Page 35

Avantika was a mess. Her tummy was rolling, churning and hurting. And after multiple rounds of loosies, her body wouldn’t budge an inch. Not even to reach for the pillow lying on the other side of the bed. She needed it between her legs. Right now. She even stretched an arm.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” she swished and flicked her finger.

Or thought she did, because her finger didn’t move much.

Neither did the pillow. So the spell hadn’t worked.

Avantika huffed back into the bedding, seeing the sun still high and mighty in the sky from the arched window of her bedroom.

She hadn’t even gotten a chance to take a tour of her apartment this morning.

She had turned the key in the door, gotten the driver and doorman to deliver her luggage, and the moment they were out, had raced to the bathroom.

She was here in bed ever since, not even unpacked yet, still in her two-day-old leggings and her bralette.

The hoodie had been too hot after one point.

It was past seven now and the sun was still high and mighty on the evening Parisian sky.

Her mobile buzzed on the nightstand. Thank god she had the good sense to plug it into her charger in between bathroom runs.

Avantika groaned, reaching back and pulling it off the chord.

Mummy Calling…

Shit.

She sat up in bed, clawed her hair back and patted her cheeks.

“Bwawawawawwa…” she made gargling sounds in the back of her throat to get her voice back. She had practise in it, having studied abroad for years and spent sick days without informing her parents at home.

“Hellooo, Raje Bai!” She injected a massive grin into her answer.

“Did you cook dinner or go out?” Her mother wasn’t amused.

“Cooked,” she lied, gagging at the thought of food.

“What did you make?”

“Toast… I wasn’t too hungry…” Avantika felt her eyes droop even as she said that. She needed sustenance. She would at least have to order something. Not food but something to drink. Something refreshing…

Maybe Uber Eats would deliver a fizzy drink?

“Did you unpack?”

“Yes, Mummy…”

“Why is your voice sounding so low? Let me FaceTime…”

“The WiFi is patchy… I’m having it fixed tomorrow… oh, Mummy, the toast just popped. I’ll call you after I eat?”

“Go,” Mummy droned. “Call me later. Papa will also be in the room then.”

“Done!”

Avantika hit the end call button and collapsed back in bed, sniffing her sweaty armpits.

Who would believe she was a princess of Gwalior?

She wasn’t usually this tardy. It was the sickness.

She had to clean up, take a shower, order something to drink…

but for now, her eyes began to droop again. Maybe after a nap…

The intercom began to buzz. Avantika pushed her head out of her pillow, blinking, peering through her hair, wondering if she had ordered something from Uber Eats and forgotten already?

She checked the window and the sun was still shining. Paris and its long days, she groaned, crawling out of her bed and stumbling to the hall. The intercom’s loud, shrill buzz made her body shiver.

“Hello?” She depressed the buzzer.

“ Mademoiselle, un visiteur pour vous. Un certain Monsieur Solanki. Dois-je le laisser monter? [36] ”

Monsieur Solanki?

“Samarth?”

“Ava,” his voice came on. “Hi, it’s me. Your eye mask got stuffed into my bag. I’ve got it. Should I drop it here?”

“Oh… yeah sure.”

“What happened to your voice?”

She cleared it. “Nothing.”

A pause. Then — “Can I come up?”

She thought for a moment. But her balance was awry. She slapped a hand on the wall, holding herself up.

“ S'il vous pla?t, laissez-le monter. [37] ”

Avantika did not have the time to put her appearance back in place. There was not even a full minute. All she did was stumble back to bed and pull her hoodie on before the doorbell rang. She opened her eyes wide, pushed her hair back from her face and marched valiantly to the door.

“Hey…” she opened the door with a grin.

“What happened to you?” His face instantly creased in worry, his body pushing in, hand raising to hold her shoulder. She didn’t realise until then that her body was shaking.

“Sleeplessness…”

Samarth pushed in and closed the door behind him — “Is somebody here with you?” He set the back of his hand on her forehead, her eye mask hanging from his fingers. She was so gone in her head that she comically reached for it. He abandoned it, using his other hand to push her bangs off her side.

“You are warm. What’s wrong with you?”

Avantika huffed.

“Don’t tell my mother but I had the worst stomach all day.”

“Why would I tell your mother?” He frowned, leaning down to peer into her eyes. “Ava, look at me?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you with me?”

“Yes,” she nodded loopily, knowing she was swaying.

“Alright then,” he grabbed her shoulder, pulled her into his side and walked her to the long, arched sofa set. “Sit here.”

She didn’t just sit, she lay back, curling into herself as her stomach churned again.

“Ava?” He sat by her head, caressing her hair. “Did you eat something?”

