by Nikita Singh
‘Ah, love this song!’ he exclaimed as ‘Ek Ajnabee Haseena Se’ started playing.
‘Mmm.’ Laila nodded politely and returned to her iPad.
‘You know what—that was real romance. Brave. Fearless. Boy likes girl and just goes for it. No talking. No weighing options, calculating, trying to fit people into this mathematical equation you’ve made up in your head. They let people be and loved them for who they were.’
‘Yes, Kishore Kumar was very romantic and wise.’
‘You don’t talk much, do you?’ the dude asked, forcing huge forkfuls of green leaves into his mouth. He cut up a piece of chicken and looked up at Laila. ‘This stupid diet. My friend is making me do the greens and protein thing. He’s trying to bulk me up for the ladies.’ He snorted.
Despite her better judgment, Laila asked, ‘What’s so funny?’
‘I’m never going to bulk up! I have the best metabolism you’ll ever see. I work a lot now so don’t get time to eat that much, but even when I had nothing else to do in life and ate professionally—nah. I never gain weight.’
Not wanting to comment on this stranger’s body, or talk about her own to extend the conversation, Laila smiled and turned to her iPad once again.
‘You’re very pretty.’ He said it as an observation, as if it just occurred to him. It was so unexpected that all Laila could do was look up at him and stare. He chuckled and said, ‘Not trying to hit on you or anything. Although … why not? I’m single and you’re stunning and clearly smart I can tell. Are you single?’
‘That doesn’t concern you.’
‘It does, actually. I just told you—I think you’re really—’
‘Dude, stop,’ Laila said, not trying to be polite anymore. ‘Not interested.’
She checked the time, JD would be arriving any moment now. As if reading her mind, the man said, ‘Hoping for your friend to rescue you?’
‘He’ll be here any second. If you’re done eating, would you mind giving me the chair back?’
‘Sure,’ he said. He looked a little upset by her blunt rejection. His face looked like that of a small child denied candy. For his boisterous, uninhibited behaviour, he seemed to be a decent person inside. ‘Didn’t mean to bother you or make you uncomfortable or anything. I should really put a filter on and stop saying everything I think.’
Laila watched as he picked up his empty box of salad and downed the cold-pressed juice. She felt bad about her behaviour and said, ‘It’s okay. You didn’t make me uncomfortable, I guess.’
A slow smile spread across his face followed by a wink. ‘Works every time.’
Laila narrowed her eyes.
‘Here. Take my orange.’
‘What?’ Laila asked, staring at the fresh, whole orange inches from her face, wondering if this was some kind of a joke.
‘I like you. I’m giving you my orange.’
Laila kept staring.
‘It’s not poisoned or anything! Come on, take it. Think of it … as a rose. Only, it’s less like a rose and more like an orange. You can eat it and get nourishment instead of going to the trouble of finding a vase, filling it with water and then throwing away the depressing, dead flower a week later.’
Laila burst out laughing and he joined her. She held on to the orange but didn’t take it, ‘Only if you promise to leave right after.’
‘I do.’
Laila took the stupid orange from him, shaking her head at his ‘I do’ wordplay.
He winked again, his curly hair bouncing happily as he got up. After giving Laila a goodbye salute, he walked a few steps away and looked around as if searching for something or someone. He pulled out his phone and dialled someone. ‘Hello! Maahi? I’m here. Are you on your way?’
7
ORANGE
Laila gaped at the man in front of her, wondering how she hadn’t seen it coming. But it had been her fault for making stereotypical assumptions. She had expected the head of marketing of a giant coffee shop chain named JD to be a middle-aged, suit-wearing, potentially bald or balding man with glasses. His name would mostly likely have been Jaideep Singhania or something. She’d clearly watched too many movies.
She cleared her throat, prepared to call out to the tall, lean man who was unable to put on weight no matter how hard his friend tried to mess with his diet. Before she could, however, he turned towards her, a rebellious curl falling over his forehead.
