Ｔｗｏ Ｗｅｅｋｓ Ｌａｔｅｒ

𝖳𝖺𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗁 : 𝖲𝖺𝗁𝖾𝗃, 𝖧𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎? 𝖨 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗐. 𝖲𝗈, 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗋. 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍. 𝖠𝗅𝗌𝗈, 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗌. 𝖨𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝗈, 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖭𝖮 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌.

𝖲𝖺𝗁𝖾𝗃 : 𝖧𝖾𝗒, 𝖨'𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖨'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗒𝖾𝗌. 𝖠𝗇𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖾. 𝖨 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽. 𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗂𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾.

𝖳𝖺𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗁 : 𝖨 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗒, 𝖺𝗌 𝖨 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾𝖽 for a week, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅. 𝖠𝗅𝗌𝗈, 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋𝗀𝗂𝖼 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇, 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌. 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

Ｐｒｅｓｅｎｔ

TALWAR GRAND HOTEL.

My mind is still dwelling on how I hadn't responded to his texts for a week.

Yesterday, anyway, I finally saw his text and agreed to the date. My intentions weren't to keep him waiting or in suspense.

I turned off my internet.

Anyways, we have decided to meet at one of his hotels. The elevator is taking me to the rooftop where he's waiting. Just a few seconds later, my phone screen wakes up with a notification of some trolling comments on my recent post on a January one.

[Post by @Sahej_Luthra]

Best new year ever.

@skys_4 Her dad selling her paintings for millions? Who's buying? Lmao. 3073 hearts

@levender60_ she is a bitch tht white ivory tie can pay my entire rant. 11k hearts

@gotdnthateme_ you fkin jelo, who cnt afford tht tie. You cry, she stays rich. 5.9k hearts

@levender60_ is she your new mother. 12k hearts

@streetlight_ yessssss, she is. 253 hearts

@bitter_16 yu can wash ur brushes, bt u cnt wash ur hands. 9k hearts

Some are good and supportive with heart, sparkles, and fire emojis and genuine admiration for my art.

A consequence of being a Luthra and the attention I attract has become as natural to me as the air I breathe.

You know? Clearly, my trolls are more informed about my life than I am.

What's crazy is that I find an odd comfort.

Want to know why? A few years ago, my dad made headlines; news of a collapsing bridge broke the internet and went viral. Which is why I thrive on criticism. That's why I'm the center of attention, all for the wrong reason.

I'm here not just for a simple-looking date but to solve the mystery behind his invitation. To hell with it, his interest in me?

I don't believe him.

If he tries to outsmart me, I'm not interested in entertaining any romantic notions with him. If he questions me, I will not hesitate to tell him that I do not date tattooed guys.

But to be honest, he is quite attractive, even if I don't see him as my ideal type. There are lots of women who could be interested in him. He is perfectly fit for Preet, a baddie into bad guys: a rugged and masculine man with tattoos. Of course.

The elevator's wings open up directly into a rooftop.

I step into a kingdom made of pure off-white marble, charmed by the floating path through the still water on either side that leads to the horizon's setting, where it ends by the table and chairs where the date is waiting for me. Him.

The beauty of the place breaks into secondary the moment he looks at me. His eyes and mine immediately collide, with his gaze intensifying and his hands holding a big bouquet of Black Baccara roses.

His sleeves are rolled up, flexing his muscles and tattoos.

The transition of new worlds finally holds us in one as the elevator behind me closes.

I realize it's just us now, no one else.

And if I want to run from these heavy ivory marble lights that are highlighting me, there are no options but to walk into the only two striking forms of black that are breaking the new world into thousands of tiny crystals on the walls and have no way out but only lead me towards him.

I find myself walking less into the ivory flooring but more into the gravity of his watching.

Yes, I accept. The place is quite romantic for a date night, but I won't let him think we are going to have one.

"You look... beautiful, as you always do."

"Thank you."

"This is for you."

I notice in the light how these roses slightly have red shades and deeply shadowed by black.

In my twenty-seven years of life, I have never gotten black roses from anyone. What does that mean if someone gives black roses to another person on the first date? If not sunshine and rainbows, then what?

"Please," he says, guiding me as we make our way to the table. I scan my surroundings.

"And this setting is...beautiful and quiet."

"I know you like quiet places but are not sure about the roses."

"These are rare,"

I can't stop myself from saying it before placing them on the table. He looks at me, then at roses. He pulls the chair, and I take my seat.

