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Avantika sliced the dinner roll and slathered butter leisurely over it, lounging back in her First Class pod, Surinder Kaur’s Punjabi music thumping in her ears.

Her iPad and Apple Pencil were lying on the side, waiting for some attention.

She had a dozen collaterals to sketch for her first day.

But those could wait. She had the whole night to paint them.

Flights hadn’t been her best sleeping places.

She reached for the dish of creamy Lasagna and forked some into her mouth.

Even after leaving full-time cricket years ago, her metabolism had still favoured her.

She could eat the whole world in dinner and still her stomach would be flat the next day.

Kresha, not so much. Avantika sputtered, polishing off her dinner roll and uncrossing her sock-clad feet.

She could behave in as un-princess-like manner as she liked here.

She wasn’t Kumari or Raje here. That’s why she had fought her way to a job in Paris. A life where she could live .

“Your Highness,” the Air hostess greeted her just as her feet touched the floor. So much for not having her princess life follow her all the way to Paris. But then, this was it. Once she landed, she was just Avantika Scindia. Ava.

“Would you like some dessert?”

“In a while,” Avantika smiled, holding up her buttery fingers. “I need to wash my hands first.”

“This way, please.”

Avantika followed her down the First Class aisle, the pods in different stages of closing.

The lights weren’t dimmed yet for the night.

It was still just 11.30 after all. She passed the final front seats and the familiarity of the figure there made her freeze.

Sharp nose, hair pushed back from his forehead, tanned wheat skin, eyes focused on a magazine, food half-finished by his side.

Tall. So tall. Even his head popped over the seat’s edge.

“Your H…” Avantika scampered ahead before the Air hostess could complete that word.

She rushed into the lavatory and closed the door behind her.

Pushing her back against the door, she realised she was panting.

When she glanced up at the mirror, her skin was red, her hair in disarray, her cheeks stretched in a smile she didn’t remember ever smiling.

Why was she blushing after all these years and after all that had happened? Or not happened?

Just the sight of him… Avantika hyperventilated.

“Relax,” she told herself. “Relax.”

She threw her head back on the door, thumping it slowly, bringing her beating heart under control. Maybe he wouldn’t realise it. Maybe she would go back to her seat, work on her designs and land tomorrow without speaking to him.

Avantika swallowed, looking back at her reflection in the mirror.

Her lipstick had smudged off along with the lasagna she had hogged.

She hadn’t applied any foundation or under-eye coverage.

But her eyes were popping thanks to the multiple mascara coats, thank god.

Her hair… she had nothing she could do about it now.

It was as short and straight as it used to be in school.

The side bangs fell limply down to her cheek after she had kept them tucked behind her ear.

She didn’t even have a brush here to volumize it.

“Ok, ok, chill.”

She opened the tap, washed her hands with some clear soap, then dried them thoroughly.

She ran her fingers through her hair, flipping it one way, then the other.

Left. Yes, her right profile was better than her left.

She fluffed up some bounce in her bangs, pulled her frankly disgusting white hoodie over white ribbed leggings in place.

Who asked her to wear such comfy non-sexy clothes on an airplane?

! Kresha had even taunted but did she ever listen? !

And… Avantika glanced down at her sock-clad feet. A princess running around the plane without her shoes!

“Oh my gawddd!”

She took a deep breath. It was better if she quietly went back to her seat and hid there all through the flight. She had work to do.

“Ok, go back home. And stay there,” she warned her reflection. Then fluffed her hair one last time, just in case, and stepped out of the lavatory.

“Your Highness,” the Air hostess was waiting for her, ready to escort her.

“Oh, it’s alight, I’ll find my way back. Thank you.”

The lesser the fanfare the better.

The Air hostess stepped back and Avantika took hesitant steps out to the cabin.

It was years since she had seen him. She had to prep herself to see him again, even if from afar.

All she had seen of him were photos and videos on Instagram, on his Polo Club’s posts because he didn’t have an account of his own, and through photos of common friends.

All she had heard from him was a few minutes’ worth of voice every year — a day before his birthday.

She would call to check if he was excited for his birthday.

He would say he still wasn’t. And they would laugh it off.

He only ever sent voice notes on her birthday.

The same nine words every year. Only, his voice kept becoming deeper and deeper with every passing year.

“Hey Ava, Happy Birthday. Have a great year ahead.”

She kept thinking he would stop sending those voice notes. One year he would miss. Or send it late. And she would channel some anger and begin to push him to the back of her mind. He did live in the back of her mind, but in this case, she hoped she would be able to push him further back.

Not because she wanted to get married and move on.

That boat had sailed a long time ago. But Avantika wanted to live a good life with her career and her travel.

Not think about him in random things. She didn’t want anything to do with him except those pre-birthday calls…

she stopped short just as she crossed the edge of his front-row seats.

His head was still buried in his magazine, no doubt about horses.

It was his birthday the day after tomorrow.

Avantika retraced the two steps she had taken away from his seat. 1F, she noted. A white gentleman was sitting beside him in 1E.

“Umm, hi, Samarth?” She called out slowly. His head whirled up. Shock, then surprise, and then the sweetest smile glowed from his big, dark eyes.

“A…” his mouth opened on the first syllable of her name. He closed it shut. And immediately stood to his feet, ever the gentleman. “Ava.”

“Hi,” she tucked the side of her hair behind her ear, not realising how coy that looked until she had done it. She pushed her hand down.