‘Are you …’ he began unsurely, taking a step towards her, ‘from Cookies + Cupcakes?’
Laila got up and breathed, ‘Yes.’
‘You’re not Maahi.’
‘Astute of you to notice.’
The dude, now revealed as JD, laughed. ‘Sorry—I was expecting Maahi.’
‘And I was expecting…’
‘Go ahead, finish that sentence. I dare you!’
Laila’s eyes widened. The last thing she wanted was to offend him. She searched her head for an appropriate response, taking in the mustard and black plaid shirt he wore over a grey T-shirt. Maybe she could comment on his clothes? Or say that he looked so young—people always seemed to like being called young. In the end, hot with embarrassment, she said, ‘You’re not wearing a suit.’
‘Astute of you to notice,’ JD said, using her line from before. ‘You aren’t either.’
‘I was stereotyping. Sorry!’
‘It’s all right.’ JD looked down at the chair he had been occupying moments ago. ‘I guess that’s my chair after all.’
Laila sat down and JD followed. They both looked at each other, as if revaluating their positions and calibrating their behaviour for a business meeting, not a fateful boy-girl meet-cute at a coffee shop. He was no longer the annoying, exuberant stranger who had borrowed a seat from her for fifteen minutes and had insisted on giving her his orange. Her eyes went to the orange.
JD’s eyes followed hers, and he broke down into helpless laughter. After studying him uncertainly for a brief moment, Laila joined him. People were starting to turn and stare. They must have looked like idiots, laughing uncontrollably for no apparent reason. After they managed to get their behaviour under control, Laila offered JD her hand.
‘Hi, I’m Laila Kapoor.’
‘Hello, Laila. I’m JD.’ He shook her hand. His was firm and warm and for some reason, Laila felt that warmth travel all the way up to her cheeks.
‘JD?’ Laila raised her eyebrow.
‘Jayesh Diwakar.’
Laila tried not to laugh, but Jayesh Diwakar noticed her struggle.
‘My friends used to call me Jay, which sounded exactly like the letter J. So then, they thought it was too short and indistinctive, and decided to use my initials instead.’
‘Jayesh Diwakar wasn’t distinctive enough?’
‘It’s a bit long,’ he said sourly. ‘So you’re a bully then? Not just to strange men who hijack seats, but also to people you’re meeting for possible business liaisons?’
‘Every chance I get basically.’
JD nodded intelligently. ‘You must’ve been a terror in school.’
‘Nah, I didn’t bully teenagers. Just grown men.’
‘Got it.’
‘Grown men who give me their oranges,’ Laila said. ‘And have names like Jayesh Diwakar but call themselves JD to sound cool.’
‘Says the girl named Laila! Are you serious?’
‘Are you going to make a Laila-Majnu joke, because, you know, can you not?’
‘How many of those do you get on an average?’ JD grinned, which made his face look much younger.
‘Two out of every three new people I meet. “Laila, as in Laila-Majnu?” and “Where’s Majnu?” are staples. I also get “I could be your Majnu” occasionally.’
‘Your name does provide a great pick-up line opportunity. I don’t blame the guys,’ JD said. He looked down for a second, and looked back up with what he probably thought was a flirtatious smile. ‘Let me be your Majnu, Laila.’ He finished with a wink and a click of his tongue.
‘Aw, come on! Don’t tell me that didn’t work!’
‘Not even a little bit,’ Laila said firmly, but a small smile managed to escape her lips.
‘Aha! See. You’re totally in love with me now,’ JD announced victoriously, clearly pleased with himself.
‘Yeah, totally. The “hasi toh phasi” logic?’
‘Bollywood has taught me right.’
Laila rolled her eyes. She unlocked her iPad again and placed it on the table between them. ‘Shall we?’
‘We shall,’ JD said. He pulled his laptop out of the backpack he’d dropped on the floor. He repositioned his chair so that they were now sitting at ninety degrees from each other instead of 180, and Laila bit back a personal space joke. JD’s demeanour had changed from cheerful and flirtatious to strictly professional and all-business. He adjusted his laptop screen so Laila could see.
