Enchanted pen

THE FIRST TEST

ANAYA

I woke up to forty-seven notifications.

Forty-seven.

Not because something had gone wrong.

Because something had gone right.

Which was somehow worse.

I stared at the ceiling for a full minute before picking up my phone.

A mistake.

The photograph was everywhere.

Instagram.

WhatsApp.

Family groups.

Three separate aunties.

Someone’s mother.

Someone else’s mother.

And apparently—

a book club.

Interesting.

I opened the comments.

Another mistake. Because well along with opening them I was reading them out loud and freaking out.

South Delhi found its couple.

He’s in love.

She’s definitely the scary one.

Power couple energy.

I stared.

Then I kept scrolling.

A mistake.

Again.

They’re giving the main character energy.

I don’t know these people and yet I support them.

I looked at the ceiling.

The ceiling offered no solutions.

My phone buzzed.

Rhea.

Of course.

I answered.

RHEA

“Someone made a fan edit.”

ANAYA

“No.”

RHEA

“There’s music.”

ANAYA

“No.”

RHEA

“It’s actually a good song.”

ANAYA

“I’m blocking you.”

RHEA

“You watched it, didn’t you?”

ANAYA

Silence.

RHEA

“You watched it.”

ANAYA

“I hate you.”

RHEA

“Love you too.”

I hung up.

Then immediately searched for the fan edit.

For research purposes.

Obviously.

——

VEER

I saw the photograph at six in the morning.

Because I wake up at six in the morning.

Unlike some people.

The photograph filled the screen.

Terrace.

City lights.

Anaya.

I looked at it.

Longer than necessary.

Closed the app.

I opened it again.

Interesting.

I closed it.

My phone rang.

Mother.

I answered.

VEER

“What?”

MOTHER

“Good morning.”

VEER

“Doubtful.”

MOTHER

“I’ve invited the Kapoors for lunch.”

Silence.

VEER

“When did you decide this?”

MOTHER

“Tuesday.”

VEER

“Today is Thursday.”

MOTHER

“Exactly.”

VEER

Hmmm…. 

I suddenly needed stronger coffee.

After the call ended I opened Anaya’s chat.

We have a problem.

Deleted.

My mother—

Deleted.

Finally:

Sunday lunch.

Both families.

How much do you know about improvisation?

Three seconds later:

Why?

One word.

One threat.

Very Anaya.

——

ANAYA

The members’ club looked exactly the same.

Expensive.

Polished.

And somehow always full of people who looked like they owned multiple properties.

Veer was already there.

Of course.

He stood when I arrived.

I hated that.

Not because it was polite.

Because it made him look better.

ANAYA

“Your mother is terrifying.”

VEER

“Correct.”

ANAYA

“Your agreement is concerning.”

VEER

“I like facts.”

I dropped into the chair.

Coffee arrived.

Necessary.

ANAYA

“We need a story.”

VEER

“We have one.”

ANAYA

“No.”

VEER

Silence.

ANAYA

“We need details.”

VEER

“Why?”

ANAYA

“Because women ask questions.”

VEER

“So do men.”

ANAYA

“Not like this.”

He looked unconvinced.

Naturally.

ANAYA

“We need a first date.”

VEER

“We didn’t have one.”

ANAYA

“Details.”

VEER

“Facts.”

ANAYA

“You’re impossible.”

VEER

“You’re inventing a relationship.”

ANAYA

“Exactly.”

I pointed at him.

ANAYA

“You took me somewhere nice.”

VEER

“Did I?”

ANAYA

“You’re a planner.”

VEER

A pause.

Tiny.

Almost invisible.

ANAYA

“Bukhara.”

VEER

“No, I didn’t.”

ANAYA

“Yes, you did.”

VEER

“I wasn’t there.”

ANAYA

“You were nervous.”

VEER

“I wasn’t.”

ANAYA

“You absolutely were.”

VEER

Could you please be practical sometime.

ANAYA

“So you took me to Bukhara.”

VEER

“That’s not how facts work.”

ANAYA

“It is in this relationship.”

VEER

Silence.

ANAYA

“See? Nervous.”

Another pause.

VEER

“You mentioned it once.”

ANAYA

Interesting.

Very interesting.

I didn’t remember mentioning it.

Apparently he did.

I narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder how he knew little things about me. 

VEER

“Stop doing that.”

ANAYA

“Doing what?”

VEER

“Thinking.”

ANAYA

“I always think.”

VEER

“That’s the problem.”

——

ANAYA

Sunday arrived.

Unfortunately.

The dining room looked beautiful.

Which was irritating.

Beautiful things should not host interrogations.

Both families sat around the table.

Smiling.

Excited.

Dangerous.

Rhea sat directly opposite me.

