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“Don’t tell me. Tell Ma,” she replied.
I knew it was unkind of me to enjoy the way Aryan blanched at the prospect of telling his mother that he wouldn’t be dancing at his sister’s sangeet. But I figured I was due some laughs in life finally. Which was why I allowed myself a little snort of laughter. Big mistake.
Dr Killjoy turned his laser eyes on me and the force of his glare was hot enough to melt the rusted piece of metal that Nivy called a car.
“It’s not funny. I don’t get off work until eleven most nights. When am I supposed to learn to dance? And why, for the love of God, do I have to do it?” he growled.
“Because you love your sister and want to celebrate the rare kind of love that she has found,” I pointed out helpfully.
Aryan sighed deeply and frowned at both of us. If I leaned forward just an inch, I could kiss that mighty frown off his face, I realised. My sigh echoed his as I leaned back and pressed the back of my head against my seat.
No more kissing. No more thoughts of kissing. Civility and politeness. That’s all there was between us. I sighed again at the dismal picture of all our future interactions.
“Aryan, I’m not trying to make your life difficult. But it would mean a lot to me if you danced at my sangeet,” said Nivy, softly.
“But how, Nivy? Kids don’t stop falling sick because their doctor’s sister is getting married, and I will not neglect my little patients for anything. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. I can’t spare the time for dance rehearsals.”
Nivy drummed her fingers against the steering wheel as she mulled over this problem. Aryan was right, though. Also, when weighed against the life and health of a baby, a dance seemed so trivial. I was even surprised we were having this conversation. When had our lives turned into a Karan Johar movie?
“I believe I have a solution,” announced Nivy.
Aryan looked sceptical.
“Hear me out, Aryan. What if the dance doesn’t need much practice? I’ll give you a slow number, with a few easy steps. You’ll only need to rehearse it a couple of times. Repeat the same set of steps three times and the song is done. Does that work?”
“Maybe,” he said doubtfully. “What song, though? I don’t think shaking my ass for these new Bollywood numbers would suit me at all.”
“I know that, which is why I’m going to make you do a slow dance on Neele Neele Ambar Par.”
I turned to stare at her in shock. Was she out of her tiny little mind?
That song was made for a sexy tango. How was that easy or simple? And who the hell was he going to dance it with? The thought of Aryan dancing with the hot wedding choreographer that Nivy had hired made me grind my teeth in fury, but there was nothing I could do about it. Civil and polite, Jess, I said to myself as I tried to breathe slowly.
Aryan was already shaking his head.
“You’re nuts if you think I’m going to prance around a stage all by myself to that song,” he began, but Nivy steamrolled him.
“You won’t be alone. You’re going to be dancing with Jessie”, she announced brightly.
* * *
ARYAN
He straightened up in shock and banged the top of his head against the roof of the car. Hard enough to see stars.
“Oww! Bloody hell!”
“Are you okay?”
Jessie put out a hand and rubbed the top of his head as Aryan glared at his sister. When they were kids, their mother used to threaten to give them away to gypsy Banjaras if they were naughty, and for once, Aryan wished she really had given Nivy away. It was as if the very purpose of her existence was to make his life miserable.
He leaned into the comfort of Jessie’s soft hand and closed his eyes for a few seconds.
“Enough already! It was just a tiny bump. Stop milking it, you drama queen,” drawled Nivy.
Jessie snatched her hand away in embarrassment and Aryan pointed a finger at his sister.
“You… you… you are a bloody menace, and I feel very sorry for Veer who doesn’t know the pain he’s in for,” he snarled.
