Note: This is a sequel to I Am Just Talking About Tonight. Tho' this can also be read independently, it doesn't hurt to know what had happened in the previous instalment. ;)
* * * * *
Mohit's mind gradually woke up to the dull buzz of traffic from the highway running nearly a kilometre beyond the house.
He smiled in the afterglow of last night's events, eyes still closed. The warm sun-rays of early afternoon illuminated his gorgeous face and highlighted his messy, chestnut-brown hair.
* * * * *
Mohit's mind gradually woke up to the dull buzz of traffic from the highway running nearly a kilometre beyond the house.
He smiled in the afterglow of last night's events, eyes still closed. The warm sun-rays of early afternoon illuminated his gorgeous face and highlighted his messy, chestnut-brown hair.
"Ow!" he groaned, as he tried to move.
He had slept weirdly: lying on his right side, with his left hand under the right side of his face. Not only was his arm numb, but, his wristwatch had etched into his cheek. He recalled how she had not wanted him to remove the watch during their lovemaking session.
Some fantasy! He thought to himself.
His entire body was aching from sleeping too much. Slowly, he turned around to greet her.
Her side of the bed was empty. He got up quickly, groaning again as his body objected against sudden movements, curious where the crazy girl might be. He slipped into his jeans and knocked on the bathroom door.
What was her name, again?
"Misty?" he knocked, calling out her name softly.
When he got no response even after three calls, he cautiously turned the doorknob. It opened with a soft click. There was nobody inside.
He walked up to and felt her side of the bed. Cold. Like it had not been slept in for a while. He gripped the messed up sheets in chagrin.
* * * * *
"I'll call you later, Ma. My phone's dy-" Mohit said to his mother while driving on the suburban road.
"Aaaargh!" he growled, "Stupid battery!" he cursed his phone that he not charged the previous night.
Mohit had been particularly grumpy last evening and had left home to be alone for a while. Driving to his favorite spot near a shallow river that ran south of the city, he had spent the entire night out. It was early morning now and he was driving back home, his mother had only gotten more and more hysterical over the night, as his phone was unreachable.
He slowed down as he entered a posh locality of the town that was nearly one hour away from the main city. He turned off the engine before the very first house in order to find a phone to call up his mother and calm her down.
It was large and pretty house, pure white exteriors with fresh evergreen creepers weaving their way through the foliage in the garden amidst the colorful winter flowers. He rang the doorbell, tugging and pressing the front of his white shirt and smoothing his hair to make himself presentable.
"Yes?" asked the girl who had opened the door.
"Hi! I need some help. My phone battery died," started Mohit, as he took out his phone and showed it to her, "And, I don't have a char-"
"Oh, my God! MOHIT!" the girl cut in, squealing, delighted.
"Uh, yeah. Hi!" Mohit smiled at her.
She seemed to be a teenager. Or, not. Mohit had never been good at guesstimating someone's age by their looks. She had short jet-black hair with contrasting purple streaks, a few freckles on her nose and almond-shaped black eyes.
"I'm a huge fan! Please come inside!" she nearly screamed, dragging him inside by his arm.
The interiors were tastefully decorated: the floor was lined with dark mahogany wood, the wall directly opposite to the door, textured in purple and golden had a door to at its extreme right end. The furniture was all in beige and different shades of purple. A huge tv was hung on the right light beige wall. A door stood in the middle of the left wall that lead to the inner rooms.
"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I can't believe it!" she squealed again, as they stood in the living room, almost jumping up and down in excitement, his hand still clutched tightly in hers. He gently retrieved it from her grasp.
Mohit felt a little embarrassed. Although he had been a successful model for more than a year now and such incidents were a part of his life, he still felt incompetent to cope up.
"Who is it, Sarah?" a female voice floated through the left door.
He wished this new girl were someone more sensible and did not know him.
Sarah was oblivious to the fact that someone had just asked her something. She was content with staring at Mohit without so much as blinking.
Mohit looked around, opening and closing his mouth several times, unable to figure out what exactly to say.
"I just need to make-" he began, uncertainly.
"I asked you something, STUPID!" the owner of the voice suddenly exclaimed, entering the living room.
"You won't believe who's here!" Sarah squealed, yet again, clapping her hands happily, bounding towards the new girl.
Mohit could not believe his eyes, or, his fate. Standing right there, under the same roof was the girl he had been looking for, for a whole month now- Misty.
He mentally thanked God for not fulfilling the wish he had made moments ago.
She looked different, somehow. More beautiful than before, if that were even possible, since he had found her to be the cutest girl he had ever come across.
"I..." he started, automatically, "My battery had died and my... I don't have a charger. I... My mom was on phone, she must be worried. My... I have to call her." Mohit stuttered, walking towards her, as if in a daze.
"You want a phone? What a coincidence! I have a phone!!! I'll get you a phone!" Sarah cried happily, as though she could not believe that she was so lucky as to have a phone for Mohit and ran off to her room.
Misty had frozen where she stood, not taking her eyes off him, her face pleasantly surprised.
"How are you?" he whispered, standing directly before her, "You look better. Not the way you look, I mean. No, that too. I mean-" Mohit shook his head, trying to clear his mind.
That made Misty laugh.
Her laughter too had a different ring to it, somehow.
"I am good. How are you?" she asked.
Mohit was apparently shocked that she had replied at all.
"I am good." he smiled, finally finding the controls of his brain "Better, now." he added. "And, I meant that you looked unwell back then. I mean, you were ill, right? You seem better now. And, yes. More beautiful."