“Hi.”

“Hi…”

“Umm…” he glanced down at the man sitting between them, eyes swinging between them. Avantika was tongue-tied, a rare event. What had she thought of saying to him after getting his attention? Nothing! She had nothing to say to him except — “Happy birthday… in advance.”

He chuckled. Shy and soft. Even with that height, that man hair pushed back over his forehead and the stubble darkening his cheeks, his deep chuckle sounded exactly like that of the boy she had once known.

He was dressed to the nines, unlike her.

Even when travelling on a red eye flight, he was in a pair of dark suit pants and a sky blue shirt, his cuffs buttoned at his wrists like he was on a boardroom discussion.

“Thank you. Are you going to Paris?”

“All three of us are.”

“Three of us?”

“You, me and this flight,” she replied tongue-in-cheek.

“Dil Chahta Hai,” he smirked. Her mouth dropped open.

“Samarth my friend, when did you swap military dramas for romcoms?”

“I am not your fr…” he stopped, the smirk on his mouth slowly dying.

“Would you like to have a seat, madam?” The British gentleman asked.

“Oh umm…” Avantika looked at Samarth. He was indecisive, still blinking away the shock that had come belatedly. “Ummm… sure, if you don’t mind, sir. I am back there in 2K. A widow seat,” she grinned, trying to sell the better option.

“I do love myself some night sky. Come on then,” he got to his feet, reaching for his open laptop. She reached for his bag — “Let me help you!”

“I’ll…” Samarth began to push around the seats. “help out. Sit, Ava.”

“I’ve got it!” She held one hand up, turning and walking away to her seat. She deposited his bag and in record time gathered all her stuff, including her pink and grey bunny eye mask.

“I don’t sleep on planes usually but these are really comfy…” she snickered, holding the embarrassing eye mask up. The British gentleman just smiled and opened her way.

“Thanks, sir.”

“Not at all.”

Avantika hightailed it down the aisle and skidded to a halt at Samarth’s row. He was helping the Air hostess clear the papers and crockery for her to sit. When he saw her, her arms loaded with her handbag, iPad, pencil, headphones, eye mask and water bottle, he just laughed quietly.

“Take it! What are you laughing at?” She gestured to her full arms. He picked it all one by one, laying it meticulously around her seat.

“And this?” He held her eye mask stretched over her head as if to push it on. “You don’t sleep on flights. Or do you now?”

“I don’t!” She pulled it from his hand.

“And this doesn’t grow?” He patted the top of her head, which, for the record, had grown a good one and a half inches since Standard 10th.

It still didn’t reach above his smug chin.

So Avantika snapped the back of her hand on the said chin and plopped down on her seat, pushing her feet out of the shoes she had been half-wearing.

“Oww,” he lowered himself gracefully on his side of the seat, rubbing his chin. “You are stronger than you used to be.”

“And you are still not as bright as they thought you to be.”

“Why?”

“Because 1. I have grown about 2 inches in height. And 2. A person who does not sleep on a flight but carries an eye mask does so to fake sleep and get some rest…”

“Dessert, Your Highness?” The Air hostess returned, cutting their conversation off.

“Yes, please. The…” Avantika ran her eyes down the menu. “100% Vanilla. And the… no, that’s it.”

“Very well. The rum-on-the-rocks for you is on its way, Your Highness,” she informed Samarth.

“Actually, I’d rather have the 100% Raspberry. Please cancel the rum.”

“Right away, Your Highness.”

Avantika turned to him, lowering the privacy screen — “Thank you for your generosity, Kunwarji.”

He smirked. “Who said I am giving you my Raspberry dessert, Kumari.”

“You don’t like raspberry, Samarth.”

“You didn’t like it either.”

“I just wanted to see its colour.”

“What?” He laughed, crossing one leg over the other and turning his whole body towards her. “See its colour? What’s this new sensational craze?”

“Research,” she held her iPad up, the watercolour mockups of Bougainvillea flowers brushed across the canvas.

“Research for what?”

“For my new job and their new campaign.”

“In Paris? You were into designing logos, no?”

“No.”

“Since when?”

“Since always. You can’t understand the difference between Chanel and small x. The rest of us do, Samarth.”

“Yeah, fine. So where are you working in Paris?”

“Van Cleef & Arpels. I am their new Brand Visual Strategist.”

“I don’t know what that brand is but it sounds luxurious. And since they have you, I am assuming they are big.”

Avantika felt her whole being heat up with that single offhanded compliment. “Thanks,” she pushed her hair behind her ear. She had worked very hard to get to VC&A.

“So what’s with these flowers?”

“Oh…” she zoomed in on her iPad screen. “Bougainvillea. To symbolise their new campaign. I am working on different shades and colour contours to have a choice of collaterals ready when I join work next week.”

“Hmm…” he swiped the screen, unraveling the whites, the lavenders and then the rosy dusty pink bougainvilleas. “What’s the campaign?”

“A love that blooms briefly. Ephemeral.”

His eyes whirled up to her. Until that moment, Avantika hadn’t realised how close that concept hit home. A moment passed. A moment looking at each other, probably the kids they had once been.

“In that case,” he broke eye contact, using his long forefinger to swipe the screen back to the first mockup. The deep fuchsia pink one. “This one.”

“Why?”

“Among all the colours, this one leaves a lasting mark, however briefly it blooms.”