‘I have a presentation for you. I would’ve called the meeting at our office, with the projector and everything, but I really wanted you to see this outlet.’
‘That’s all right. I thought this shop was very nicely done. Great concept.’ Laila nodded, looking around again. ‘Very connected to the root.’
‘That’s exactly our intention. My marketing team and I are working with the advertising and sales departments to change the way people look at Roast House. In India, modern has become synonymous with American. While that’s all fine, we’re also not focussing on a lot of the beautiful things we have in our country. Every single outlet of the big, international coffee chains has the exact same design. They’re basically recreating the same shop everywhere. It could be literally anywhere in the world; you can’t distinguish from the inside. Our intention is to make RH Indian. Our mood board is very medieval India, everything inspired by mahals—carvings, tapestries, fabrics, embroideries, crockery, furniture, lighting. While on the other hand, the products we offer are world class, so it’s a fun fusion. Which is what sets—’
‘—you apart from your competition.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And you’re planning to incorporate this model across the country?’ Laila asked.
‘That’s the plan. We tested it at three major locations and so far …’ JD looked around, waving both his hands to point out the bustling crowd surrounding them. ‘It’ll take us about a year to fully renovate—we’re doing it a few stores at a time so that we don’t shut down completely at any point.’
‘Yeah, that’s not a good idea.’
‘No kidding. I can’t even imagine what would happen if we were to shut down all twenty-three stores at once. We definitely wouldn’t be having this meeting.’
‘What do you mean?’ Laila said.
‘A part of this rebranding is enhancing what we have to offer—the whole experience. This includes adding new items on the menu. We’re primarily a coffee shop, so that remains our first priority. So even though we’re very interested in including baked goods, we’re looking to outsource it.’
‘Which is why you reached out to Maahi?’
‘Yes. We’ve been looking at bakeries in Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata and Chennai. Ideally, we’d select a few in each of these cities, and we’d sell their products in their respective regions.’
‘And how far along are you in that search?’ Laila asked. She’d come to this meeting thinking Roast House wanted Cookies + Cupcakes to sell their coffee in their bakeshops, which was something Maahi had mentioned recently. But this was a completely different ball game. She wasn’t sure C+C was ready for production at such a large scale yet, but if they could pull it off, it’d be huge for them—bigger than anything they had ever consciously planned, even though they usually dreamed big.
‘We have a long list. For the northern region, we’ve shortlisted twenty-seven bakeries in the Delhi-NCR region, taking multiple aspects into consideration.’
‘Including trying out their products?’
‘Of course! That’s the first thing we did!’ JD said, the boyish grin back. ‘I spent a month on a diet of cupcakes, croissants, cookies, pound cakes—every fattening baked food you can think of! Still no weight gain though,’ he added as an afterthought.
Laila laughed. ‘Our products are less fattening than cookies and cupcakes are expected to be. We use all organic ingredients, substitute with non-fat options wherever we can, and … provide moderation advice.’
‘Does the last one ever work?’
‘Not if we do our job right!’ Laila said smugly. ‘Moderation goes out of the window as soon as you bite into one of my cookies.’
‘I wish I could make fun of that somehow, but speaking from personal experience, you’re actually very right.’
‘Ha!’
‘I’m easily impressed when it comes to food though. What we need now is for you, by which I mean Cookies + Cupcakes, to impress my team,’ JD said more seriously. ‘We’re organizing a party at the CEO’s bungalow in Golf Links.’
‘Ooh, fancy.’
‘Overlooking India Gate—very fancy. The point is, we’re inviting everyone on the longlist to set up a table on his front lawn, showcasing their best stuff. All RH employees will be attending, along with a long list of VIP guests of the CEO and we’re having each of them pick the three tables they like the best. I don’t know what exact parameters everyone will be judging you on, but I’ll take a wild guess and say taste and quality. In fact, to ensure that we get unbiased opinions, we’re giving you numbers and keeping the names of your bakeries a secret.’
