A Bollywood Affair by Sonali Dev

360-degree spin. There wasn’t a soul in sight but one could never be too careful. Better get inside. Considering Ridhi had just taken off, chances were it would be at least another day or two before Ridhi’s family caught on and came after Mili. Even so she planned to stay out of the apartment and hide out in Pierce Hall and the library until she knew that Ridhi and Ravi were safe.
    Something rustled behind her and she jumped and spun around. A man was parking a bicycle too close to the huge green refuse tank across the parking lot. Oh no, today was the day the collection truck came.
    “Sir!” She ran after him. “Hello?”
    Clearly, he didn’t hear her because he sauntered off in the opposite direction. She raced to catch up with him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and looked down at her as if she had just broken out of a mental asylum. Had to be her hair. Her grandmother always said she looked a little mad when she left it loose. She pushed it back with both hands. It bounced right back and spilled all over her face.
    “You parked your cycle too close to the dirt,” she said, panting slightly.
    Almost lazily, he pulled a headphone from one ear and gave her a look that suggested she wasn’t worthy of being listened to with both ears.
    “They’ll take your cycle away if you leave it there.” She pointed at the bright yellow bike.
    The poor fool just stared at her. Maybe it was her accent. They often didn’t understand her English. A sharp stab of homesickness pierced through her followed by an intense urge to hear the familiar tones of her mother tongue. Yes, big fat chance of that happening here.
    She slowed down and tried to speak more clearly. “The big truck, it comes to take away the dirt today. They’ll take away your bicycle if you leave it there.” She swept her hand from the bike to the huge green tank in which everyone dumped their trash bags.
    More blankness. Maybe he didn’t speak English.
    She tried again. “They collect it on Friday—you’ll lose your bicycle.” She walked up to the bike and rattled the handle.
    Finally understanding sparked in his eyes. “You mean the Dumpster? Are you trying to tell me they collect the garbage today?” He laughed, but it wasn’t a kind laugh.
    She refused to feel small or stupid. Dumpster. Garbage. Not “tank.” Not “dirt.” It was just a matter of getting the terms right. Next time she would.
    She nodded but couldn’t get herself to smile at him anymore.
    “Yeah, I know,” he said really slowly, enunciating each word as if she hadn’t just spoken to him in English. “Why do you think I put it there?”
    She gaped at him. “You don’t want it?”
    “Well, duh. Why would I like throw it in the Dumpster if I wanted it?” He jammed the headphone back in his ear. “You can have it if you want it.” And with that he walked off.
    Did she look like someone who picked up things other people threw away? You can have it if you want it, indeed! What was she, a trash picker?
    But instead of heading home she found herself standing in front of the Dumpster inspecting the bright yellow bicycle. The paint had scraped off in a few spots but other than that it was beautiful. If she had a bike she wouldn’t have to walk around campus or make the mile-long trek to the grocer on foot. She darted a furtive glance around to make sure no one was watching, then grabbed the bike and quickly backed it away from the Dumpster and walked it to the bike rack just under her balcony, unable to stop smiling. There were several other bikes there. She parked hers in the one remaining spot and gave in to the urge to wiggle her hips in another little hip-wiggling dance. Naani was right. When a door closed, a window always opened. You just had to have the good sense to stick your head out of it.
     
    Samir hated slowing the Corvette down. It was a damn shame. But once he got off the highway he ran into red light after red light until the insanely sexy growl