March 2005

If Vikram were to tell anyone how obsessed he was with Aditya, he was sure he would be sent to the mental facility for a possible diagnosis of psychosis. He knew weird details about Aditya that only a stalker would know, things that others probably hadn't noticed.

Things like how Aditya bit into his nails in the stands before every football match he played, how he spent his time at the library, reading books for hours after the school closed, how he ran laps at school every morning before everyone arrived, how he quoted words and excerpts from books word to word, without even missing single punctuation, that he talked less but was very observant of his surroundings, and that he had not smiled for almost a year now. And now, Vikram also knew that he was Shruti's boyfriend- a piece of information that wasn't privy to just him anymore.

Vikram knew a lot about him, and he was sure he could find something that he could hold against Aditya when he asked him to leave Shruti alone.

Yep, that was the plan. Threaten Aditya.

Vikram didn't know how that would work, but he was sure he would find something.

After a much stressful day at school, all thanks to Shruti, Vikram didn't feel like staying at school for any minute longer than necessary. So when the bell for the last period rang, he found himself heading for home rather than his usual place- the photography club.

He believed having some time to think away from school would calm him down and possibly come up with a solution to this newfound problem. To his delight, the house was empty when he walked in.

"Is anyone home?" he asked as he went into the living room. He was sure no one was around because if they had been, Vikram's father would be perched out in front of the TV, watching the news. And then it would be a place that Vikram ardently avoided when it was occupied. Now that it was pleasantly empty, Vikram found himself relaxing within the walls that otherwise ate him up from inside.

He was about to drop his bag on the floor and find himself something to eat when he heard footsteps approaching from the stairs on the right.

"You're home early."

It was his brother, Vaibhav. Well, half-brother, as Vikram always liked to emphasize.

"Where is everyone?"

"Mom took dad to the doctor."

Vikram's muscles tensed. "Is he okay?" he asked.

Vaibhav nodded and jumped off the last remaining steps of the stairs to walk over to where Vikram was. "It's his monthly checkup. Nothing to worry about."

"I am not worried." Vikram immediately said. He didn't understand why he was so flustered. The brief thought of his dad being sick made his head spin. And he didn't know why he cared.

"Are you sick?" Vaibhav asked, pulling Vikram away from his thoughts.

Vikram looked at Vaibhav strangely. Since when did they exchange pleasantries? "No I am not sick."

"You don't usually come home so early, so I asked."

If Vikram and his half-brother would be even remotely close, he would have told him about the day he'd had. He would tell him of how mad he was at Shruti and how frustrated he was at Aditya and how incredibly ridiculous this whole situation was. Even though Vikram hated admitting it, he knew Vaibhav was nothing short of a genius and he was sure he could help in finding ways to get rid of Aditya, for good.

But none of that was going to happen, because Vikram and his half-brother didn't get along.

"There's food in the fridge if you're hungry." Vaibhav said, concluding this conversation. "I have to get back to studying."

Vikram nonchalantly nodded. Vaibhav had his 10th boards next year and although he was homeschooled and probably knew everything there was to know about the exams that were a year from now, Vikram didn't want to take up any more of Vaibhav's time- for his own comfort.

After Vaibhav rescinded back to his room, Vikram made himself a sandwich and decided to get his homework done before taking a nap.

Math problems! Vikram lived for them.

Over the years, he had built up this system for himself- whenever he was upset or mad, he would lock himself up in his room and solve math problems back-to-back. He didn't understand how or why it worked but something about solving these questions took his mind off his own problems and gave him clarity. But on this particular day, this differential equation was making no significant difference in his life.

Vikram sighed and dropped the pen recklessly on the table before picking up the iPod from one of the drawers. It was a gift he had received from his mother, correction, step-mother, on his birthday last year. He had stuffed songs into the device when he had received it but never bothered updating the playlist after that.

The faint intro of Hoobastank's The Reason began playing and Vikram plugged the earphones before reclining back in his chair and closing his eyes. He always liked this song.