Laila nodded thoughtfully. ‘So it’s like a swayamwar.’
‘Not exactly …’ JD looked at Laila uncertainly.
‘I’m just kidding! But yeah, this sounds exciting! Count us in. When is this fancy party?’
‘This Friday.’
Laila’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re saying … this Friday. As in three days from now? Is this a joke?’
‘Look, I know it’s short notice, but we also need to see if you can deliver enough goods on short notice. If we end up signing with you, you’d need to increase your production several times over without increasing the production time too much.’
Laila thought for a moment. It was near impossible, but there was no other response. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’re in.’
‘Excellent. I’ll send over details—venue, head count, dietary restrictions and all that. Folks from RH stores will be helping you set up your counter and we’re assigning two per bakery. I’ll connect you with them on email and you can sort out the plan amongst yourselves?’
‘Sounds good.’
‘I guess that’s all then,’ JD said, packing up his laptop. He got up and turned to Laila, who also got up, shoving her iPad back into her bag. He stuck out his hand, ‘Pleasure meeting you.’
‘Same.’ Laila shook his hand. He wouldn’t let go.
‘I have to admit—I won’t be an impartial judge at the party.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t come then.’
‘Oh, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,’ JD said, his grin back. ‘Besides, my vote will help you.’
‘Meh. It’s one vote. It’ll get lost in the many, many others we get.’
‘Ouch. To think that after everything we’ve been through together, my vote is just that for you … one vote, like any other…’
‘Stop pouting,’ Laila said. ‘God, you’re dramatic.’
‘Don’t call me dramatic—these are my feelings and you’re hurting them. I even gave you my orange.’
Laila looked back at the table, where the sad little orange sat next to her empty coffee cup. She picked it up, trying and failing to stop the smile spreading across her face.
When she reached home, Laila lay down on the living room couch for a while, going over the game plan for the next few days. Collaborating with Roast House would be huge for them. She planned to call their investors and mentor first thing the next morning to discuss this opportunity. They were doing very well on their own locally, but when a national cha
in as big as RH added your products to their menu, things tended to blow up overnight. Their customer base would go from the few thousand who frequented Shahpur Jat and Hauz Khas Village to the lakhs of people who patronised RH outlets in northern India.
Of course, it was a very long shot. They were competing with twenty-six other bakeries and the competition was only three days away. She sat up, held her bag upside-down over the centre table and shook it. Finding a pen, a notepad and Post-its, she began writing down her ideas. The first thing they’d have to do was set a timeline. Once that was done, they could take each task at a time.
‘You’re here!’ came a voice from the door that flung open.
‘I’m aware. I live here.’
‘I’m aware,’ Maahi repeated. ‘But you never returned to the shop. I had to take the metro back.’
‘Oh.’ Laila looked up. ‘Right. Sorry—I forgot to tell you I was heading straight home.’
‘What’s all this?’ Maahi came closer and angled her head to try and see what Laila was writing.
‘Plans for the fancy party the Roast House CEO is throwing this Friday.’
Maahi looked exasperated. ‘Now you’re interested in Roast House? Why are all ideas bad when I suggest them, but one meeting with those guys and you’re suddenly in?’
‘He gave me his orange,’ Laila said quietly.
‘So what—? Wait. What?’ Maahi paused. ‘Who gave you his orange?’
‘JD.’
‘Is that some kind of new slang for virginity? Are we not calling it flower anymore?’
‘Ew, no! I didn’t take the dude’s virginity. He literally gave me his orange.’ Laila pointed towards it, lying on the table between the junk from her bag.
‘What’s so special about that orange? And why did he—’ Maahi stopped suddenly and sat down on the other side of the table, facing Laila. ‘Do you like him? He’s cute, isn’t he? I’ve never met him, but we follow each other on Instagram.’
‘He looks like someone who’d be secretly famous on Instagram.’
‘With the hair and all? Plus he’s so tall! Looks a little like Kunal Kapoor to be honest.’