The traitor looked thrilled.

AUNTIE

“So how often do you talk?”

ANAYA

“Every day.”

VEER

“We do?”

ANAYA

I kicked him under the table.

VEER

I guess she’s the only one who dared to  touch Veer Malhotra. I gasped in disappointment.

ANAYA

“We do now.”

My mother smiled.

His mother looked emotional.

Wonderful.

AUNTIE

“When did you know?”

ANAYA

“Oh he knew first.”

VEER

“What?”

ANAYA

“He was obsessed.”

VEER

“No.”

ANAYA

“Yes.”

VEER

“No.”

RHEA

I watched it happen.

Very romantic.

VEER

You’re not helping.

RHEA

I know.

Another auntie leaned forward.

Dangerous.

AUNTIE

“And the proposal?”

I felt Veer was still beside me.

A very specific kind of still.

The kind that meant he was already calculating damage.

VEER

“No.”

ANAYA

“It was very moving.”

VEER

“It wasn’t.”

ANAYA

“He got down on one knee.”

VEER

“That’s generally how proposals work.”

ANAYA

“There was a speech.”

VEER

“There was not.”

ANAYA

“There were feelings.” “And then he cried.”

VEER

“Allegedly.”

AUNTIE

“How sweet.”

His mother pressed a hand to her chest.

The damage was irreversible.

And then—

His hand covered mine on the table.

I almost looked at him.

I stopped myself.

It wasn’t dramatic. Wasn’t performed. Just his hand settling over mine the way you’d reach for something without thinking.

Which was somehow worse than if it had been deliberate.

The table continued around us.

Questions. Laughter. His mother saying something to my mother.

I stared at the flower arrangement.

Counted petals.

His thumb moved once.

Barely.

Just enough.

I kept counting.

Got to seven.

Lost count.

Started again.

His hand stayed.

Mine did too.

Neither of us moved until someone asked a new question and the moment dissolved the way those moments do—

quietly,

without announcement,

leaving no evidence except the warmth that stayed on my skin longer than it should have.

——

Halfway through lunch—

the question arrived.

The dangerous one.

AUNTIE

“What do you love most about her?”

Silence.

The table went quiet.

I looked at Veer.

Veer looked at the auntie.

No hesitation.

No panic.

Nothing.

VEER

“She doesn’t perform for anyone.”

Silence.

VEER

“She just is.”

More silence.

VEER

“Even when that’s inconvenient.”

Nobody spoke. I noticed the dress before I noticed anything else.

White. Simple. The kind of thing that looked effortless because someone had thought carefully about it.

Her hair was doing that thing again.

The thing where it started the evening controlled and then gradually, almost imperceptibly, lost the argument. A strand near her temple. Another at the back of her neck.

She never noticed.

I always did.

She was laughing at something my mother said — genuinely, not the polished version she used at events — and her fingers had found her necklace without her realising it.

She did that when she was nervous.

Twisted the pendant once.

Twice.

Put it down.

Picked it up again.

I looked away.

Focused on the conversation.

Failed.

My mother looked emotional.

His mother looked emotional.

The aunties looked delighted.

Rhea looked insane.

I sat completely still.

Because somehow—

that felt more dangerous than the proposal story.

——

ANAYA

Lunch ended two hours later.

Which should be illegal.

I finally escaped outside.

Fresh air.

Freedom.

Peace.

For approximately thirty seconds.

VEER

“You didn’t have to say that.”

ANAYA

I looked at him. “He wore an olive green polo — sleeves pushed up, collar open one button too many for a family lunch — and somehow looked like he’d put zero thought into it. Which was the most annoying thing about him. He never tried. And it never mattered.”

“You didn’t have to say that.”

VEER

“It worked.”

ANAYA

“It was specific.”

VEER

“So was your proposal story.”

Fair.

Annoying.

But fair.

ANAYA

“I’ve added details.”

VEER

“I noticed.”

ANAYA

“You cried.”

VEER

“I didn’t.”

ANAYA

“You recovered beautifully.”

For a second—

he almost smiled.

A real one.

Not the sarcastic kind.

Not the annoying kind.

A real one.

It disappeared immediately.

Unfortunately.

——

ANAYA

Later that night I opened the photograph again.

Just once.

I wasn’t looking at myself.

I realised that almost immediately.

I was looking at him.

I was shocked at the  way he was looking at me.

I thought about lunch.

About what he’d said.

She doesn’t perform for anyone.

The problem with that sentence—

I’d spent the entire afternoon performing.

And somehow he’d seen through all of it anyway.

I stared at the photograph.

Then at the ceiling.

Again.

Interesting.

I’ve been the one lying this whole time.

So why does it feel like he’s the one keeping secrets?

END.