"They are picked from my garden."

That's something new but sad, and I also see there is a note on it.

I watch him reaching the opposite side of the table. So I simply pick up the note and read it.

I am not always choose to be taken, unless the person holding me is worth it.

I study his features. Tapish has luxurious, thick hair and brows, all nature-given, and a consistent medium-light olive skin tone that is now glowing under the lights. His clean-shaven face is a pleasing combination of his visible masseter cheekbones and cleft chin.

No matter how good-looking he is, I don't want to seem too eager for this date, so I dressed as I usually do. In a black dress with a slit cut, minimal makeup, and hair in a bun. Because my genuine interest is something else.

I meet his gaze while delicately arranging my hair. The air heats up as I catch the subtle twitch of his lips, and he breathes deeply, heightening the long silence.

"Should we first have drinks?"

I nod to his proposal.

I only find us on the rooftop, with no heavy ornamentations to look at, and then I hear the soft opening of a door in the distance. A staff member arrives from behind me, placing a menu on the table.

"Sir and ma'am, what would you like?"

"𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗃𝗎𝗂𝖼𝖾, thank you!" I say, looking at the screen. But when I look at Tapish, he is already looking at me, and then he orders 𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖾 without any politeness.

While the server leaves to bring us our drinks, he picks up his phone and types something before setting it down.

"So let me first get to the point since you seem more interested in something else."

"Why are we here?" I ask him faintly.

"Because we are on a date," he replies, free of any expression that suggests he understands me.

His reply has caught me off guard, as there is a sign of arrogance in his tone and perhaps It's not going to be a long evening for me.

Leaning back in my chair, arms crossed over my chest, mockingly I say, 'Mister?'

Behind his raised eyebrows, a glint of confusion cut across his charming face.

I can't help but feel a small victory.

"Tapish," he spells his name with an amusing expression that attempts to match my sarcasm.

To keep my manners, I press on. "Yes, Mr. Tapish. Sorry, what's your full name?"

"Tapish Adyanthaya," he answers, leaning back on his chair.

"Yes, sorry. I forgot your name."

My eyebrows rise as I study the face for a second before answering,

"And for someone who can't even remember your name correctly, I am trying to make sense of what we are doing on a date."

I have already decided to be straight and not let him believe I can be molded, especially since I'm sure of his confidence about what effect he has on women. Also, he has something on his mind that I haven't yet figured out.

He places his forearms on the table.

"What do you think about why people date, Sahej?"

My glory! The way he finishes saying my name in the end sends my spine trembling. There is a touch of seduction in it.

"Well, I very well know why people date, but I'm undoubtedly sure you don't know what a date means. You don't seem like the dating kind."

Am I being too hard on him? Judging by his expression, he's leaving me a void. And I realize he's not going to reveal much; he wants to hear it from me, showing a bit that irritates me.

"Then what kind do you see me as?" He maintains his arcane smile.

"The kind who works in a shady place and the kind with a gun won't blink to kill someone. Overconfident and arrogant," I say straightforwardly, noting a brief arrest of dry, distasteful emotion in his eyes.

Whatever data I have, it's mostly outré, scary shit, but offending people isn't my forte. Neither is saying less.

I stop, then tack on, a little too fast, "And the kind of man your dad liked for you."

His shoulders widen with confidence. He holds my gaze like something already settled, as if I'm meant to register one thing first—my dad likes him—before he wants me in bed.

There's a pride in his eyes.

Oh, Mr. Adyanthaya, you are moving in the wrong direction. "Listen, Tapish—" I am about to give him a piece of my mind, but the server shows up with the drinks.

I wait for them to leave. Finally, I turn back to him.

"Tapish." He takes a sip, then swirls his red wine before taking in its scent.

I'm now not thinking twice before I proclaim what I want.

"We've just met twice or maybe thrice, and you told my dad that you like me? Do you really think I'm a dumb fuck? Your expressions always speak business, and I am no one's business, well, not anymore. So now, for the first and last time, I am asking you, what do you want from me?"

Tapish leans a bit closer, I begin to sip my cranberry juice, and the ice clinks as I move the cool glass to my lips with my eyes closed.

I can feel the silence between us as I say, "I love this juice so much that it literally made me forget that you are sitting right in front of me. So speak up or forget about me."

