Recap: Zaara goes out drinking and dancing alone, is recognised and has a tough time at the bar. She is wondering how to get home, when Arjun comes to the rescue

“What the hell were you thinking?” Arjun drove fiercely, at a speed Zaara would have been uncomfortable with had she been sober enough to focus on the numbers on the dial. She shivered a little in the front seat, trying to shake off the experience.

He switched the AC off with a sharp turn of the knob.

“Thanks.”

“You’ve been really stupid.”

“I think the correct response is ‘You’re welcome’.”

“Actually, I think the correct response right now is that you’ve been really fucking stupid.”

The good thing about being incensed is that it drives out other feelings. Like shock or fear. Anger allows you to get up and fight again instead of sitting and shivering. It certainly jerked Zaara out of her numbness.

“I don’t need a lecture from some guy I don’t know, okay?” she said, annoyed. “How did you even know where I was?”

“Videos of you are all over Pinkvilla,” he said, shaking his head. “And Viral and Manav and Bombay Reporter. And this shady bar’s Instagram.”

Horrified, Zaara reached for her phone.

“You don’t want to read the captions, trust me.”

Zaara groaned and put her phone back down. She could just imagine what they must have said about her. Pandit, the party girl, or Like Whore Like Daughter or something worse. It must have been those horrible bartenders. They must have tagged the location, and used her to promote that god-awful bar, thinking it may earn them a promotion to manager or something.

“You know I can’t have Nectar associated with shit like this,” Arjun continued, stiffly. “We’re a sophisticated, luxury brand. That’s the standard you have to live up to too if you’re representing us.”

Zaara bit her tongue to stop herself from violently abusing her main employer. His eyes may be fantastically green, and he may just have saved her butt, but that didn’t give him the right to condescend to her like she was a wayward two-year-old. “Excuse me,” she said, with obvious restraint, “for having fun.”

“There’s having fun and then there’s being idiotic,” he shot back. “You can’t go out alone, Zaara. Not with a face that everyone knows. To a freaking dive bar too. I’m honestly shocked that your mother and Neelu let you. And in that...”

He looked derisively at her sequinned top. It had a drop neck that showed off her collarbone and the cinch of her 24-inch waist. And all it had at the back were two straps going across her smooth, creamy skin.

“If the next words out of your mouth are that I was asking for it, I swear I’ll throw up in your car.”

He looked at her sharply then, his chiselled face twisted in anger. Zaara braced herself for another onslaught, but then suddenly, his jaw slackened.

He shook his head with a sigh and reached for the Maruti tissues in his glove compartment.

“Here.”

She jutted her chin out and refused to take the wipes.

“You’re crying,” he pointed out.

“I am not.”

But she definitely was. She could hear the mucous thickening her voice and feel the tears that had sprung to her eyes. She only just realised how scared she’d been for the last 20 minutes. “I didn’t... think it would be this much trouble,” she confessed, throwing her head back so the tears would stay in. “I just thought I’d go out and dance.”

Arjun said nothing. His grip on the steering wheel remained tense. She could see the veins pulsing under his skin, almost as green as his eyes. His hands seemed too strained to belong to a 28-year-old in a hoodie. She felt uncomfortable about causing some of that strain.

“I chose this bar because the alley reminded me of the ones in Bastille,” she explained. “It has cobblestones.”

Arjun looked at her in surprise. Suddenly, he shook his head and laughed. His grip eased on the steering wheel as he let his irritation go.

“Well, this isn’t Paris,” he said, his voice kinder. “And even there, I wouldn’t say it’s wise to go out totally alone, dressed like...”

“...A whore?”

“A ten.”

Zaara looked at him then, stunned. But if she had expected him to smile at her, or even look at her, she was grievously dissatisfied. His eyes remained fixed on the road.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he said. “You have to be attractive. Why else would I let you be the poster girl of my company.”

Wo. Of which she was the “poster girl”. The arrogance in his voice was so obvious, she felt the sudden need to prick it.

“I heard your mother picked me. You had nothing to do with the decision.”

“Careful,” he said, with a look. “More of that tone and I’ll replace you with Diva Jha.”

Zaara’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. Who the hell did he think he was?

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Your boss,” he said, with a sudden flash of his teeth. A grin. Gone as quick as it came.

She had never been treated like she was disposable before.

“Stop the car,” she said.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Stop the fucking car Arjun Bajaj.”

Arjun raised an eyebrow. The car screeched to a halt. Zaara hoped the surprise didn’t show on her face. It must have, though, because now he was looking at her in challenge and amusement. Like he’d called her bluff. She swung open the door and got out.

