’t microwave these kinds of containers. The food probably has
BPA in it now.” It was basically poison as far as Ayesha was concerned.
His mom pulled the container close and smelled the cake. “No, it’s fine.
No BPA.”

“Glass or Pyrex are more expensive, but they’re safe,” Ayesha said. How
had no one told Aditya’s mom this? Did they want her to get sick?

“I use these all the time, and no problem.” Blinking rapidly, his mom held
the lid of the container to her chest.

“You wouldn’t notice right away. It’s repeated exposure over time. You
should really invest—”

Pinky snatched the plastic container from her mom and stuffed a piece of
green poison cake into her mouth. “These are my favorite. I love them.”

Sending Ayesha a pointed look, Pinky had a second one.


Aditya marched to the table and took the container from his sister before
she could eat a third piece. “It’s true, Mom These containers really are bad. I never thought about it. You shouldn’t use them.”

When he tossed it in the garbage, his mom protested in Marathi. Was
the lady upset because Ayesha didn’t want anyone to eat poison?

Pinky pushed away from the table and left the kitchen as two girls stormed
inside. They were both twenty-something with long black hair, pale
olive-toned skin, and curvy builds. If Ayesha hadn’t already learned the
hard way that questions like this irritated people, she would have asked if they were twins.

“You fat cow, why didn’t you ask before you took it and spilled wine on
it? While you were making out with my boyfriend?” one girl shouted.

Ayesha flinched, and her already anxious heart squeezed. Fighting was her
absolute least favorite thing. When people fought, it always felt like a
personal attack for her. It didn’t matter if she was just a bystander.

“You said you two were through, and I was curious. Also, I wouldn’t have
spilled all over it if it fit right. Who’s the fat cow now?” the second girl
shouted back.

Grandma picked up a black remote and squinted at the buttons. As vertical
green lines crawled across the screen and the volume climbed, the music went
from distracting to unpleasant.

“That’s it. I’m taking back all the jeans I gave you.” The first girl shouted
even louder to be heard over the TV.

“Go ahead and take them. Show what a selfish bitch you are.”

Grandma muttered and increased the volume yet again.

Ayesha set the peeler down with shaky hands and tried to slow her
breathing. This was getting to be too much.

Two more girls walked into the kitchen. One was shorter and darker than
the rest and looked to be about Ayesha’s age. The other one was high college
young. They had to all be his sisters. One, two, three, four, five of them.

The short one stabbed a finger in the twins’ direction. “You two are going
to stop fighting right now.”

They scoffed and crossed their arms in almost the exact same manner.

“Ever since you ran away and married that loser and left us with Mom’s problems, you lost the right to say anything to us,” the first sister said.


The short sister rolled forward like a tank. “It’s time
for me to live my life, too. Try to think of others for once in your lives.”

“So now we’re the selfish ones?” the second sister asked. “You’re out,
and we’re home holding Mom’s hair while she
vomits after her chemo treatments.”

“She’s not doing chemo right now . . . Right?” The short sister looked at
Aditya for confirmation.

His mom snatched the remote from Grandma and maxed out the volume
on the TV before she went to putter around by the sink. Ayesha rested damp
palms on the glass surface of the table. This had to stop eventually. She just
had to outlast them.

“She was, but she didn’t respond well, so they switched her to a drug
trial,” Aditya provided.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Because you’re so goddamned busy with your marriage crap, why else?

Mom didn’t want to stress you out more than you always are,” one of the
twins said.

“Finding out this way is stressing me out worse.”

“Boo-hoo, Amrita,” the other twin said.

As the sniping continued, a harsh beeping sounded, and his mom took a
white bowl out of the microwave. Using tongs, she put steaming rice
into a large bowl along with the tandoori chicken and an
assortment of salads.

She placed the plate in front of Ayesha with a polite smile. “Aditya’s curry.
You’ll like it.”

Ayesha’s chin bobbed on a jerky nod. “Thank—” A suspicion rose, and she
snuck a glance at the bowl. She pushed the bowl away. “The bowl is
made of plastic. No one should eat this.”

His mom froze, and a tide of red swept over her face as she stared first at
Ayesha and then the bowl. “Let me make a fresh bowl of rice for you.”

