Nidhi leapt up from the bed at the sight of him, and a happy look crossed over her face.
‘Is it true, Nidhi?’ he said, shaking her roughly by the shoulders. ‘Your father told me what you said . . . Is it true?! Is that really how you feel about me?’
Guilt flickered in her treacherous green eyes and she whispered, ‘Yes.’
Vikram let go of her abruptly, as though touching her had scalded him. His eyes filled with hatred. ‘I never want to see you again.’
Nidhi’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Why are you saying that, Viks? Is it because of the . . . what happened between us?’
‘That stupid kiss? Please. It meant nothing to me!’ Vikram spat out.
She looked stung, but Vikram wanted to hurt her as much as she had hurt him, so he added untruthfully, ‘I’ve kissed dozens of girls and they’re all better kissers than you!’
Tears welled up in Nidhi’s eyes and she reached for him, but Vikram took a firm step back, speaking in a scathing tone, ‘You’re nothing but a stupid tomboy and I hate you!’
Even as tears streamed down her cheeks, Nidhi raised her chin and replied in a ragged but calm voice, ‘Okay.’
Vikram stormed out of her room, slamming the door so hard that it shook on its hinges.
Now, lying in his grandmother’s garden twelve years later, even as alcohol streamed through his blood and potentially clouded his judgment, Vikram knew that Nidhi had not wronged him. And the conviction in that unfounded instinct shook him to his very core.
Nidhi was the same girl who had knocked on his door relentlessly for one month, forcing him to come out of his house, and his shell. She was the same girl whose loyalty had compelled her to publically beat up a boy for calling Vikram an ‘orphan’. And she was the same girl who, even as Vikram spewed his venom on her and told her that he hated her, stubbornly refused to reciprocate the sentiment.
Vikram had known it twelve years ago when he stood in her father’s study, defending her. And he knew it now.
Nidhi was incapable of hatred.
For some reason, Vikram found pride and comfort in that. Because it gave him hope that all was not lost between them.
Nidhi pressed her fingertips to her temples in a futile attempt to postpone the inevitable headache. Dibakar was making her go over the itinerary and menu for the next day’s event. For the fourth time.
Admittedly, the event was a big deal. Twenty of the city’s biggest CEOs had been invited for a formal meet-and-greet with Vikram. The idea was to encourage corporates to donate to EducateIndia by generating interest in the cause. Vikram had promised to set up the CEOs with an inspirational speech, following which Dibakar would swoop in to pocket the moolah. The News Today team was banking on the event to raise seed capital for the project.
However, the eight-course meal seemed a bit excessive to Nidhi. So did the five types of wine. But since she just could not bear to hear another one of Dibakar’s gems—‘spend small to gain small, spend big to gain big’—she nodded along to whatever he said.
‘Please make sure you practise the speech with Vikram before the event,’ Dibakar said.
‘The fact that I’ve written the entire thing isn’t enough?’ Nidhi asked, trying to hide her annoyance.
‘Delivery is everything, Nidhi,’ Dibakar reminded her.
‘His delivery is fine. In fact, his post-match interviews are usually pretty good. At least when he’s not abusing the journalists,’ Nidhi snorted.
Dibakar gave her a patient smile. ‘Will you please go over the speech with him?’
Nidhi knew it wasn’t a question. She nodded and headed back to her workstation.
So far, Nidhi had done a great job of avoiding Vikram. She hadn’t seen him since the last event and didn’t intend to see him until the next one. But Dibakar’s diktat provided a slight challenge. Maybe she could rehearse the speech with Vikram over the phone.
She called him but he didn’t answer. She sighed, assuming it was childish retaliation on his part, but he called back almost immediately.
‘Hello, Vikram,’ she said formally.
‘Sorry I missed your call. I was in the shower.’
Thanks for putting that visual in my head.
‘No problem,’ she replied, trying not to think about steaming hot water sluicing his bare chest. ‘I was wondering if we could practise tomorrow’s speech.’
‘You don’t think I can give a five-minute speech without screwing up?’ he asked.
