Man of Her Match

by Sakshama Puri Dhariwal

  ‘Enough of what, Nidhi?’ he said in a silky voice.

  ‘I don’t want you to spend time in Delhi because of me,’ she evaded.

  ‘Why not?’ he snapped.

  Because you don’t love me. ‘Because I just don’t,’ she said vaguely.

  Vikram’s eyes burned into hers. ‘I want to be with you.’

  Nidhi’s heart slammed against her ribs.

  ‘I want you in my life, Nidhi,’ he said simply.

  ‘I don’t want you in mine.’

  He looked like she had slapped him.

  Nidhi turned away, trying to shield herself against the hurt in his eyes.

  ‘Why?’ Vikram asked, his tone carefully blank. When she said nothing, he added, ‘Is it because of your dad?’

  ‘No, this has nothing to do with him. It’s my decision.’

  ‘What made you arrive at this decision?’ he asked sarcastically. ‘And don’t tell me it’s because you don’t have feelings for me.’

  Nidhi lifted her chin but couldn’t look at him when she responded. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Really?’ he challenged in an icy tone. ‘If you’ll give me two minutes, I’ll prove you wrong.’

  Afraid that he would succeed if he tried, she placed a hand on his chest to keep some distance between them. Vikram’s large, calloused hand covered her dainty one and Nidhi stared at the vision, mesmerized against her will. Her heart soared at what their hands represented—trust and togetherness; loyalty and love.

  Vikram watched the emotions flit across her face and he lowered his mouth to hers. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, urging them to open. His hands reached around her midriff, seductively tracing her contours, inching up towards her breasts. Nidhi’s resolve began to weaken as she found herself relishing Vikram’s hands on her body. She was seized by a sudden desire to yield to him—to lean into his muscled chest, to wrap her legs around him, to have his mouth feast on her skin . . . Alarmed by the intensity of her own cravings, she fought against the magnetic lure of his mouth and the relentless thudding of his heart against hers.

  ‘Kiss me back,’ he whispered, his mouth curving up in a sexy smile. And when she still hesitated, he added huskily, ‘Please, Nidhi.’

  It was the soft plea in his voice that made her capitulate. She parted her lips, welcoming the sweet invasion of his tongue, whimpering helplessly against his mouth. She clenched his shirt between her fists, clinging to him as he possessed her mouth with a stormy passion that drove her wild. She arched her head back, and as he lowered his mouth to her neck, Nidhi saw the humour lurking in his eyes. ‘Oh no!’ he quipped dramatically. ‘We’re necking! Shouldn’t we use protection?’

  For some reason it was the joke—the reminder of their shared history, of their first kiss and the way it had ended—that made Nidhi pull away from him. ‘Stop,’ she said, and felt a stab of disappointment when he obeyed immediately. ‘We can’t do this,’ she said reluctantly.

  ‘Okay,’ he mumbled distractedly, already lowering his mouth to hers.

  Nidhi pushed him away and leapt off the bed.

  Vikram stood up and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I meant what I said, Vikram. I don’t want you around.’

  ‘Now that we’ve established it’s not because of your lack of feelings for me,’ he said with a smirk, ‘may I know the real reason?’

  Because you don’t love me! ‘Because there’s no future for us,’ she said.

  A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m not a supermodel, or a Bollywood actr—’

  ‘I don’t want a goddamn supermodel, Nidhi!’ he snapped. ‘I want you.’

  Her heart gave a little leap at his words, desperate to believe him. ‘I can’t compete with your girlfriends, Vikram,’ she reasoned. ‘I’m not some hot and glam—’

  ‘I don’t want you to compete with anyone! And I don’t want you to be anything other than yourself,’ Vikram said in a strangled voice, taking her hands in his. ‘You are enough for me, Nidhi. In every way.’

  ‘It won’t last,’ she said and, trying to lighten the mood, added, ‘and anyway, just imagine what gorgeous babies you and Natasha would—’

  ‘Don’t!’ he said harshly. ‘Don’t turn this into a joke, Nidhi.’

  She looked at their entangled hands, letting the silence linger, before she threw back her shoulders and spoke in a smooth voice. ‘You and I both know that I’m your latest source of entertainment, and you’ll get bored of me as soon as the next Miss India comes traipsing into your life.’

