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Part 1
Khushi eyed the silvery liquid swirling in the small shot glass, with mild interest. As though there was anything that could capture her interest anymore.
"Tequila," she had ordered smoothly, like a pro, quite liking the way the word rolled over her tongue.
It was mostly the sound of the word that had made her single out tequila, rather than the other alcoholic drinks. She had a definite penchant for words that sounded interesting.
Smirnoff was next, whatever that was. Or vodka, pronounced the way Russians would say it.
Or better still - a vodka martini, shaken not stirred, a la James Bond.
Khushi smiled mirthlessly at the thought.
"Cheers," she muttered to herself, before she gulped down the drink.
The peppery taste burned through her throat, making her cough and splutter, and making her eyes water. She took off her thick spectacles and dried the corners of her eyes.
As unpleasant as it was, however, she welcomed the sensation. The bittersweet, slightly woody, aftertaste. The tingling warmth. The feeling that she was a different person.
She wanted to be a different person.
You know, the kind who dumped others. Not the one who got dumped.
She looked up at the bartender, and found an amused smile playing on his lips. A knowing smirk. Condescension, surely. What a jerk!
Her nostrils flared.
"What?" she spat irritably, feeling like a different person once again.
Not the kind who was overly polite and was only able to shout at people in her head. The powerful kind who could be rude to people and not even feel bad about it.
"First time?" Jerk bartender asked.
It was more of a remark than a question. She almost lashed out at him again, but she felt too drained.
Lately, it was all she had been feeling. Exhausted from crying herself to sleep every night, from feeling worthless every day. Just drained.
She ignored him and turned to the bartender next to him, a blonde girl who looked bored out of her mind.
"Vodka martini, stirred, not shaken," she ordered.
"Surely you mean shaken, not stirred," Jerk bartender offered, uninvited, having seen through her bluff.
He was right, she realised. She had managed to muddle up her the dialogue from James Bond, even after mentally practising it thrice.
"N-no, I meant stirred," Khushi insisted, her words deliberate and slow as though she were talking to a dimwitted child.
Whatever was his problem anyway?
"Sure," he said smoothly, indicating to the blonde bartender that he would take the order.
A few moments later, a triangular cup appeared on the table before her, adorned with a swirl of lemon rind and containing a blackish liquid.
It tasted like Coke, mixed with what might have been cherry syrup.
"This is Coke, right?" she asked the bartender after a few sips.
"Haven't you had vodka martini before?" he asked by way of reply, his words dripping with sarcasm.
She imagined herself emptying the entire contents of the glass on his head.
"I know that this is not what I ordered. Do you think I am an idiot?"
"Kind of," he replied shamelessly, "Why else would you be moping around over some guy?"
"Wh-what?" she stuttered, taken off guard.
"I heard you over the phone earlier, telling some Payal, whoever that was, that you were not depressed over some guy dumping you and that you were having a great time at a bar."
He did not look even remotely abashed. The small smile playing on his lips was clearly one of amusement.
"How dare you eavesdrop on my conversation?" she hissed.
"You lied, didn't you? Or is this what you call having a great time?"
"It would be, if you were not so utterly incompetent at your job and getting me what I ordered."
"You really think alcohol is what you need? Because I don't think so," he said. His tone was matter-of-factly, but he was looking at her intently... in a way that made him seem oddly familiar, as though she knew him from somewhere.
She brushed away the thought.
He was right, in any case.
The nerve.
"What gives you the authority to decide for me?" she said.
"I've been here long enough to know that alcohol is not a cure for sadness."
He looked sincere, for once, and she smiled slightly, in spite of herself, "If you did this to all your customers, you'd be one broke bartender. Okay so tell me, what is the cure?"
"Friendship," he said, extending his hand out to her.
The word stung, like a taunt.
Like so many other things, it reminded her of him.
I don't know what I'd do without you.
You know me so well.
You are, like, my best friend.
You are everything.
I love you yaar.
Lies.
...
Part 2
Khushi stared at the outstretched hand of the bartender. Friendship. Yeah, right.
"I don't need you, or your sympathy, or whatever it is that you mean by friendship," she said curtly before turning to leave.
But no sooner had she stepped out of the bar, than he had caught up with her on the sidewalk.