Before his mom could touch the bowl, Aditya grabbed it. “I’ll do it. Sit,
Mom.” His expression was strained as he removed the poisoned food, and Ayesha
had the horrible feeling that she’d said The Wrong Thing, but she didn’t know
how else she could have navigated the situation.


His mom sat down and eyed Aditya’s sisters as they continued their
argument in by the refrigerator. Sighing, she picked up her
peeler and resumed where she’d left off with her last mango.

Ayesha kept her eyes on her own work, growing more and more nervous
with every passing moment. She was painfully aware of the lack of
conversation between them, and her instincts urged her to fill the silence—if
silence was even the right word. His mom wasn’t speaking, but his sisters
were, and the TV had been blasting this whole time. 

When the piano started playing again, her nerves stretched to the breaking point. 
That flat A note rang one, two-three, four times. Had anything ever been so irritating?

“You really should get the piano tuned,” she said. “Where is your husband
again?”

When his mom continued peeling her mango without answering, Ayesha
assumed she hadn’t heard the question.

So she asked again. “Where is he?”

“He’s gone,” his mom said in a final tone.

“Does that mean . . . he’s passed away?” Should she offer condolences?

She wasn’t sure what to say now.


His mom sighed, keeping her eyes on her mango. “I don’t know.”

The answer tripped Ayesha up, and she frowned as she asked, “Are you
divorced, then?”

“I can’t divorce him if I can’t find him.”

Ayesha stared at Aditya’s mom in complete bafflement. “What do you
mean, you can’t find him? Was he in an accident or—”

A large hand gripped her shoulder and squeezed with firm pressure.

Aditya. “The rice is almost done. Do you eat cashew?”

She blinked at the interruption. “Sure, I’m not allergic.” When he nodded
and went to the kitchen island, she refocused on his mom. “How long has he
been gone? Have you filed a missing-person re—”

“Ayesha.” Aditya’s voice split through the air, a startling reprimand.

His sisters stopped arguing, and all eyes locked on her. Her heart pounded
louder than the TV and the piano. What had she done?


“We don’t talk about my dad,” he said.

That didn’t make any sense. “But what if he’s hurt or—”

“You can’t hurt someone when they don’t have a heart,” his mom
interrupted. “He left us all to be with another woman. I want to divorce him,
but I don’t know where to send the papers. He changed his phone number.”

His mom pushed her chair back and stood. “I'm  tired. You kids eat, ah?
Maybe go buy something for Aditya’s girlfriend if she doesn’t like what we
have.”

His mom left, and the piano music ended abruptly. His grandma turned off
the tv, The sudden quietness was a relief, but it felt ominous somehow.

Her blood rushed, her head throbbed, and her breaths came in short gasps like
she’d been running. Or maybe she was preparing to run.

Pinky hurried into the kitchen. “What just happened? Why is Mom
crying?”

No one answered, but seven sets of eyes accused her. It was worse than all
the noise from before, far, far worse.

She’d made Aditya’s mom cry.

Ayesha’s face flamed with embarrassment and guilt, and she jumped to her
feet. “I’m so sorry. I need to go.”

Ducking her head, she gathered her purse and fled.

• • •





Aditya stared at the doorway Ayesha had rushed through, feeling like he’d
watched a car accident in slow motion. A mix of unholy emotion
coursed through his veins. Anger, horror, shame, disbelief, shock. What the
fuck had just happened? What did he do now? His instincts urged him to
chase after her.

“You better go check on Mom,” Pinky said.

That was right. His practice girlfriend had just put his mom in tears. What
a great son he was. He went to look for her without a word. With heavy feet
and a heavier chest, he climbed the stairs, walked down the carpeted hall, and
paused outside his mom’s bedroom. The door was ajar, and he peered around
the edge, finding his mom sitting on her bed. He didn’t need to see her face to
know she was crying. It was written in her slumped posture and the way her
head hung.

The sight destroyed him. No one got to hurt his mom. Not his dad and not
his past girlfriends. Not even Ayesha. “Mẹ?”

She didn’t acknowledge him as he entered the room and padded to her
bedside.