  He released her as if she’d burned him. ‘Is that what you think of me?’

  ‘I’ve read the tabloids.’ Nidhi shrugged.

  ‘That’s not what I asked. I asked if that’s what you think of me,’ he said stiffly.

  No! Nidhi wanted to scream. Because you are loyal to a fault and you would do anything to protect the people you care about. And I can see how much you care about me. But that isn’t enough, because you don’t love me. And when it comes to you, settling for anything less than love will destroy me.

  ‘Yes.’

  Vikram nodded, his face wiped clean of all expression. He walked away from her slowly, pausing for a split second when his hand found the doorknob.

  ‘Wait!’ Nidhi called out to him.

  Hope flickered in his eyes as he turned around, waiting for her to take back her words, to change her mind, to admit how she really felt about him.

  ‘Can we still be friends?’ she pleaded helplessly.

  He gave a hollow laugh. ‘No.’

  And with that, he walked out of her room. And out of her life.

  Nidhi collapsed on the floor. She pressed her chin to her chest and sobbed. She cried till her eyes were dry and her heart was empty. She cried till she felt exactly as she had felt the last time Vikram Walia had left her.

  Completely and utterly alone.

  ‘Are you listening to me, Vikram?’ Monty asked urgently.

  Vikram nodded, even though he hadn’t heard a single word.

  Four days had passed since their return from Delhi, and Vikram’s state of eerie calm was beginning to worry Monty. Vikram hadn’t lost his infamous temper even once since landing in Mumbai, but then again, he had barely spoken at all. He hadn’t stepped out of the house, except to go to the gym, and he had been eating all his meals mechanically, like he couldn’t taste the food.

  And Monty would have let all these things go if it wasn’t for one rather alarming anomaly—Vikram’s unprecedented insomnia. For as long as Monty had known Vikram, his client possessed the enviable ability to fall asleep as soon as his head touched a pillow. Vikram could sleep at any time, any place, and wake up from the deepest slumber without an alarm clock or a complaint. And yet, lately, Vikram had been drinking himself into a stupor, well into the wee hours of the morning.

  ‘Vikram, I’m serious. This is important!’ Monty said frantically.

  Vikram looked away from the television and gave his manager his attention. ‘What?’

  ‘This,’ Monty said, waving the newspaper under his nose.

  Vikram shrugged. ‘Ignore it.’

  Monty’s chubby red cheeks turned a dark shade of crimson. ‘Ignore it? This man works for one of the biggest law firms in country, and two days before your disciplinary hearing, he is pressing assault charges against you! How can I ignore it?’

  ‘Because it’s true,’ Vikram said, snatching the newspaper from Monty and tossing it on the coffee table. ‘And I don’t give a damn.’

  ‘Lekin can you at least tell me what happened that day?’ Monty pressed.

  He thought he saw pain flash in Vikram’s eyes, but it was gone before he was certain. Vikram was still wearing the same stony expression he had worn over the last four days.

  Monty tried to recall the events of their last day in Delhi.

  ‘Good, you are back early!’ Monty had beamed at Vikram when he returned from Nidhi’s house. ‘Come to d
rawing room, I have ultimate surprise!’

  ‘We’re going back to Mumbai.’

  Monty’s face fell. ‘When?’

  ‘Today,’ Vikram said, his voice devoid of emotion.

  ‘But I just had new TV installed,’ Monty tried to reason.

  ‘Book the first available flight,’ Vikram had said, his expression unreadable.

  Monty narrowed his eyes. ‘Did something happen with Nidhiji?’

  Vikram levelled a hard stare at his manager. ‘I never want to hear her name again.’

  ‘Lekin Vikram, hua kya?’ Monty asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

  The calm in Vikram’s voice had been chilling. ‘This conversation is over, Monty. Permanently.’

  So even now, Monty didn’t dare to bring up Nidhi. But his client’s stubborn silence was making it very difficult for him to do his job.

  ‘Can you please tell me what happened?’ Monty repeated.

  ‘Leave it, Monty,’ Vikram said, reaching for the remote control to change the channel.

  Monty took a deep breath and reached into his pocket for his anti-anxiety medication. Very calmly, he placed the bottle on the table without opening the lid. That got Vikram’s attention.

