Index
Ch 1 - pg 1
Ch 2 - pg 4
Ch 3 - pg 6
Ch 4 - pg 11
Ch 5 - pg 15
Ch 6 - pg 19
Ch 7 - pg 23
Ch 8 - pg 26
Ch 9 - pg 30
Ch 10 - pg 33
Ch 11 - pg 37
Ch 12 - pg 39
Ch 13 - pg 44
Ch 14 - pg 47
Ch 15 - pgs 54/55
Ch 16 - pg 58
Chapter 1
It was Christmas time in New York and the city was at its most magical. Shops glittered with multi-coloured fairy lights that lit up the frosty sidewalks and turned the breath of the shoppers bustling up and down them into blue and green clouds. Christmas songs filled the streets, bright and cheerful, and no matter where you went the ring of bells could be heard along with the shouts of 'ho, ho, ho' and 'merry Christmas'. Joy was in the air, almost tangible, as the season of goodwill and peace found its way into the heart of everyone in the city.
Everyone, that is, except Shilpa Malhotra. For her this season of warmth and giving was a painful reminder of all she had lost in her short life. Instead of feeling loved and cherished, she always felt alone, like she was the only person in the whole world who didn't enjoy the festivities.
The Christmas parties were the worst. She went because her cousin, Anjali, wouldn't let her stay at home and because her aunt and uncle would have made her feel uncomfortable with their not-so-subtle comments had she stayed behind. They thought she was ungrateful and too self-involved anyway; there was no need to encourage that opinion.
But it was a torture for her, seeing everyone laughing and dancing when she was dying on the inside. She sat at one of the long tables lined up around the dance floor and stared out at the dark winter night, wishing she could escape out into it. The bright lights of the bar where Anjali's work party was being held were reflected in the window and the more Shilpa looked at them, the more they appeared to her like multi-coloured tear drops. Snow was beginning to drift silently down outside, smattering the window with wet streaks here and there, only adding to the effect.
Behind her was the sound of glasses clinking and then a new song started, an up-tempo dance number that drew a riotous shout from the partiers. Shilpa sighed and huddled closer to the window, trying to shut the sound of it out.
She hated Anjali's colleagues. They were all obsessed with drinking and gossiping and every time she met them she felt as if they were looking down on her because she was a medical intern. It wasn't nearly glamorous enough for these fashion journalists.
"Shilpa, what are you still sitting here all alone in the corner for?" She looked up to see her cousin standing by the table, a tall, slim wine glass in one hand, the other fisted to her hip in a haughty manner. Shilpa recognised her body language instantly: it was the stance she took when she was annoyed. "You should be enjoying with the rest of us."
"I don't feel like dancing, Di," Shilpa answered, making an effort to smile. She knew it was weak and unconvincing, but at least she had tried.
Anjali's brows slid further together. "Oh for God's sake, Shilpa, just snap out of it will you! You are always so miserable! Do you have any idea how ridiculous it makes you look? People have been talking about you all night."
Shilpa shrugged. "So let them talk. It doesn't bother me." She was used to it, anyway. She had never fitted in anywhere. Not since she was a child back in India.
"That is so typical of you!" Anjali declared. "You never care about anything but your own stupid misery! You never stop to think how your attitude reflects on me! These are my colleagues. I want to make a good impression on them, but because of you they think I am some freak! You are so selfish!"
Shilpa just stared up at her cousin, torn between the urge to scream at her and the need to shed the tears crowding the backs of her eyes. It still surprised her that Anjali's inability to understand her feelings hurt. She knew she should be used to it by now, after all, Anjali had never really gotten it. Like her aunt and uncle she thought Shilpa should be happy because they had taken her in. But none of them ever realised that giving her a place in their home was one thing, but making her feel part of the family was another.
She knew they cared about her, in a vague way, but they didn't love her. Not the way they loved Anjali. They had always made a distinction between the two girls and to a certain extent, Shilpa had understood. She was only their niece; it was wrong to expect them to lavish the same affection on her as they did on their own daughter. But she couldn't help but feel that they had always viewed her as an outsider, that they had taken her in more out of duty than love. Because there had been no one else to take her.
"Honestly, you need to get over yourself!" Anjali declared, her words as brittle as ice. And then, with a flick of her hair, she was gone, storming back into the crowd. Shilpa watched her go, fighting back the lump of emotion that had risen in her throat. She would not cry; she refused to cry.
Turning back to the window, she blinked the moisture out of her eyes and stared hard at the city lights. They illuminated the flakes of snow as they fell, so that the whole city appeared to be alive with rainbow hues. It was falling thicker now and as she gazed at it she imagined how it would feel, cool on her flushed skin, refreshing. Suddenly she wanted to be out there, to lose herself in its coldness, if only to numb the fresh pain in her heart from Anjali's outburst.
Without waiting another second she stood and headed toward the door. No one even noticed her leave.
The roads were a nightmare. The snow had turned them slippery and several times cars came skidding towards him seemingly out of nowhere. It didn't help his mood any. Neither did the flaming lights which were blinding him, the glare of the snow somehow making them that much worse so that he could barely see out his windshield. He had to keep squinting and that just made the hammering in his head worse. The whole sodding world was quite clearly against him.
It was his fault, of course. He should never have gone tonight. It had been asking for trouble. What had he expected? Oh, he knew what he had expected, but he should have known that could never be more than a futile dream. Riddhima had made it perfectly clear that nothing would ever change her mind from marrying Sid. But, like always, he'd been stupid and hoped...