“I’m sorry about all the things she said.” He tried to keep his voice low,
but it came out unnaturally loud. “The piano, the food, Dad . . .”

He didn’t know how Ayesha had managed it, but in just a few minutes,
she’d found every sensitive spot his family possessed—their tight financial
situation, his mom’s lack of education, and his fucked-up dad—and poked
right at them. Accidentally. That was clear as day.

Holy shit, she was bad with people. He’d had no idea how bad until
tonight. When it was just the two of them, it wasn’t like this.

His mom grabbed his hand. “Do you think your dad is okay?”

“I’m sure he’s fine.” His lips twisted as he imagined his old man lounging
on a yacht in Maldives next to his latest wife.

“Can you email him for Mẹ?”

“No.” He was never talking to his dad again.

His mom took a ragged breath and covered her face. “Your Ayesha was
right. He could be hurt. He’s so evil no one would care to help him, certainly
not his new woman. She’s only with him as long as the money lasts.”

He fisted his hands as a familiar rage threaded through his muscles. “That
amount of money should last a long time.”

“Not the way he spends. He thinks he’s a big shot. Nothing was ever good
enough for him, remember?”

Not this again.

Aditya clenched his jaw as his mom launched into another retelling of a
story he’d heard a thousand times. He sat down next to her and listened with
half an ear so he could make the appropriate sounds when she paused.

Words like uses women and bad person and liar stuck out, and he couldn’t
help noticing how well they applied to himself. Look at all the lies he told.
Look at what he did to pay the bills. Look at him taking money from Ayesha
for doing what any other guy would do for—

Cold horror soaked into him. This was why it had felt so wrong to accept
Ayesha’s proposal. It was wrong. He was taking advantage of her. What kind of
man accepted money from a naïve woman to teach her things she could learn
for free?

He’d finally taken the last steps and become his dad. That couldn’t be
right. That wasn’t him. He was better.

Their arrangement had to end right now. Where was she? Fuck, was she
waiting for him outside?

He shot to his feet before his mom’s story was half finished. “I have to go,
Mom. I’m sorry about . . . tonight, about everything.”

“There’s no need for sorry. If you love her, we’ll learn to love her, too.”

At the mere mention of that word, sweat broke out over his brow. “I
don’t.” That made his actions worse, didn’t it?

His mom waved his protest away. “Bring her back another day. I won’t
microwave the plastic when she’s here.”


“You shouldn’t microwave it any time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She said the words in such a manner that he knew she would
continue doing things her way regardless of what she’d been told, and
Aditya swore to himself he’d throw all her plastic away and replace it with
something safe. Right after he spoke to Ayesha.

“Good night, Mom.”


“Drive careful.”

He escaped the house in record time, but he came up short as he stepped
outside.

She was gone.

He gripped one of the porch’s wooden support pillars and dragged in deep
breaths as his heart rate slowed and his mind cleared. Cool air, the buzzing of bugs, and the distant whir of a car’s motor.

Maybe it was best that she wasn’t here. He needed time to compose a
decent parting speech. Something short but nice. It was him, not her, and—
No matter what he said, she was going to cry. The thought twisted his guts
into knots. She’d think it was her fault. Because of how awkward she was in
bed and out. Because of the unintentional debacle tonight.

He walked to his car and got inside. After he turned the ignition, he sat
with his hands on the wheel. He didn’t know where to go. Her place or his?
They needed to talk, but he wasn’t ready for her tears on top of his mom’s.

The new box of condoms on the passenger seat caught his eye. He’d
bought countless such boxes over the past three years. He hadn’t looked
forward to opening any of them as much as this one—because Ayesha was
different. Now, he’d be back to using the contents of the box with countless
Fridays of women, providing a simple service for fair payment. It didn’t hurt
or take advantage of anyone. That was better than what his dad did. Aditya
could do that and still be himself. Too bad he didn’t want any of those women
like he did Ayesha.

He pushed the box onto the floor and out of sight before heading to his
own apartment. Tomorrow. He’d do the right thing tomorrow.






thanks for the support.

[naruto9211]

Ayesha completed her bedtime routine in a numb haze. It wasn’t until she
laid her head down on her pillow that she started crying.