Misty blushed,
"Take a seat. I'll see what's taking Sarah so long."
"Sarah," she hurried into the room that Sarah had gone into.
Mohit stood rooted to the spot, waiting for her to return, looking down at the floor, contemplating his next move.
"Stupid girl! Got busy with her boyfriend on phone and forgot all about you!" Misty rolled her eyes, "Here. Take my phone and call your mom."
Mohit took the phone from her outstretched hand. The faintest of his touch gave her goosebumps. Her skin was soft and warm, not feverish like that night. He suddenly felt fuzzy inside.
"Thanks." he mumbled as he quickly dialed his mother's number.
"No! Stay!" Mohit almost shouted as Misty had turned to leave the room to give him privacy.
She looked at him questioningly, puzzled by his reaction.
"I mean, it'll only take a minute." he muttered, feeling silly.
True to his words, Mohit took only a minute to calm down his mother and explain that he was fine and was on his way home.
"Thank you." he said again, returning her phone.
Misty picked it up gingerly, trying to avoid any unnecessary contact.
"Why did you leave?" he asked.
This question had been eating up his inner peace since that Christmas night. She had not seemed like that kind of a girl.
"No, I didn't. I'm right here, ain't I?" she gave the answer in the present context, knowing fully well what he had meant, though.
"You know what I mean." he asserted, knowing that she knew his implication.
"Heyyyyyyyyyy!" Sarah came bursting into the room. "I am SO sorry! It was my boyfriend and I had to talk to him and-"
"That's okay! I got what I wanted." Mohit cut her off, a bit harshly.
"Um, okay." Sarah replied, crestfallen.
He looked at Misty and saw no sign of any emotion or any intention of answering him. Besides, he did not think it wise to broach the subject before Sarah.
"Thanks, again." he said, emotionlessly, and left through the main door.
"Arrogant celeb!" Sarah hmph-ed before retreating into her room.
Misty walked to the window that looked out onto the garden, watching Mohit get into his car. She conjectured there was something wrong when Mohit had not driven off within the next thirty seconds. She saw him hit the steering wheel and then rub his head with his hand in apparent anger and frustration.
"What's wrong?" she asked, when Mohit had gotten out of his car after she knocked on his door.
"No idea! Just won't start." he kicked the tire of his black sedan.
"Volkswagen? You know my brother has the same car and he has had the same problem once or twice. It's probably low on mobil. The warning sign doesn't work, sometimes. We can always check." she informed.
It was the first time Mohit had heard her utter such a long sentence. And, it was the first time he had ever heard a girl utter such a long and intelligible sentence about a car.
"What?" she asked, her left eyebrow raised.
"Nothing... I am just amazed you know about cars." he shrugged and she gave him a dirty look.
"Chauvinist prick!" she muttered, irritated.
"Wouldn't you be surprised if I knew in detail, about, say, Chanel or Maybelline or curling irons?" he smirked.
Misty pursed her lips, analyzing his argument.
"Probably." she smiled, "But, shut up and follow me. And, don't argue with me if you want your car to work." she grinned.
He made a gesture of zipping up his mouth and throwing away the key, smiling.
They entered the huge garage where three, no, four sleek cars stood.
"How many people live here?" Mohit asked, surprised.
"Just Sarah and I. Why?" she questioned from the far end of the room, the shelves on the wall holding numerous cans and bottles.
"FOUR cars for two people?"
"Oh! Two are mine, one is Sarah's and one is my brother's. He keeps one here, not sure why."
"Okay!"
"What is your problem? You have FOUR for personal use!" she commented.
"I like cars!" he exclaimed, defensive.
"Yeah? Well, me too." she stuck out her tongue at him, handing him a can of mobil oil.
"I thought you had left!"
It was Sarah who had entered the garage from the inside door.
"Something wrong with my car." he told her, waving the can slowly at her.
"Oh." Sarah stood there, gazing at him, showing no intention of leaving.
"Stop ogling him, for God's sake! You have a boyfriend!" Misty chided her, "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"
"God! As if Mohit is YOUR boyfriend!" Sarah said acidly, "You're such bitch, at times!" she spat before leaving in her car.
Mohit and Misty remained silent for the next ten minutes as they checked and poured the requisite amount of oil in his car.
"So, it really was low on mobil, eh?" Mohit said, to break the uncomfortable silence.
Misty just smiled in reply. He could figure out it wasn't an authentic one.
"I was thinking about what Sarah said." Mohit quietly said, when they both were done washing their hands.
"Oh, don't bother! She calls me a bitch all the time." Misty laughed.
"No... I meant... What she said about me." he said, hesitant.
"You? I don't think she said anything about you." she dried her hands with a towel and turned to walk out.
Mohit caught her by the arm.
"Enough with the evasive replies." his eyes were stern, voice outright serious. "Why did you leave me that morning?"
"Because I had no reason to stay." she answered, pulling away her arm from his grip.
The words stung Mohit.
"And, as for what Sarah said right now. You know you are not my boyfriend." she continued to rent his heart.
"And, you don't want me to be?" he asked.
"No." was her direct answer.
"Why?"
"Because I have no reason to be with you. Or, anyone, for that matter. I am done being in relationships. I am done dealing with all the related crap."
Mohit nodded, his heart thudding with this tangible rejection, certain that he could not stay another moment there.
"Thanks. For everything. I'll leave now." he gave a huge, fake smile and left, not looking back at her or the house, even once.