‘No, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m sure you’ll do a great job. I just thought it would—’
‘I’m kidding, Nidhi! Of course, we can “practise”,’ he said, and she could almost visualize the smirk on his face.
‘Can we do it now?’ she asked.
‘Over the phone?’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘In person.’
‘But it will only take—’
‘In person,’ he repeated firmly. ‘Or not at all.’
‘Fine,’ she relented with a sigh. ‘Are you free this evening?’
‘Actually, I’m meeting a friend for drinks tonight but I can see you after that. I’ll even leave the gate open so you don’t have to climb over it.’
Nidhi gasped. ‘You’ve been spying on me!’
‘Why don’t you just walk in like a normal person instead of climbing over the gate?’ he asked.
‘None of your business!’ she snapped.
‘Don’t tell me you have a curfew,’ he teased.
She kept silent.
‘At this age?’ he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. ‘Wow.’
‘Some of us still care about what people think,’ she retorted.
‘You don’t care about what people think, you only care about what Balli the Bully thinks,’ Vikram said.
Nidhi burst out laughing. ‘What did you just call Papa?’
‘Dadi and I used to call him that.’ Vikram chuckled.
‘You’ve never told me that before,’ she said.
‘There’s a lot I haven’t told you, Nidhi,’ he replied, and Nidhi could have sworn there was a catch in his voice. ‘Will I see you tonight?’
‘Can we just do it over the phone, please?’
‘Absolutely not,’ he said. ‘If you can’t make it tonight, come over tomorrow and we’ll leave for the event together.’
‘But the event is in Gurgaon and I was planning to go directly from work. Home is in the opposite direction,’ Nidhi complained.
‘Tonight or tomorrow. Your choice.’
‘Tomorrow,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘I’ll see you around four.’
Vikram stared at his best friend in utter disbelief.
Shrewd businessman, e-commerce tycoon, raiser of a billion dollars, Rohan Singhal was absolutely, completely, hopelessly in love.
‘What should I do?’ Rohan groaned, burying his hands in his hair.
Vikram continued to gape at his friend.
‘Say something, Walia!’ Rohan snapped.
Vikram cleared his throat. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Nitisha Khanna,’ Rohan rasped, sliding off his glasses and covering his face with his hands.
‘What’s she like?’ Vikram asked, for the sake of asking something.
‘She’s perfect, man. She’s beautiful and funny and smart and fucking awesome,’ Rohan said, a pained expression on his face.
‘So what’s the problem?’ Vikram asked.
Rohan chugged his vodka and gave his friend an irritated look. ‘The problem is that I’m not a bloody cricketer. Or a goddamn movie star. Didn’t you hear a word of what I just said, Walia? She’s perfect!’
‘Just ask her to dinner,’ Vikram said, like that was the most obvious solution.
Rohan poured himself another drink and expelled a frustrated breath. ‘Is that how it started with Natasha Sahay? Dinner?’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve been reading that trash, Singhal! Natasha and I are just friends.’
/>
‘So what was the deal with Shaan Kapoor?’
‘He was being an asshole. Said some shit, shoved her against a wall.’ Vikram ground his teeth, his temper rising just thinking about it.
‘That’s fucked up, man. The newspapers made it sound like such a love triangle,’ Rohan said, his attention momentarily diverted from his own love-struck heart.
‘Total bullshit,’ Vikram assured him.
Rohan nodded. ‘So what’s going on?’
This was typical of Rohan. To ask a generic, open-ended question that Vikram could choose to interpret the way he wanted. However, these days, there was only one thing on Vikram’s mind.
‘Nidhi.’
Now it was Rohan’s turn to be shocked. ‘The high-school girlfriend?’
Vikram nodded, then felt compelled to correct Rohan. ‘She was never my girlfriend.’
‘I know.’
Rohan was the only one who knew about Nidhi. He had been Vikram’s roommate at the Mumbai Cricket Academy for a year before he moved back to Delhi. Cricket, Rohan had realized after a bouncer broke his nose, wasn’t something he wanted to pursue as a career. But the two boys had built a strong friendship in that short duration and ended up staying in touch.