Over the sound of the guitar and the drums, Vikram found himself dozing off sooner than he had expected.

When he woke up, he could hear noises coming from downstairs. Everyone was back.

Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the watch in his room and realized that it was past 9 pm. His eyes fell on the phone in the corner of his room. It had not rung today. He then checked his cell phone, only to realize that Shruti had neither called, not texted him.

The anger that he had forgotten about, came rushing back in. It wasn't like they talked every day but after Mohit left for the US and neither of them had anyone else to turn to, they had kind of naturally turned to each other. The past month had been full of late-night calls and never-ending conversations between the two. But not on this day.

Vikram scoffed at the thought. How convenient, he thought. Now that she had Aditya, she didn't need Vikram or the seat next to him in the class. She hadn't even called to ask why Vikram had left school so early today. Vikram felt his stomach turn at the thought that maybe Shruti hadn't even noticed his absence.

He was about to give Shruti a call himself, wanting to confront her when a growl from his stomach informed him that he was hungry. He looked at the time again. Only one minute had passed since he had last checked time. His father would have been having his dinner now. On other days, he would have avoided going downstairs at this time but his lunch wasn't much and he felt like he had been starving all day.

Despite his better judgment, Vikram went downstairs.

As expected, his dad was having dinner with his step-mother.

"Vikram" he heard his name and he walked up to the dining table. It was his step-mother who had called him. "Are you hungry?"

Vikram nodded politely and pulled a chair before sitting down.

His father didn't glance up his plate to even acknowledge Vikram's presence and it twisted something inside of him. He didn't understand why his father was always so cold towards him. Sometimes, Vikram also didn't understand how this woman, sitting in front of him, preparing him a plate full of food, put up with his father who was emotionally stunted.

Meera Ahuja, Vikram's step-mother was a woman of tremendous patience. Everyone knew that. But she was also one of the biggest philanthropists in the city who had various NGOs and foundations running across the place for women and underprivileged kids. The charity foundations had sponsored the foreign education of over 50 kids in the past ten years.

So for the life of him, Vikram could never figure out why a woman like her chose to stay with a man like Deepak Ahuja, Vikram's father, who was nothing like her. He was a mean businessman with chains of hotels across the country that he wanted to leave to both his kids.

Well, he could leave it all to one because Vikram was not interested.

"We went to the doctor today." Meera said as she handed Vikram the plate of food.

"What did he say?" Vikram asked because it seemed like the right thing to do.

"The elections are coming up." Vikram's father suddenly said, interrupting them.

Meera gripped Deepak's hand lightly. "The elections were last year, Deepak." and turned to Vikram. "The doctor asked to keep the medications up."

"Yes..." Deepak said, "right..." and went back to eating before he remembered something else. "Did your results come out? What was your rank?" he asked Vikram.

"The exams are far away." Vikram said, digging idly at the rice in front of him. He was already questioning his decision to come down at this hour.

"You can't let that Aditya beat you again. How many times do you have to be humiliated by him?"

Vikram closed his eyes. He had no idea which year his dad was in. "I am not humiliated by him." Vikram said, trying to keep his calm.

"Well, then you should be." Deepak said. "He has been beating you for six years."

2003, Vikram thought. His dad was in 2003 when Vikram had his 10th boards.

"I am studying all I can." Vikram said casually. He had learned a few months back that there was no point in arguing with a man who was slowly losing his mind. None of his thoughts seemed coherent. And he jumped from topic to topic in the blink of an eye. It was exhausting.

"That's not enough. You have to do your best. Learn from your brother. He doesn't even come down to eat because he's busy studying."

Vikram sighed. This was why he hated coming downstairs at dinner or any time for that matter. This was why he never wanted to stay home because whenever he was around, his father would find something to be disappointed about. Today it was his grades, last week it was his further education, the week before that was his habit of coming home late from school.

Deepak shook his head in disapproval of probably everything in general. "Your mother would be so disappointed in you right now."

That was it. The final nail in the coffin.