  Monty gave him an atypically serene smile. ‘Can I ask you one question?’

  Vikram lifted an eyebrow. ‘Can I stop you?’

  Monty ignored that. ‘Do you ever want to play professional cricket again?’

  Vikram continued to stare wordlessly at the television and if it weren’t for his knuckles turning white around the remote, Monty would have assumed Vikram hadn’t heard him.

  So that’s a yes, Monty thought.

  ‘You are loose cannon who cannot control his temper on or off field. You are nothing but spoilt young kid who has let fame and success go to his head. And your ego is much bigger than your game,’ Monty said calmly.

  He saw the murderous glint in Vikram’s eyes and raised his hands defensively. ‘That is what BCCI will say. I know Shaan Kapoor deserved that punch and probebly that Kuku fellow did too. Lekin as far as BCCI is concerned, both assaults were unprovoked, making them very serious. BCCI will extend ban, Vikram. It is no longer “maybe probebly” situation. It will happen, unless you can explain both incidents to the public.’

  Vikram covered his face with his hands, dragging them through his hair. He knew Monty was right—this time the shit had got real. He knew he was trapped.

  But his choice was no choice at all. Perhaps it was his Rajput genes, or his mother’s voice in his head, reminding him that the one thing in life that took precedence over all else was loyalty. So Vikram decided that he would gladly throw his career out the window before he threw his friends under the bus. He would not talk to the media about Natasha’s abusive relationship with Kapoor. And he would die before he talked to them about Nidhi.

  Even though she thought he was a womanizing scoundrel.

  Which, he admitted fairly, was the truth. Or used to be the truth. Because since the day Nidhi had come back into his life, Vikram hadn’t touched another woman. Hell, he hadn’t even thought about another woman. But since the day she had told him to get out of her life, Vikram hadn’t thought about Nidhi either.

  He hadn’t visualized her with toothpaste stuck in her hair while brushing his teeth every morning. He hadn’t thought about her drunken singing while pouring his fifth whisky last night. He hadn’t thrown out his fruit-scented shampoo because it smelt like Nidhi. He hadn’t ripped up the full page EducateIndia ad because it had reminded him of Nidhi’s ferocious reaction to the idea of Photoshopping his scar. The kids playing basketball in the gym hadn’t brought back the memory of his game with Nidhi and the almost kiss that had followed it. And he certainly hadn’t spent every single one of the last four nights being haunted by her fathomless green eyes.

  Who was he kidding? He hadn’t stopped thinking about Nidhi since the day he left Delhi. And the permanent ache that had settled in his chest was a constant reminder of her rejection.

  In a way, Vikram was glad he hadn’t told her that he loved her. But at the same time, he regretted it more than anything in his life. Maybe if he had confessed how he felt about her, she wouldn’t have blown his heart to smithereens.

  Bullshit.

  She didn’t trust him. She trusted the media’s version of him. She believed a bunch of gossip columnists over him. Her opinion was that Vikram was capable of hurting her. She genuinely believed that he could hurt her! Vikram would sooner rip his own heart out than let a hair on Nidhi’s head come to harm. And that was why he couldn’t tell the media about what had happened with Kukreja.

  Vikram turned to Monty and drew a long, tortured breath. ‘I can’t.’

  Monty gave him a sympathetic smile, oddly laced with a hint of pride. ‘I cannot say I am surprised.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Monty,’ Vikram said remorsefully.

  Monty rose and placed a hand on Vikram’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. We will think of something else.’

  ‘Wait, what?’ Risha repeated, her brown eyes widening.

  Nidhi sighed. ‘Rish, come on.’

  ‘No, seriously. Can you please repeat what you just said?’

  Nidhi rolled her eyes. ‘Vikram and I have—’

  Risha raised her palms. ‘Hang on. Vikram Walia? The cricketer? The sixth-richest celebrity in India? GQ’s Man of the Year? Vogue’s Sexiest Abs? People mag—’

  Nidhi cut her off with a groan. ‘I can’t believe you know all that.’

  ‘It’s my job to know all that,’ Risha scoffed. ‘Page 3, remember?’

  ‘Yes, I remember,’ Nidhi muttered, taking two cups of tea from the chai wala below their office building and handing one to Risha.

  ‘Where’s Shorty at dramatic moments like these?’ Risha asked.