“Keep your stupid car and your stupid brand. I’ll be fine just as I am.”

And with that, she was out the door of the Jaguar and standing alone in the middle of busy Kemps Corner, trying to dial her Uber driver. Or Seher. Or anyone. Her phone was close to dead but he didn’t need to know that.

“Are you sure about this?”

“More sure than I’ve been of anything,” she said, not caring that her voice was slurred and higher pitched than she would have liked. Who the hell did he think he was?

“You’re looking for a poster girl not a brand ambassador. Please have a fabulous time with Diva Jha. She was raised to jump to the command of someone like you.”

He looked at her for a moment. He was going to apologise. Profusely, she thought. Instead, he smirked and said, “Fine. I’ll give Diva your regards.” Then he rolled up his window and drove away.

Zaara watched him go, shocked, worried, and very alone. She couldn’t believe it. He drove away. She was all alone, again. For the second time in one very long night.

There were black and yellow cabs lined up on the side of the road. She adjusted her top slightly, wondering if she should approach one of the drivers. There was a kind-faced one, in khadi, staring at her. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad. What was their address again? Luxembaag, Bandra...

“Woh waala mat lena didi.”

She looked down to see a kid in rags, probably only 10 years old or so, shaking his head in warning at her from the pavement. “He not good man.”

Zaara’s breath caught in her throat. She nodded, deciding to take the kid’s advice. Perhaps she could go into that... residential building across the street and ask to make a phone call? She took one tentative step in her very high heels, stepping off the sidewalk and onto the road. There, that wasn’t so bad. Now just 50 more paces to go....

The white Jaguar appeared in the distance, making a roundabout turn. Within moments, it stopped in the middle of the road, right in front of where she was standing. The window was rolled down. And this time the resigned, not riled up face of Arjun Bajaj was presented to her.

“Just get in. Please.”

With a look of muted triumph, she did.

As the safety belt clicked in place for the second time that night, Zaara discovered that she was tingling with something. She had expected relief to wash through her but she was still tense. Not with worry anymore but with excitement that she had only felt once before, while reading Rhett Butler’s character in Gone With The Wind. She pressed the sudden grin that sprung to her lips down, all the way down, into her stomach. There was no need for him to know the effect he was having on her.

There was something wonderfully reckless about Arjun Bajaj. It spoke to the spirited wilfulness in her. It made her want to tackle him in football. Or race him down the stairs. Or take him on in conversation, all over again.

“I can’t believe you just drove off,” she said, still looking out of the car.

“I can’t believe I came back.”

She turned to him now, annoyed.

“What? You want to be a strong, independent woman. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

But even as he was talking, a smile was spreading across Arjun’s face. The idea of this child — and she was absolutely a child, no matter how gloriously 20-something she appeared — trying to be strong and independent in the dimly lit alleys of Bombay was hilarious — and scary — to him.

“There’s no need to smirk. I would have managed on my own.”

“Don’t tempt me to pull over.”

“Are you always this rude?”

“Audacious,” he grinned. “Not rude.”

Her eyes widened at him. Did Neelu… of course she did.

“That isn’t make-up, is it?” Arjun said, with a chuckle. “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl actually blush.”

Zaara’s eyes flashed at him in anger, annoyed. She didn’t want him to know the effect he had on her. She had only just won the upper hand.

“Shit, you’re like, beet-red.” He laughed for the first time that night. A full, roaring sound.

“I’m Kashmiri,” she grumbled, feeling the heat rise up to her cheeks further, “it’s genetic.”

“It’s lovely.”

“Thanks for dropping me home,” she said lightly.

“I couldn’t leave my poster girl out on the mean streets of Mumbai.” His eyes glinted as he shoved her back into the place of his employee. She bit her lip, irritated but refusing to take the bait.

“I meant the other day,” she said. “From my first shoot.”

He was silent suddenly. She looked at his face, turned firmly away from her, and saw that all sarcasm had vanished.

“It was my pleasure.”

The fight died in both of them then. Silently, each seemed to acknowledge that something more was at work here. More than just rapier wit and biting flirtation. But neither would be able to say more that night, both slightly scared of pricking with ineffective words the perfect intimacy that had sprung up in that moment.

They drove home in a silence that was sweeter than music.

(To be continued)

Riva Razdan is a New York University graduate and currently working as a screenwriter and author based in Mumbai. Her debut novel Arzu was published by Hachette India in 2021