"What?" she snapped.
"You forgot your purse," he said.
She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, and was about to thank him, when an all too familiar voice called out from behind, "Khush!"
Only one person called her that.
The lazy nickname used to make her giggle happily to herself. Now she hated it.
She hated him.
She turned to look at him, and realised, with a pang, that she loved him.
Stupid heart. Stupid NK with his stupid dimpled chin.
And there. Just like that, the confidence she had been faking at the bar flew out of the window.
She was back to being the boring, timid Khushi.
"Oh, hi," she said, "What are you doing here?"
The words had left her mouth automatically.
A second too late, she noticed his latest girlfriend Sheetal dangling on his arm. Clearly, they were out on a date. And clearly, he had no qualms in being seen in public with her.
And now she had probably given him the impression that she cared.
Great.
"We just came out for dinner," NK said, without an ounce of remorse.
Why would he have felt remorseful anyway? Khushi was only his personal assistant whom he had once secretly dated and then, understandably, conveniently gotten bored of.
Khushi hummed in response, feeling his share of awkwardness, together with her own.
"And who's this?" he asked, noticing the bartender standing next to Khushi.
Just an irritating bartender who has been lecturing your pathetic ex-fling on sadness, Khushi thought.
"Hi, I'm Arnav," the bartender said, inching closer to Khushi for some reason as he did so.
"Arnav?" NK echoed.
Khushi stared at NK, trying to decipher the expressions clouding his face. He looked surprised, but also ever so slightly annoyed and disappointed. After five years of being around him at close quarters, it was not that difficult to surmise that he was under the impression that she was dating the bartender.
Why on earth should that bother him anyway? He had told her, in no uncertain terms, that he really liked her, but he did not feel the 'spark' with her - it was the very spark he had then gone on to find in Sheetal, apparently.
Khushi was about to correct him, but something in the way Sheetal was looking at her, as though she were a piece of dirt, made her change her mind.
So she took a page out of confident Khushi's book and smiled cryptically instead, choosing to let him wonder.
She averted her eyes to the bartender, Arnav, noticing for the first time that he was quite handsome. Handsome enough , perhaps, to make NK feel insecure and give him a taste of his own medicine. Perfect.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said to NK, with an air of finality, but with her voice shaking nevertheless.
It was the cue for Sheetal to drag him away, in her trademark clingy fashion. She noted with some amount of satisfaction that even as he moved away, NK's eyes were fixed on her and the person he assumed to be her date.
Her little moment of triumph was short-lived though.
Her smile soon faded away as she realised that she was unable to stomach the idea of NK being even slightly disturbed on her account. She felt like a horrible person now. She would rather he continue to think of her as the nerdy, spark-less PA with an extraordinary talent for blending with the wallpaper wherever she went.
She decided that she would correct NK's misunderstanding as soon as she met him next at the office.
"So what's the deal?" a voice said to her right.
The annoying bartender. Again.
"What deal?" she asked, sounding exhausted.
"You like him, don't you?"
Love, more like. The thought occurred to her like a languishing sigh.
But aloud she only retorted, "What's your problem?"
"Nothing. It's just that I have figured out what your problem is."
"Oh yeah?"
"You think you can escape your problems by pretending to be someone you're not. But the problems end up catching up with you anyway, don't they?"
"You don't even know me," she said, rolling her eyes.
He simply shrugged.
"Look," she said, forcing herself to be calm, "I don't mean to be rude, but leave me alone, okay?"
"I think I can help you."
She squinted at him through her thick spectacles, trying to read in his eyes an indication of what he actually wanted. Nobody only wanted to help anyone. Everyone had their ulterior motives.
All she saw etched on his face was something resembling concern.
Clearly, she was still that idiot who thought the best of everyone and gave them free reign to trample her feelings.
"What's your name?" she asked, suddenly realising that she had forgotten it.
"Arnav."
"Arnav, thank you, but you cannot help me."
There. She had been firm. Unforgiving.
She was learning.
"I'll be around," his voice came from behind her as she walked away resolutely. She did not bother to answer.
Tears had begun to roll down her cheeks, as the image of NK and Sheetal flashed in her mind, and remnants of her facade of strength and confidence crumbled away.
...
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