"Enough!" Vikram yelled and slammed his fist on the table so loud it roared, like thunder.

"Vikram..." Meera began, trying to calm him down but he held his hand up to stop her. He turned to look at his father who was now eating in silence.

Vikram wanted to yell at his father. He wanted to curse him, wanted to yank him away from the chair and push him against the wall and ask him why he always brought his dead mother in all their conversations, someone Vikram didn't even get a chance of knowing, but when the old man raised his head up to look at Vikram, he had a smile on.

"Vikram..." he said with a hint of unfamiliar fondness in his voice. "Do you and your brother want to go to Paris for your winter vacations?"

And just like that, Vikram knew this man was not the same person he had been a few seconds ago. Letting out a heavy sigh, Vikram pulled himself away from the table and walked away.

The faint calling of his name from his stepmother fell on deaf ears as he walked out of the house to help himself calm down.

What was he even doing? Vikram had nowhere to go, no money to eat and to top that, he was on foot. He could go back home but now was not the time. He was still mad at everything that went down today.

Shruti... Vikram wished he could call Shruti and talk to her. He knew her voice would calm him down but his mind automatically went to Aditya and that didn't leave a pleasant taste on his tongue. He felt like the whole day was stupid and he couldn't wait for it to end.

Another huge growl from his stomach told Vikram that he better eat something. Probably satiating his hunger would also make him less irritable with things. Not finding a way out, Vikram decided to drop by one of the hotel's sites that belonged to his dad. It wasn't too far and if he walked for about half an hour, he could get something to eat there.

And he was right. It took him a little less than half an hour to reach the hotel premises. The illuminating letter on the front of the façade read 'Blooming Orchid Hotels'.

There wasn't much Vikram knew about his birth mother. He knew that she had died at childbirth and Vikram never had a chance to know her, but he sure did know that she loved photography and orchids. He knew that at some point, his father had loved his mother and that was the reason his father's hotels were named such.

The guard at the front door spotted Vikram and approached him hurriedly.

"How are you Hoshiyar bhaiya?" Vikram asked the tall, studded man with a heavy mustache and beard which has begun to turn white now.

Hoshiyar Singh was one of the oldest employees in Vikram's father's company. He was in his late forties and was a staggering six feet five inches tall man. He looked scary but was anything but.

"I am good. What are you doing here so late, baba?" he asked.

Vikram smiled at the familiar nickname. "I was hungry so I thought of visiting. It's been long since I ate something by Gaurav."

"He will be happy to see you." he said and then his voice dropped. "How is your father doing?"

Vikram shrugged. "You know how it is, one moment he is fine, next moment he is back in the 1800s."

Hoshiyar laughed. "Your father isn't that old." he said.

"How are your kids?" Vikram asked, not wanting to go back to the conversation that had led him to practically run away from his house at this hour.

Hoshiyar's face lit up. "The oldest is doing her master's in business and the younger one is about to get her undergraduate degree in something I don't understand."

Vikram laughed. "I am so happy to hear that."

Hoshiyar walked with him and opened the door to let Vikram in. "It's all thanks to your mother's scholarships." he said. "Convey my thanks to her."

Vikram nodded as he went in, starkly aware that Hoshiyar thanked his step-mother every time he saw her because he just couldn't help it. Meera's foundation had sponsored both his daughter's education in the US and Hoshiyar was on a mission to never let anyone forget that.

Not glancing anyway, Vikram directly headed for the restaurant area that served as a front for the hotel kitchen. To his luck, he found Gaurav, the head chef just by the entrance.

"To what do I owe this special visit?" he asked when he saw Vikram.

Here was the thing about Gaurav. He was a serial hugger. And Vikram did not know why he was so fascinated with smothering everyone.

Vikram felt three tight pats on his shoulder when he gave Gaurav the hug he so obsessively demanded, all the time.

"I am hungry." Vikram said.

"Well, you've come to the right place. We just started serving the French menu a couple of weeks ago. Do you want to try that?"