“Medicine…”

“What is happening?”

“Samarth?”

“Hmm?”

“Since you are here, can you make me nimbu paani? Lots of salt and sugar and lemon…”

“Yes. Yes. Do you need a blanket?”

She nodded.

He did not bring her a blanket. Instead, he lifted her into his arms. Her heart, chest, stomach jolted.

She felt so small in his arms, so happy close to his chest. Avantika wished she could have been out of pain and haze to fully live this moment.

She was sure she would remember this as a raving dream when she was cured.

“Rest here,” he lay her in the nest of her messy linens and pulled her blanket over her. “I’ll go grocery shopping. Your kitchen looks bare.”

“Hmm mmm…” she nodded, her eyes falling shut. “You’ll pakka come back na?”

“Yes, Ava. I will be back in 10 minutes. I am taking your key, ok?”

“Ok.”

————————————————————

“Ava?”

Whose voice was this? Deep, intense, like Samarth’s?

“Ava?” A warm hand on her cheek pushed her hair away. “Get up now, drink this.”

She grumbled, but found her body hauled gently into sitting and a strong arm banding around her back.

“Here, drink. It’s nimbu paani.”

Avantika popped her eyes open to the glass of pink liquid smelling of heavenly lemons. A straw waited just at the edge of her lips.

“Why is this pink?”

“I added black salt. Drink.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears and reached for the glass, holding it with both hands lest she drop it. The straw went into her mouth and she didn’t stop. It was like gulping air — just sweet, sour, tart lemon-flavoured air. Samarth came up behind her.

“What are you doing?”

“Drink.”

Her hair was gathered back from her face and he tied it up. She giggled — “I can feel it’s wonky.”

“I did my best,” he laughed. “Drink.”

“Wait,” she turned. “You had practise!”

“I finished it and came here.”

She nodded, finishing her nimbu paani until slurping noises echoed from her glass.

“Alright, enough. Let’s get some dinner in you.”

“No dinner,” she groaned, slipping back to the side to lie down. He pulled her back up — “It’s just rice and curd. Come.”

“No, Samarth. You go now. I’ll take another dose and sleep.”

“I’ll see you eat and then go. Now get up.”

She didn’t have enough strength to physically protest. Because again he got his arms under her and ferried her to the hall.

“Stop lifting me like I’m a doll!”

“An ill doll.”

She elbowed him.

“Stop hitting me.”

He deposited her on a buttery upholstered chair that absorbed her into it.

She crossed her legs and sat back, melding into it, eyeing the small round table tucked into a nook with a long French window overlooking the street.

The sun was dipping now, painting the sky a brilliant orange.

It was past nine at night. High time the sun set!

Samarth deposited a delicate porcelain plate in front of her, a small heap of steaming rice, curd on the side.

“I have added salt to the rice, just mix it up,” he relayed, placing a similar plate for himself and sitting down in front of her.

“Where’s the spoon?”

“Here,” he showed her his right hand.

“I only eat dal-chawal with my hand.”

“Dahi-bhaat is also meant to be eaten with hand,” he reached into her plate and began to mix the curd and rice.

“You can cook now?” She asked, opening her mouth so naturally as he brought a morsel to her mouth. As if he was adept at feeding with his hand, he stuffed the bite into her mouth like a pro.

“I only boiled rice. Hira ben guided me with the water measurement.”

He made a morsel again and fed her. She shamelessly opened her mouth and he held her jaw, feeding the bite. It was perfect — hot rice, cold curd and tangy salt.

“How are you so good at this?”

“At what?”

“Feeding?”

Samarth’s serious, caretaker face softened. “I used to feed Sharan all the time.”

“Your brother? How old is he now? 10?”

“He is 9, and sometimes still comes to me to eat if he is sick,” Samarth stuffed another bite into her mouth.

“Who do you go to if you are sick?”

“I don’t fall sick.”

“Ever? That’s not true. You used to fall sick in school. Remember how we used to run to the dispensary and sleep the whole day there?”

“Talk about yourself,” he smiled, feeding her more morsels.

“Oh, my bad, you were the good boy who never disturbed a class by announcing that he needed to visit the dispensary.”

“You did plenty of that for me.”

“Uhh, excuse me, if my partner was silently groaning with a headache what was I to do?”

“Keep mum and let Ms. Veda teach,” he stuffed her open mouth with another morsel, effectively shutting her up.

“No way,” she shook her head, covering her mouth with one hand to chew the extra big morsel. That’s when she glanced down and realised that he had finished her plate and fed her half of his own too.

“Samarth!” She whined. “You are first of all eating this sick-people food because of me and that too you fed me!”