It was over now. He’d asked her to be good to his family, and she’d made
his mom cry. You couldn’t undo something like that.

Her gut demanded she tell Aditya the truth. Though he wasn’t aware of
the true extent of them, he already knew about her issues: sensitivities to
smell, sound, and touch; her obsession with her work; her need for routine;
and her awkwardness with people. What he didn’t know was there were labels
for that, a diagnosis.

But was pity any better than hatred? Right now, he thought she was
insensitive and rude, but he still viewed her as a regular person who happened
to have some eccentricities. With the labels, he might be more understanding,
but he’d quit viewing her as Ayesha Naz, awkward statistician who loved
his kisses. In his eyes, she’d become the girl with autism. She’d be . . . less.

With other people, she didn’t care what they thought.

With Aditya, she desperately needed to be accepted. She had a disorder,
but it didn’t define her. She was Ayesha. She was a unique person.

There was no way to salvage this situation. No way to keep him.

She still had to apologize to his mom. She’d never made someone cry
before, and it filled her with self-loathing. His mom’s evasiveness made sense
now that she knew about his dad. Ayesha wished she could have understood
earlier, before she hurt the woman and ruined everything, but all she could
control were her future actions, not the past.

As the night dragged on, she constructed and reconstructed her apology,
recited it over and over in her head. When the sun rose, she dragged herself
out of bed and got ready to tackle the day.

She drove to the same strip mall she’d gone to yesterday and parked in
front of CLEANOVO Dry Cleaning and Tailors. As soon as they flipped the sign,
she’d apologize and leave.

A night of sleeplessness had left her head clouded, and her heart ached
from the relentless pressure of her anxiety. Her fingers had been clenched
around the wheel so long the joints were locked. She was drained and wanted
to get this over with so she could go to the office and lose herself in work.

Five minutes before nine, the sign flipped from Closed to Open. Taking a
deep breath, Ayesha picked up a second box of chocolates and a bouquet of
peach roses and exited her car. Inside, Pinky sat behind the front counter.

She lifted her attention from the textbook on her lap and blinked in
surprise at Ayesha. From the tense set of her mouth, it was not a good kind of
surprise. “Hi, Ayesha . . . Aditya doesn’t work on Saturdays.”


“I wasn’t looking for him.” What was the point? They were done. She held
up the roses and chocolates. “I brought these for your mom. Is she here?”


Pinky’s expression softened. “Yeah, she’s here.”

“May I speak to her, please?”

“She’s working in back. I’ll take you there.”

She followed Pinky into the backroom and stopped in front of a green
commercial sewing machine, where Aditya’s mom was busy feeding fabric
beneath the sewing foot with quick efficiency, her glasses perched on the tip
of her nose.

Ayesha’s muscles tensed, and her heart thundered. It was time to do this.
She hoped she didn’t screw it up. She hoped she said the right thing.

Pinky murmured something in Marathi, and Aditya’s mom looked up.
Her gaze jumped from Pinky to Ayesha.

Ayesha swallowed and forged ahead. “I came to apologize for last night. I
know I was rude. I’m not . . . good with people. I wanted to thank you for
inviting me over to your house.” She held out the flowers and chocolates. “I
got these for you. I hope you like chocolate.”

Pinky snatched the truffles before her mother could touch the box. “I do.”

Aditya’s mom accepted the flowers and sighed. “We still have a lot of
food left over from last night. You should try to come again.”

Ayesha looked down at her feet. Aditya would be horrified if he saw her at
his mom’s tonight. “I need to go. I’m truly sorry about last night. Thank you
again.”

She turned around to leave but caught sight of Aditya’s tiny grandma at
the couch. The old woman nodded at her, and Ayesha fumbled on something
that was courteous, half bow before she left.


• • •



Aditya walked into the studio and tossed his duffel bag on the blue
matted floor next to the other two bags.

The fighters in the middle of the room broke apart, took five steps back,
switched their swords to their left hands, and bowed.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” said the fighter on the right. It was Sunny.
A helmet obscured his cousin’s face, but Aditya knew it was him by his
voice and the name embroidered in white on his black sparring gear. Also,
Sunny was an inch shorter than his baby brother.