Armaan Malik hit the brakes in the middle of the busy freeway. A chorus of angry car horns went up all around him but he ignored them. Everyone else could go to hell. He didn't care if someone crashed into him. In fact, he kinda hoped someone would. Anything to take away that shattered feeling in his heart.
He was drunk, he knew that. He couldn't actually remember a day in the last six months when he hadn't been drunk. It was the only way to get through. It numbed the pain, at least, that's what he told himself, that was how he justified it. And anyway, if he wanted to drink, he would bloody well drink. No one else had any right to judge him for it or to lecture him about it.
Armaan, you are ruining your life. You will kill yourself if you keep going on like this.
Yeah, like his life wasn't ruined already; like she hadn't been the one to ruin it in the first place.
He had to blink hard as some strange moist veil momentarily obscured his vision. Must be the cold, he mused, running the back of his hand across his eyes. It was freezing outside and the heater in his car had predictably packed in. Just another little instance of how cursed his life was.
Everything was falling apart. He sat and stared at the snow in the headlights of the passing cars and suddenly his head felt like it was a round-a-bout going at full tilt. The lights and the snow started to blur, his stomach heaved and something acrid came rushing up the back of his throat, threatening to choke him. Gasping, he gripped the wheel and breathed raggedly.
Air, that was what he needed. Nice, cool, fresh air. It would clear his head and maybe numb that burning sensation in his heart.
Reaching out, he fumbled for the door handle, his fingers hitting off the windows and the upholstery before they finally found the little lever and managed to pull it back. The door swung wildly open before he had time to get his bearings and he nearly tumbled head first out the car. He managed to stop the fall at the last moment, staggering as he swung his legs out, bumping his head off the car roof. Great, as if his head didn't hurt enough already.
The road was slick with ice and he nearly went down just closing the car door. He had to lean against it for a few seconds, feeling strangely shaky on his legs. Snow settled on his hair and the back of his neck, sending a chill into his skin, but he didn't mind so much. It made it easier to think and he found drawing in deep lungfuls of the crisp air dulled the nausea.
When he was certain he wasn't going to fall over, he started off down the road, heedless of the traffic zipping by. He left his car sitting in the middle of the road. Let the police charge him; it couldn't be any worse than anything he had already had to suffer. Nothing had the power to frighten him anymore.
He made his way, albeit in a wobbly fashion, onto the sidewalk and headed south. Where he was going, he wasn't yet sure; all he knew was that he needed to get away, away from that car, from those lights, and the wedding he'd just left behind. He hoped if he walked far enough the snow would freeze it all from his brain.
For fifteen minutes he just kept walking in a straight line, not really paying much attention to his surroundings. There were a group of carollers huddled in the archway of a department store, their voices drilling right through his skull. He had a vague impression of blue and green and yellow lights dancing about in front of his eyes, changing focus with each step, sharpening and then fading away. They made his eyes sting, or maybe that was merely the cold.
He hadn't planned on going out tonight. Up until the last minute he had been adamant that he wouldn't go anywhere near the wedding. She'd begged him to come, of course, but he'd always said no. Why put himself through unnecessary torture? Staying away was the sensible option and better, for both of them.
But after ten beers too many he had been seized with a need to go, to see her, one last time. She might change her mind, if she saw him, if he went and declared his love for her, she would relent. He'd been so sure of it. He'd felt the certainty of it burn in his veins.
Consumed with what he saw as his mission, he hadn't stopped to consider the weather. December in New York is notoriously cold, but in his rush to get to the wedding hall he'd only flung a hoodie over his cotton shirt, a decision he was beginning to regret now he was trudging through the snowy streets. The cold was seeping through the thin material, raising goosebumps all along his arms, and when he looked down at his hands he was surprised to see his fingers turning blue.
But at least his head wasn't thumping quite so much, and the snow was rather pretty when you were out in it. The flakes were small and soft when they touched his face, stirring a memory from his childhood of running along the street with his tongue out, trying to catch the flakes as they fell. It made him smile, his first real smile in weeks.
That was when he saw her.
At first he thought she was just a product of his alcohol-laced mind. He saw the streak of electric blue through the curtain of snow, saw a flash of green eyes and a halo of ebony hair. It seemed so odd he had to stop and look again, and his heart stopped as his eyes focused on the figure, really seeing her.
She was young, in her late teens or early twenties, and immensely pretty, even if her skin was tinged with blue. She had a heart shaped face, a slim waist and long, slender legs, which he could see because the skirt of her dress was so short. It was a figure-hugging, satin gown, with thin straps and a plunging backline that left half her back exposed to the elements. She didn't have a coat and she wore only thin strappy heels on her feet. And despite it all she was twirling about, arms outstretched, head thrown back in sheer abandon, as the snow fell down all around her.
It settled in her mane of ebony hair, making it seem like it was dotted with little crystals. It clung to her arms and her collarbone, gleamed in the little hollow of her throat, almost like a necklace. It even laced her eyelashes, bringing out the colour of her irises: a deep, enchanting sea green. The fairy lights strung overhead reflected in those eyes, making them flash like jewels, and Armaan forgot everything ' the cold, the snow, the strangeness of this girl twirling round and round in the middle of a packed road, even the anguish in his soul.
One thought, and one alone, filled his mind - that those were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.
That's the end of Chapter 1. Do leave your feedback; I'd love to know what you all thought of it. I'll try to update the next part soon.
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