"I don't know anything about French food."

"Ah," Gaurav said, nudging Vikram towards one of the empty chairs in the restaurant. "Then you are in for a surprise."

"I don't like surprises."

"Mi amor, live a little." Gaurav said in a very bad accent where he rolled the last 'r' for far too long than required.

"That's Spanish." Vikram said.

Gaurav cleared his throat and stood straight up. "I'll have something right out." he said before disappearing with a fake sad face.

Vikram liked Gaurav. He was a very upbeat man and was hardly six or seven years older than Vikram himself, which is why he insisted that Vikram call him Gaurav and nothing else. Graduating top of his class from a culinary school in some continent Vikram couldn't recall, Gaurav had worked with a Michelin star restaurant for a year before he was scouted by Deepak Ajuha.

And honestly, Vikram thought it was one of the best decisions he had ever made. Vikram didn't know much about food, but he knew a little about people and Gaurav was one of the best ones out there. He was also gay, which was known to everyone who worked in the hotel but no one really talked about it because you would never know what your food might have if you pissed the head chef off. Even then, people still talked. They always talked. And Vikram hated it.

Vikram looked around. There were a few people seated across the restaurant, busy in deep conversations. A few eyes flew at him from time to time but Vikram ignored it. It was probably odd for them to see someone sitting all by himself and it was odd for Vikram too because he had never been on his own out at a restaurant like this, let alone his father's. Mohit was always with him with the occasional occurrence of Shruti, but never alone. The eyes bore on his back like hawks watching their prey and it made Vikram uncomfortable. He didn't like being noticed like this, not ever.

It was probably a bad idea to be here. Vikram thought of dashing, perhaps apologizing to Gaurav later but before he could, Gaurav appeared. He emerged from the kitchen with a pot in his hand and a server just behind him. The server, possibly new because Vikram had never seen him before, placed an empty plate and cutlery neatly while Gaurav placed the dish on the centre of the table.

"What is this?"

"This, my friend" Gaurav said, taking the lid off the pot, "is Coq au vin."

Vikram stared at the food and it was all red and hot and honestly, not that appetizing.

"What am I supposed to eat it with?"

"Anything you want." Gaurav said, happiness leaking from his face. He took a seat and gestured something to someone from the kitchen and a moment later, a new server was placing a bowl of rice in front of Vikram.

Vikram raised his head to thank him but the moment he saw who it was, all his blood drained from his body.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Vikram asked, standing up and jerking back.

Aditya stood there, not replying.

"Whoa!" Gaurav's voice interrupted them. "You guys know each other?" he asked.

Vikram opened his mouth to answer but Aditya cut him short. "He's my junior from school."

"Ah..." Gaurav said and Vikram stared at Aditya in disbelief. He had just lied about they knew each other. "Well, Aditya's my sous chef." Gaurav gleefully announced.

Okay, so maybe there was one thing that Vikram didn't know about Aditya.

"I'll leave you guys to chat. Must have been long since you caught up." Gaurav said and disappeared into the kitchen.

Aditya, calmly took the seat Gaurav had just vacated. He crossed his arms and stared at Vikram suddenly.

A breath caught in Vikram's throat at the sudden visual contact.

"Why the fuck did you lie to him?" Vikram asked, his voice a little louder than he would like.

"Sit down." Aditya said.

"No."

Aditya closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose like talking to Vikram was giving him a headache. "Just sit down and we can talk."

Vikram noticed that his voice was calm, having no hint of anger or irritation. When he thought about it, his voice lacked any emotion whatsoever. And when he looked at Aditya, he noticed that there was no expression on his face either. He was like a blank canvas, waiting to be painted on.

Vikram had every intention of walking into the kitchen and telling Gaurav the truth, if not for anything else, then just to evoke some kind of emotion from Aditya. But he stopped himself. Whatever it was, had to be important enough for him to lie like that.

And maybe, maybe, if Vikram found out what it was, he could use it to get him away from Shruti.