Bunny waved a gloved hand at him and seamlessly switched from sparring
to strike drills using his reflection in the mirror. Ten whip-fast head strikes,
ten wrist strikes, ten rib strikes. Then back to the beginning. Ten more head
strikes . . . When Bunny worked out, he worked out. There wasn’t downtime.
His single-minded focus was impressive. And reminded Aditya of Ayesha. He
released a heavy sigh.

“Don’t usually see you Saturdays. What’s up?” Sunny asked.

“I wanted to get some sparring in,” Aditya said as he scratched an ear. He
usually spent Saturdays running and lifting weights—things he could do alone
since he was tired of people after what he did on Friday nights. Today,
however, he didn’t want to be by himself. He knew he’d just think about
Ayesha the whole time. After deliberating through the night and most of today,
he still didn’t know how to break things off without hurting her. It had to
happen, though. And soon. He should call her after he finished sparring and
arrange a meeting. Face to face was best.

“Suit up, then,” Sunny said. “Class starts in an hour. Teacher took the day
off, so loser leads class—little kids’ class.”

That was the perfect incentive to win. Children brandishing sticks were
horrifying. You’d think smaller kids were less dangerous, but they were
actually the worst. They spun around the studio like tornadoes, hitting beneath
your armor or stabbing you in the balls, all by accident. They didn’t know any
better. Kind of like Ayesha in social situations.

And Bunny.

As Aditya put his gear on, his eyes kept gravitating toward Bunny as he
methodically worked through all his strikes ten at a time. Always the same
number and always the same order. If Ayesha ever took up kendo(fencing), Aditya
could see her doing the exact same thing. After last night, there were a lot
more similarities between her and Bunny than he’d originally thought. Bunny
never noticed when he tripped upon sensitive conversation topics, either. He
was also horribly honest, creative in strange ways, and . . .

His gaze jumped to Sunny as an unexpected suspicion rose. “You asked if I
thought Ayesha was like Bunny.”

Sunny undid the laces behind his head and pulled his helmet off. Dark eyes
regarded him steadily. “Yeah, I did.”

“Did she tell you something I should know?” He remembered that night,
how it had felt like he’d interrupted something when he’d found them outside
the club together.

“After she finished hyperventilating from overstimulation, yeah. She told
me something,” Sunny said.

“She was hyperventilating?” he heard himself ask. His stomach dropped,
and coldness prickled over him. What kind of ass was he that he hadn’t
known and hadn’t been there for her? He should have been the one. Not
Sunny.

“Too many people, Aditya. Too much noise, too many flashing lights.
You shouldn’t have taken her there.”

Everything clicked together then. “She’s autistic.”

“You disappointed?” Sunny asked with a tilt of his head.

“No.” The word came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat before he
continued. “But I wish she’d told me.” Why hadn’t she told him? And why
had she let him pressure her into going to the club? She must have known
what it would do to her.

And last night. Shit, it must have been awful. The TV blasting, the piano,
his sisters shouting, everything new . . .

“She just wants you to like her.”

The words punched Aditya in the stomach. He did like her, and knowing
this didn’t impact that at all. She was still the same person. Except he
understood her better now. At least, on a conscious level, he did.
Subconsciously, he felt like he’d always known. Because he’d grown up
with Bunny, he knew how to interact with her. He didn’t even have to think
about it. That had to be why she could relax with him when she couldn’t with
others . . .

A strange charged sensation buzzed through him, tensing his muscles and
putting his hairs on end. Maybe he didn’t have to end their arrangement.
Maybe accepting her proposal wasn’t taking advantage of her. Because she
was autistic, maybe she really could use a practice relationship before she
entered a real one. Maybe he was the perfect one for her to practice with.
Maybe he could help her for real.

He didn’t have to take the entire two lakhs. Come to think of it, he didn’t
have to take any of it. He had credit cards. He could make up the difference
next month. By helping her without financial motivation, he’d finally prove
he wasn’t his dad.

He yanked his gear off and tossed it on the floor in a careless heap. “Put
that away for me, will you? I have to go.”