stranger for ten years,” she countered, refusing to acknowledge the lump in her throat, “like those sweet memories meant nothing and I am poison.”
Harsh looked like she’d slapped him again. Stunned. His beautiful lips parted in shock. “ Tum zaher nahin ho, Trishna…” You are not poison. “ Tum amrita ho. ” You are nectar.
God save her from men whose dialogues had been written by some of the nation’s finest poets. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she slammed the gin tumbler down on the coffee table so hard that she was sure it would shatter. But it didn’t. Like her, it could withstand infinite pressures.
“Stop it,” she begged. “For God’s sake, just stop it, Harsh. What do you want from me? If you want to fuck me, then just tell me, don’t torture me…staring at me with your big, sad eyes all day…showing up here and spouting pretty poetry.”
He flinched. “I don’t want to torture you…” he began, but then abruptly switched gears, asking her, “Do you know where Avinash is tonight?”
“Jehennam main?” He could be in Hell for all she knew. Both literal and figurative. There was nothing she could do about it. “He’s taking lessons from you, you see. Denying himself what he wants…making everyone miserable in the process.”
“Only I’m not gay,” Harsh pointed out. “I’m not living a lie…trying to fool the world into thinking I’m happy.”
“Go to Hell. You don’t get to judge us,” she cried. “I could have been your wife all these years, but you chose to turn your back on me. So Avi and I made a life together. He tried to fix what you broke. I tried to give him what he needed. Ek samjhota hain. It’s a compromise.”
“Is this how you want to live? Sach? Really?” Harsh’s features were so stricken, they were deserving of a close-up. Perhaps that was why he rose from the sofa and came to kneel at her feet. “You deserve more than a compromise. You deserved better than me,” he whispered. “That, and only that, is why I didn’t propose the day I met you. Because I came from nothing. Because I was no one until A Handful of Stars . Until Chaudhury- saab got me my first film role. Main kaun tha? Who was I? Nobody. Until your father built me up into someone good enough. By the time I realized it…it was too late. You took the pheras and married him .”
“What do you mean you were not good enough?” Trishna stared at him as though he’d sprung horns from the top of his beautiful head. “ Tum paagal ho kya, Harsh? Have you gone mad? There is no one better than you. You are a saint among men. You don’t belong in cinema, you belong in a goddamn monastery or performing miracles for the poor in Benares.” Her laughter was hysterical. She’d gone from ice queen to lunatic in mere minutes. “The skies rain flowers when you walk down the street. Choirs sing. Rivers fill with fish and fields with crops. Whores become virgins. God knows… I feel like a virgin—”
“Trishna.”
He chased her name with a very non-saintly word. Then he closed his fingers around her wrist and tugged her down onto his lap. It was so swift that she didn’t have time to react, to even stop describing more evidence of his holiness, before his mouth was closing over hers.
Trish couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe. But she could move, and her hands found an anchor in his hair as she kissed him back. Years of frustration, of heartbreak, of want and denial were wrapped up in this first kiss. And the second one. And the one after that. The taste of him, male and strong and safe, replaced the burn of alcohol, and she slid down so her knees girded his hips and the juncture of her thighs met the hard ridge of his erection. Silk molded against denim, and it wasn’t enough.
He pulled back, lips trailing across her cheek and breath ragged in her ear. She fisted her fingers in the hair at his nape, hard enough to elicit a gasp of pain. “Don’t you dare stop now. Main jaan se mar
Harsh looked like she’d slapped him again. Stunned. His beautiful lips parted in shock. “ Tum zaher nahin ho, Trishna…” You are not poison. “ Tum amrita ho. ” You are nectar.
God save her from men whose dialogues had been written by some of the nation’s finest poets. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she slammed the gin tumbler down on the coffee table so hard that she was sure it would shatter. But it didn’t. Like her, it could withstand infinite pressures.
“Stop it,” she begged. “For God’s sake, just stop it, Harsh. What do you want from me? If you want to fuck me, then just tell me, don’t torture me…staring at me with your big, sad eyes all day…showing up here and spouting pretty poetry.”
He flinched. “I don’t want to torture you…” he began, but then abruptly switched gears, asking her, “Do you know where Avinash is tonight?”
“Jehennam main?” He could be in Hell for all she knew. Both literal and figurative. There was nothing she could do about it. “He’s taking lessons from you, you see. Denying himself what he wants…making everyone miserable in the process.”
“Only I’m not gay,” Harsh pointed out. “I’m not living a lie…trying to fool the world into thinking I’m happy.”
“Go to Hell. You don’t get to judge us,” she cried. “I could have been your wife all these years, but you chose to turn your back on me. So Avi and I made a life together. He tried to fix what you broke. I tried to give him what he needed. Ek samjhota hain. It’s a compromise.”
“Is this how you want to live? Sach? Really?” Harsh’s features were so stricken, they were deserving of a close-up. Perhaps that was why he rose from the sofa and came to kneel at her feet. “You deserve more than a compromise. You deserved better than me,” he whispered. “That, and only that, is why I didn’t propose the day I met you. Because I came from nothing. Because I was no one until A Handful of Stars . Until Chaudhury- saab got me my first film role. Main kaun tha? Who was I? Nobody. Until your father built me up into someone good enough. By the time I realized it…it was too late. You took the pheras and married him .”
“What do you mean you were not good enough?” Trishna stared at him as though he’d sprung horns from the top of his beautiful head. “ Tum paagal ho kya, Harsh? Have you gone mad? There is no one better than you. You are a saint among men. You don’t belong in cinema, you belong in a goddamn monastery or performing miracles for the poor in Benares.” Her laughter was hysterical. She’d gone from ice queen to lunatic in mere minutes. “The skies rain flowers when you walk down the street. Choirs sing. Rivers fill with fish and fields with crops. Whores become virgins. God knows… I feel like a virgin—”
“Trishna.”
He chased her name with a very non-saintly word. Then he closed his fingers around her wrist and tugged her down onto his lap. It was so swift that she didn’t have time to react, to even stop describing more evidence of his holiness, before his mouth was closing over hers.
Trish couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe. But she could move, and her hands found an anchor in his hair as she kissed him back. Years of frustration, of heartbreak, of want and denial were wrapped up in this first kiss. And the second one. And the one after that. The taste of him, male and strong and safe, replaced the burn of alcohol, and she slid down so her knees girded his hips and the juncture of her thighs met the hard ridge of his erection. Silk molded against denim, and it wasn’t enough.
He pulled back, lips trailing across her cheek and breath ragged in her ear. She fisted her fingers in the hair at his nape, hard enough to elicit a gasp of pain. “Don’t you dare stop now. Main jaan se mar
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