When my eyes open, I see his honey-brown eyes feasting on my lips.

Don't lick your lips, don't. Ah! I lick them.

"Well, there's a little misunderstanding from your side. When I say I like you, I mean all three fucking words." He confesses unexpectedly, taking another sip, and his pupil expands.

"You are... you are absolutely beautiful, and that's not why I am interested. I'm quite interested in getting to know you, that's all—"

His words reach my soul, making my dead soul wince.

I can't believe what I'm hearing. This is all unforeseen for me. I try to process if he's being sincere.

"—And second, you said I want business. Well, that one is correct. Luthras and Talwars, we are great friends. But if I add that I am Sahej Luthra's boyfriend, it's going to help our business. We are stronger. And rivals, too, think twice about who they are dealing with."

He states it all with seriousness and confidence without blinking, showing me he is brutally honest. I'm taken by his directness.

"Hmm." I draw in a shallow breath. "Very well."

I draw once more and keep going. "Okay, you mean business, and what will I get in return?" I attempt to get back to my usual self as I adjust my hair and pull it behind my ears in response to my subsequent questions.

The guy's tongue is a hot button.

"What do you want? Anything you can ask, I'll return it in lots of ways."

He's serious and devoid of any wit or throwback.

"First, I want a few things to get cleared."

I gently press myself against the edge of the table. "I want to know, what were you doing at the club?"

His attention, which directly meets mine, intensifies as he doesn't even take a second to gather his thoughts.

"Is it that important to you?"

"Yes, very."

"I was in the hotel and was leaving before my team informed me about the security breach. The club staff also informed me. Since I know Monty, I went to check."

It all sounds neutral, but his expression takes on a harder, deeper edge as he slightly clenches his jaw.

"And that's when I saw you."

"How do you know Monty? He said he wants his position back."

"Yes, he worked for me."

"You employed a drug supplier?" My face is not as expressive, but inside, it is all twisting in confusion.

"Well, one question at a time, right? To answer that, I'm not a saint, nor some work tactic done for the Talwars or Luthra. But rest assured, I don't do drug shit."

Silence goes thick.

I haven't said a word.

"Sahej, how about you tell me about yourself?"

"I don't think you want to know."

"I think you like to form opinions of others without knowing them, and guess what? It's called judgement."

He leans forward in his seat as though he cracks a hidden layer of mine.

"I don't." I cross my arms over my chest in a protective manner, trying not to get worked up by his remarks, but they pang me.

"Yeah, you do." His eyebrow raises. "You assumed I wouldn't want to know you and that I'm not interested in you, and that you are some commodity I want to win, and that's a judgment in itself. Why don't you give it a try and surprise me?"

He challenges.

"Fine, ask me whatever you want to ask," I say.

It takes my soul away.

Deep down, I know he is right. I had let my preconceived notions about him affect my judgment.

I open myself up to his questions, but what if they turn out to be true?

He leans back in his chair with a smile.

"Excellent, tell me about your paintings," he asks, once again surprising me.

But with such a hard topic, my heart starts beating faster. My heart feels scared. I thought he was going to talk about how many guys I have dated.

His question is lost somewhere on the horizon.

I find words and cautiously meet his eyes, trying to read his sudden interest.

"Like?" I say, my attention drawn to it.

Tapish smiles, his eyes sparkling. I can imagine his curiosity in his eyes.

"Like, why do you paint about destruction?" he asks, and I swallow back the sudden dryness in my throat, catching his lips behind the glass rim as he sips his red wine.

It kills my guard.

"Well, I believe in my paintings, and the themes say that destruction is not the end of life but a new beginning."

"Interesting!" The corners of his lips twitch into a half-smile.

He raises an eyebrow skeptically and challenges me yet again. "Yet you believe your paintings are not worth their price."

"No, not worth a million," I confess, my cheeks burning with slight embarrassment. I look down as my hands feel cold and start to twist. Fingers start making complicated patterns.

"But 10k is too cheap in my opinion, don't you think so?" His probing gaze suggested an attempt to bring my attention back.

"Sahej," he says softly, tapping his fingers on the table, wanting my attention back.

I blink.

How can I explain that my self-doubt and insecurities have led me to undervalue my work? I have convinced myself of unworthiness.

I search for the right words. "Because I know for a fact that my paintings are not great,"

I have been sabotaging my own growth by undervaluing them.

