The One She Was Warned About by Shoma Narayanan Page B

Nikhil, aren’t you?’
    Despite herself, Shweta felt a warm tide of colour stain her cheeks.
    Priya crowed with delight. ‘I knew it! I knew something was happening. Come here and let me look at you—a special date needs some special advice.’
    Shweta submitted to being examined from every angle. Priya had a good sense of style, and it wouldn’t hurt to take her opinion.
    ‘Pretty good,’ she pronounced finally. ‘Except you could do with a little more colour in your cheeks. And I can’t believe you didn’t buy a new dress. This one’s nice, but you’ve worn it lots of times before.’
    ‘Nikhil’s not seen it,’ Shweta pointed out as she warded off Priya’s attempts to put some more blusher on her cheeks. ‘I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.’
    She gave herself a last look in the mirror. The midnight-blue dress was deceptively simple in cut and it showed off her curves to perfection. She wore a simple diamond pendant on a white-gold chain with matching earrings, and her shoes—as usual—were the exact shade of the dress.
    ‘Are the shoes a bit much?’ she asked anxiously.
    Priya hesitated. ‘A little too matching-matching, but that’s OK—guys never notice such stuff.’
    But Shweta was already kicking the shoes off, exchanging them for strappy silver sandals.
    The intercom rang, and Priya ran to pick it up. ‘Your cab’s here,’ she said.
    Shweta had called for a taxi rather than hailing a black-and-yellow cab on the street as she usually did. It was normally a half-hour drive from where she lived to the race course, but a mixer truck had broken down in the middle of the road and the traffic was terrible. In spite of that, she got there a few minutes early. Nikhil wasn’t there yet, and they had arranged to meet for a drink at the bar before they went down for dinner.
    Feeling a little awkward and out of place, Shweta ordered a drink and sipped at it gingerly, surveying the room. The whole building had been redecorated recently—the bar had a high wooden ceiling with fake beams and lots of faux -antique wooden furniture and panelling. Shweta wrinkled her nose a little. She couldn’t see why places that weren’t really old tried to look that way.
    ‘You don’t look pleased,’ Nikhil observed as he walked up to her.
    Shweta jumped, spilling a bit of her drink. ‘It’s the way this place is done up,’ she confided. ‘They’ve tried to make it look like an old English pub, but it’s not old and it’s not English—and anyway the roof’s all wrong. Pubs have low ceilings normally.’
    ‘I’ll tell the architect if I ever meet him,’ Nikhil said, sounding amused. ‘I’d apologise for being late—but I’m not, am I?’
    ‘No. I have a pathological fear of being late myself,’ Shweta said, ‘so I end up being early for everything. I’ve even gone to weddings where I’ve reached the venue before either the bride or the groom. You’re looking nice, by the way.’
    That last bit had just slipped out—but he was looking exceptionally good. Nice didn’t even begin to cover it. He’d had his hair cut since she’d seen him last, and the new, shorter hairstyle suited him. He was wearing a striped button-down shirt open at the collar, and black formal-looking jeans. The shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, and she could see his strong forearms, with a smattering of hair covering them. The temptation to reach out and touch was overwhelming.
    ‘So are you,’ Nikhil said, sounding more amused than ever. ‘That’s a lovely dress.’
    ‘But most of the other women are wearing black,’ she said. ‘I’m feeling terribly out of place.’
    Nikhil shrugged. ‘Black is like a uniform,’ he said. ‘Pretty boring, if you ask me. Come on—let me get you another drink.’
    Shweta hadn’t even noticed that her first drink had gone. Something was not quite right. Nikhil seemed a lot more formal than he had when he’d met her last—and, while he was smiling a lot, the