‘She’s the brand manager on the News Today campaign.’
Rohan raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s a crazy coincidence, dude.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Vikram muttered, then filled Rohan in on the details of the week gone by.
Rohan shook his head incredulously. ‘So we’re both screwed.’
‘Royally.’ Vikram nodded, refilling their glasses.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, attempting—unsuccessfully—to drown their troubles, until Vikram brought up his original concern. ‘You’ve only met this Nitisha girl twice?’
‘Yes.’
‘Twice,’ Vikram repeated in disbelief.
‘Some of us don’t need to know a girl for half our lives before realizing she’s the one,’ Rohan said pointedly.
Vikram snapped his gaze to Rohan’s. ‘Fuck you, Singhal.’
Rohan laughed and clinked his glass with Vikram’s.
The following day, when Nidhi strode into Vikram’s living room dressed in an emerald sheath dress, a slim gold belt around her waist and four-inch-high nude peep-toes, she found him watching a cricket match on his laptop. His back was towards her and he was sitting on the sofa, intently studying a visual of . . . himself.
Narcissist.
Nidhi walked around the sofa and was amazed to see that the expression on his face wasn’t an I’m-so-bloody-awesome grin, but a concerned frown.
‘Hi,’ she said.
He paused the screen before turning to her. His lazy gaze roamed over her curves and his face broke into a slow, admiring smile. ‘Wow.’
Nidhi flushed at the compliment, then looked at him in surprise. ‘You wear glasses?’
Vikram took off the glasses in question with a self-conscious smile. ‘Sometimes.’
‘What are you doing?’ Nidhi asked, gesturing to the laptop.
‘I’ve been struggling against Dale Steyn,’ he said, referring to South Africa’s most formidable fast bowler. ‘So I was studying some old footage.’
‘Oh.’
‘What did you think I was doing?’ he asked.
‘Admiring yourself,’ she admitted sheepishly.
‘Every time we meet, I think it’s impossible for me to sink further in your estimation. And every time you prove me wrong.’ He grinned, standing up.
Nidhi watched him slip into his black blazer jacket, admiring how it rested perfectly on his endless shoulders. His hair was brushed up in an elegant fashion, a light stubble coated his jaw, and he looked every bit the glamorous model on the Raymond billboard Nidhi had passed on her way to work that morning.
‘The complete man’, indeed.
‘Ready?’ Vikram asked.
Nidhi blinked. ‘For?’
‘The speech,’ he said.
‘The speech. Right. Yes,’ she said stupidly.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes. Let’s go over the speech.’
A couple of hours later, Vikram went on stage and delivered his speech with the flair and confidence of a professional orator. Nidhi was nodding along in satisfaction until he neared the end. He paused for a long moment and glanced down at his cheat sheet. Nidhi held her breath, sure that he had forgotten his closing. She was about to signal to the emcee to take over, when Vikram finally spoke: ‘Many of you may not know this, but when I was eight years old, I lost my parents in a car accident.’
Nidhi looked at him in shock.
That wasn’t a part of the original speech.
‘I moved to a new city where I didn’t know anyone. I lost interest in school, in cricket, in everything, really. But I was lucky to have a friend who didn’t give up on me. A friend who cared about me, supported me, basically badgered the hell out of me till I came around.’ He grinned, and polite laughter rang through the audience. ‘And I think that’s the kind of unrelenting commitment we all need towards this cause. Because there are thousands of kids out there who need the same kind of support and nurturing and . . .’ he paused, searching for the right word. He looked straight at Nidhi and added, ‘. . . love.’
Nidhi stopped breathing.
Vikram returned his attention to the audience. ‘Let’s take care of these kids; let’s educate these kids. Let’s educate India.’
He walked off the stage to a deafening applause.
Vikram slid into the chair between Nidhi and Monty, bored of mingling. For the last two hours, Dibakar had paraded him around the room like a show pony, and with uncharacteristic patience, Vikram had smiled, shaken hands and taken selfies with twenty CEOs, their spouses and children.