"And why is that?" he presses on, his eyes searching mine for a genuine response.

I take a deep breath.

My hands start rubbing on the velvet sofa, looking at the changing shades, and gathering the courage to share my innermost thoughts and raise my head to look at him.

"People buy them because... I'm a Luthra," I reveal, laying bare the truth behind the transactions.

I feel guilt. I know the reality behind my success. It's not my talent or skill that sells my paintings, but rather my family name and reputation.

I long for recognition based on my own merit, but for now, I'm trapped in the shadow of my family's legacy.

"And making you a Luthra makes your paintings worthless and you less talented?" He challenges.

"Now that's called low confidence."

His words are as clear as my social privilege. And now they have ignited a fire within me.

He continues, "If that's what you think, then you should stop painting! Join your father's business or try something new. Give others a chance to shine. Consider what you might have taken away from them."

Ouch, that's so... fucking... honest and raw, delivering a reality check with a directness that startles me.

I take time to absorb his words.

This conversation is so heavy.

I never expected to be.

Our earlier talk was far better than this one... Even a few minutes back, he was trying to flirt with me with his eyes. And I know why I'm addressing it, because now the limelight is on me. Did he feel the same when I asked him those questions?

"I can't." My voice gains strength.
"Why not?" He pushes. "You were ready to give that fucking expensive watch to someone when he pointed a gun at your friend? If you can do that, you can do this too."

"I can buy them again. Art is not the same—what are you even saying?"

"Saying that painting seems like a luxury to you—is it something that comes so easily to you? As if you had to ask your father, and he would lay them at your feet."

"No, that's not truth. I can't give up on art because—"

"Because you love art, when you hold the brush and see your canvas, it makes you alive, right?"

He says, toning down a little, but his voice is a bit on the harsh side of softness, if that makes sense.

As if he knows at least this side of me.

I've learned something new: real words can be said in quiet ways.

"Sometimes a painting can be so beautiful, but without any brand value, people don't buy them. And if your painting comes with brand value, then what's wrong with it? It's the 21st century. The market world works like that, Sahej. It's not your problem to think. Stop doubting; your paintings are exceptionally amazing and rare. If they hadn't been. I told you I wouldn't buy it."

I just nod. I don't know what else I can say to tell him that it makes sense.

"Great, now let's eat? You might be hungry," he says, raising his hands, summoning the familiar servers, who soon bring dishes to the table.

I have to hold myself when I see them putting all my favorite dishes on the table.

We start eating our food in silence with no further discussion. Edamame dumplings and the half-ravioli with Chilean sea bass are so good. A few minutes go by as we finish, and once the servers clear the table, they leave only the panna cotta, a dessert between us.

I feel overwhelmed from the food.

I look at the table as if everything were exactly as I like it. I whisper, "How do you know what's my favorite?"

"I asked about your preferences in advance."

  * 

Outside the hotel, as we say goodbye to each other, I'm about to pull my car door open when he stops me with his hands on my car window.

"Wait,"

With a driven look on his face, he's standing just a few inches from me. "Your friends are very loud. Tell them not to—"

His voice rides from being delicately serious to levity.

My lids blink from the closeness, and my eyes unintentionally see his lips. His spicy scent is so close that it mingles with mine. Then his fingers play with a few strands of my loose hair, creating a soft circle.

The gentle air blows between us, so he leans in to embrace the ecosystem playing between the gaps.

Looking directly into my eyes before tucking that unruly curl behind my ear that he has been playing with, his words, now a hypnotizing whisper, reveal, "Because I want to discover you by myself."

A sudden honk sounds, blurring my focus; my eyes flicker at the taillights.

He steps closer, shadowing my face, and his features darkening. The car passes by us.

I adjust, leaning against the glass window as some random guys inside the car stare at us and shy away.

What does it look like we are kissing?

Tapish's face is once more warm in the streetlight, and his face inches closer to my shadow, his breath brushing my cheek. My hands instinctively brace against the icy window.

I shudder.

"I thoroughly enjoyed this date and had fun watching you eat," he murmurs.

His dulcet voice stops my shivering. "And I hope you did too, my lienzo. Good night."

He starts to move away, but his eyes still lock with mine.

What just has happened?

. . . . ╰──╮𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪╭──╯ . . . .

◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

XOXO💚
streetlight389 ❤️‍🩹