  ‘Having a dramatic moment of her own. Apparently Lady K is on the verge of decapitating Shorty for failing to get A.R. Rahman for the sangeet,’ Nidhi said dryly.

  ‘But he never performs at weddings,’ Risha reminded her.

  ‘Exactly,’ Nidhi said. ‘Which is why Shorty is now on a flight to Chennai with Lady K to “invite” Rahman to the wedding as a friend of the family.’

  Risha rolled her eyes. ‘Rich-people problems.’

  Nidhi nodded in resignation. ‘Poor Shorty.’

  ‘Anyway, please continue,’ Risha prompted. ‘You were saying that you and Vikram are childhood sweethearts.’

  ‘I was saying no such thing!’ Nidhi denied fervently. ‘Vikram and I are childhood friends.’

  Risha raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, really? So the fact that his jersey number is thirteen has nothing to do with your birthday being on the thirteenth of June?’

  ‘Of course, not . . .’ Nidhi’s voice trailed off.

  She had never considered that before. Vikram had used thirteen as his jersey number since they were teenagers.

  ‘It’s just a coincidence,’ Nidhi said, even though the strange sensation at the back of her neck told her otherwise. ‘Vikram is a nonconformist, and he probably picked the unlucky number just to scandalize the whole country.’ Risha gave her a doubtful look and Nidhi repeated firmly, ‘We’re just friends.’

  ‘So the googly eyes you were making at his shirtless photo this morning were completely platonic, then?’ Risha asked, deadpan.

  Nidhi tried to hide her blush behind a long sip of her chai. ‘By the way, that image was completely inappropriate for the story.’

  ‘I know.’ Risha shrugged. ‘But Kabir believes that Walia’s six-pack will get us more eyeballs than yet another snapshot of the Shaan Kapoor video. What’s with Walia and punching people, anyway?’

  ‘Kuku deserved it,’ Nidhi said quietly, avoiding Risha’s eyes.

  Risha looked at her in alarm. ‘Why?’

  Nidhi bit her lip. ‘He tried to . . . grope me.’ Then she added with disgust, ‘Outside my own house, no less.’

  Risha gasped. ‘God, Nidhi! Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I
’m okay, Rish. Really,’ Nidhi said, surprised that she meant it.

  Risha gave her a hug. ‘Is that the reason your eyes are all puffy?’

  ‘Honestly? No,’ Nidhi said with a sad smile.

  ‘So you didn’t spend the entire weekend crying over Kuku?’ Risha asked.

  ‘I did spend the entire weekend crying,’ Nidhi admitted. ‘But not over Kuku.’

  ‘Shit,’ Risha whispered. ‘You’re in love with Vikram?’

  Nidhi nodded, trying to swallow the lump that had permanently lodged itself in her throat since the day Vikram had left.

  ‘And he doesn’t love you back?’ Risha asked.

  Nidhi shook her head. ‘He loves Natasha.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ Risha frowned.

  ‘Shorty thinks so,’ Nidhi reminded her.

  ‘Shorty’s judgement is clouded, thanks to that commitment-phobe she has wasted three years with,’ Risha rebutted.

  ‘I can’t risk it, Rish,’ Nidhi said, unable to keep the pain out of her voice. ‘I’ve loved him for nearly half my life and I can’t gamble my heart on the off-chance that he’s not in love with Natasha. Because, frankly, that’s not even the real issue. The issue is that he’s not in love with me.’

  ‘He’s an idiot,’ Risha said so fiercely that Nidhi smiled in spite of herself.

  ‘I texted him this morning to apologize for the Kuku debacle, but all I got in response was a message from his manager asking me to address all future communication to him instead of Vikram,’ Nidhi said miserably.

  Her thoughts went to the photograph of Vikram that Miss Malini had posted on Twitter the previous day. He was stepping out of his gym in Mumbai, his features perfectly composed behind his four-day-old stubble, looking impeccable even in his workout gear. But there was one thing about his appearance that had seemed terribly out of place—his hair. His usually perfect hair had looked a tad messy.

  Even the day Nidhi had found him curled up in a ball from the flu, his hair had looked like it had been professionally messed up a few minutes before. And when she had left him sleeping in his bed the morning after they had kissed, his sexy bedhead had been a sight to behold.