Nidhi introduced him to the rest of the people at the table. ‘This is Anusha, she’s a summer intern,’ she said, gesturing to a young girl who was staring at him with worshipful eyes. ‘And you already know Sam, Khalid and Anoop.’
Vikram opened his mouth, but Monty pre-empted his request and handed him a glass of sparkling wine.
Vikram opened his mouth again, but Monty shook his head. ‘No whisky, only wine.’
Vikram turned to the very amused News Today team watching the exchange and gave them a sheepish grin. ‘I’m a bit spoilt.’
‘You’re also really behind, man,’ Anoop said, raising his glass.
‘Yes.’ Nidhi giggled. ‘Really behind.’
Vikram turned to her in surprise. ‘How much have you had to drink?’
‘Three glasses of wine,’ she said in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘But shhh, I don’t want anyone to find out.’
Vikram frowned. ‘Have you eaten anything?’
‘Four brownies,’ she admitted with a smile so endearing that Vikram had to suppress the impulse to pull her into his arms and kiss it off her face.
He nudged a platter of hors d’oeuvres towards her. ‘You should eat something else.’
‘What’s Natasha Sahay like in real life?’ Anusha, the intern, asked abruptly, looking star-struck.
‘She’s amazing,’ Vikram said with a warm smile.
‘And she has great taste in men.’ Anusha blushed, giving Vikram an appreciative smile.
Vikram gritted his teeth, thinking of Shaan Kapoor. ‘That’s subjective,’ he said evasively.
‘So modest, Vikram.’ Nidhi giggled. ‘I think you guys look adorable together!’
Irritated by her compliment, Vikram started to clarify, ‘We’re not—’
‘Not happy about living in diffrunt cities!’ Monty interrupted, giving Vikram a warning look.
Vikram’s expression turned glacial, but he remained silent.
‘Was the incident about the twin brothers in England true?’ Anusha asked Vikram.
‘What incident?’ Nidhi asked.
‘It was exaggerated, just like every other thing the media reports,’ Vikram muttered.
Anusha looked at him with unhidden adoration. ‘I heard it on the radio and I thought it was the sweetest—’
‘How long is your internship?’ Vikram asked, attempting to change the subject.
‘What incident?’ Nidhi repeated.
‘These twelve-year-old twins had waited weeks for the India–England match at Lord’s. They spotted Vikram outside his hotel room and gathered the courage to ask him for an autograph,’ Anusha said passionately, enunciating every other word and ignoring Vikram’s frown. ‘Vikram was dog-tired after the match—’
‘I wasn’t that tired,’ Vikram mumbled.
‘. . . with his hands full of his cricket gear, but he promised the kids that he would drop his stuff at his hotel room and come back. Then he climbed up five flights of stairs—’
‘I took the elevator.’ Vikram sighed.
‘. . . and when he came back he found the brothers standing in the same spot, their shoulders slumped in sorrow, their spirits defeated—’
‘It really wasn’t that dramatic,’ Vikram groaned.
‘. . . and Vikram asked them, “Don’t you want my autograph?” The brothers were absolutely ecstatic! They wrote a blog about it titled “Vikram Walia: A Man of His Word” and a radio station picked it up and—’
‘Okay, okay, I think we’ve heard enough,’ Vikram interrupted, feeling extremely embarrassed by the unnecessary over-dramatization of a simple event.
It wasn’t that Vikram was unaccustomed to female adulation. It wasn’t even that the strange combination of reverence and lust in Anusha’s eyes was making him shift uncomfortably in his chair—although it was, a little bit. It was the way Nidhi was watching him, with a flicker of admiration in her eyes that took his breath away.
Anusha gave another dreamy sigh. ‘And what about the episode with the old couple? Did you really—’
‘Let’s get you a drink,’ Sam said, winking at Vikram as he whisked Anusha away from the table, ignoring her squeals of protest.
Vikram exhaled in relief and absently reached for an appetizer on the platter in front of him. Nidhi slapped his hand away.
‘Hey!’ he complained. ‘What the hell?’
‘That’s shrimp,’ she explained. ‘You’re allergic.’
A look of pleasant surprise crossed his face. ‘You remember?’
Man of Her Match Page 10