.

felt the absence of that spark in all his subsequent relationships.

      * * *

      The next day was less awkward than either Riya or Dhruv had anticipated. Gaurav hogged the limelight by waking up at ten when he had to catch a one-thirty flight, and announcing calmly over breakfast that he ‘still needed to get his stuff together.’ He panicked when Riya pointed out that as he’d need to be at the airport an hour before the flight, and it took forty-five minutes to get there, he had exactly an hour and a half within which to bathe, shave and pack for the wedding as well as the honeymoon.

      In the ensuing flurry of activity to get Gaurav ready in time, Riya found herself and Dhruv slipping into a semblance of the easy camaraderie that had existed between them in the early days of their friendship.

      ‘Why would you leave packing to the last minute?’ Chutki moaned as she sat on a suitcase in an attempt to make it close.

      ‘I thought I’d just need to take a couple of shirts and jeans and the wedding sherwani,’ Gaurav said in a harassed voice.

      ‘And a few suits, and gifts for a dozen people, and clothes for the honeymoon,’ said Dhruv, pulling a heap of boxes out of the cupboard where Gaurav had stacked and then conveniently forgotten about all the things he’d bought for the wedding. ‘Not to mention the jewellery for Madhu. A psychoanalyst might think you wanted to miss the flight because of a deep-rooted subconscious phobia over marriage.’ He took the suitcase from Chutki and, forcing the lid closed, snapped the clasps shut. ‘Don’t even try opening this till you reach Kolkata,’ he warned, his deep voice betraying some of his affection for his cousin.

      ‘No fear,’ said Gaurav. ‘It’s full of girlie junk my mum bought for Madhu when she came to Mumbai. On my credit card, if I may add. By the way—I don’t have a deep whatever you said marriage phobia.’

      ‘I didn’t say you did,’ Dhruv retorted. ‘I said a psychoanalyst might think that. A normal person would think you’re an irresponsible idiot.’

      Riya frowned at Dhruv, but then gasped as one of the boxes Gaurav was cramming into a second suitcase fell open to reveal a heavy gold necklace.

      ‘You’re mad, G-boy,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you left all this jewellery just lying around. What if we got burgled?’

      ‘Ah, we wouldn’t,’ Gaurav said. ‘I’m way too lucky for that. But I probably should have started packing earlier.’ He slammed the last suitcase lid down and stood up, grinning at them proudly. ‘All done.’

      ‘He isn’t going to make the flight,’ Dhruv said flatly. ‘Have you called for a cab, Gaurav?’

      ‘Riya’s going to drive us,’ he said with an anxious glance towards her. ‘Aren’t you, Riya?’

      She pretended to frown. ‘Am I? I don’t seem to recall you asking me.’

      ‘Ah, Riya, sweetheart, please...’ Gaurav went down on his knees. ‘I’ll be eternally grateful. Your slave for life. Please, please get me to airport—or I’ll miss my wedding and my life will be ruined.’

      ‘You’re such a clown,’ she said and, grabbing his hand, dragged him to his feet. ‘Your wedding isn’t for days. I’ll drive you to the airport, though. One doesn’t get promised eternal servitude every day.’

      Gaurav threw his arms around her, hugging her exuberantly. She came out of his arms laughing, but stopped abruptly when she caught Dhruv’s eye. There was a faintly condemning look on his face and she felt absurdly guilty.

      Gaurav was probably her most favourite person outside her family. They had hit it off the day they met, and in spite of her initial awkwardness at sharing a flat with a man they had been best buddies ever since—to the extent that a lot of people thought they were related. Something about Dhruv’s expression made her feel that he disapproved of her being so close to Gaurav, though—or at least that he disapproved of her hugging him.

      The thought that he could be jealous crossed her mind, only to be dismissed immediately. She was reading too much into everything he said or did, she told herself firmly. It was about time she pulled herself together and started acting like a mature adult rather than a sixteen-year-old in the throes of her first crush.

      ‘Maybe we should get the luggage loaded,’ Dhruv said abruptly, cutting into her thoughts. ‘Riya, come downstairs with me and show me where your car is parked.’

      She nodded silently, wondering why she didn’t object to him ordering her about. Dhruv had grabbed two of the heaviest suitcases, and his muscles rippled impressively under his tight-fitting T-shirt. Riya followed him to the door, dragging Chutki’s wheeled bag behind her and trying not to ogle his perfectly shaped body too obviously.

      ‘I’ll bring the car up to the first floor, G-boy,’ she called out as she shut the door. ‘Be there in five minutes—Chutki, don’t let him dawdle.’

      ‘Chutki’s a world champion dawdler herself,’ Dhruv grunted as he put the suitcases down and hit the lift button. ‘I’ll be very surprised if they make it out of the flat before twelve.’

      The lift was more than half full when it stopped at their floor, and there was only just about space for the two of them and the luggage. Riya had to squeeze in very, very close to Dhruv—and she was intensely conscious of the hard length of his body pressed against hers. If she moved her head a fraction her face would be buried in his chest, and she had to very firmly repress a desire to do just that. The scent of his woody cologne teased at her nostrils, and she was immensely relieved when the elderly lift finally made it to the ground floor, creaking noisily to a halt.

      ‘This building needs some repairs,’ Dhruv said as he stepped out. ‘Decent construction, but very badly maintained. The stairwell’s a garbage dump, too.’

      ‘Shh, the secretary of the building society’s just behind us,’ Riya hissed, not sure whether she was more annoyed at his rudeness or about the fact that he had been thinking about the condition of the stairwell when she had been busy lusting after his near-perfect body.

      Dhruv shrugged. ‘So?’ he asked. ‘I’m sure he’s noticed that the building’s about to fall down, and if he hasn’t, it’s about time someone pointed it out to him.’

      ‘Lots of buildings in Mumbai are like that,’ Riya retorted over her shoulder as she marched off towards her car.

      She’d bought a spanking new, bright red Hyundai i10 a few months back, and was intensely proud of it—in spite of the niggling feeling that she shouldn’t have spent so much money on herself when her parents were so hard up. Gaurav had held off buying his own car because the flat came with only one parking space, and in return she chauffeured him around whenever he wanted, and nobly refrained from retaliating when he made remarks about her somewhat reckless driving.

      ‘Is this it?’ Dhruv asked in disbelief as she used the button on her keychain to remotely unlock the car. ‘Where does the luggage go? The car doesn’t have a trunk.’

      ‘Of course it does,’ Riya said crossly, swinging up the back. ‘The luggage goes right here. And what’s left of it goes in the rear seat.’

      ‘Well, I’m sitting in front, then,’ Dhruv said decisively, opening the passenger door and moving the seat back to accommodate his long legs. ‘Who’s this car made for? Under-eights?’

      Riya slammed her own door shut with a very final thud. ‘Don’t you dare insult my baby, Dhruv Malhotra,’ she said firmly. ‘Otherwise you may just find yourself chucked out on the road halfway to the airport if McQueen decides he doesn’t like you.’

      Dhruv’s lips twitched. ‘Is that its name? Wouldn’t a car be female?’

      ‘Only if it belonged to a dumb male,’ Riya said, backing out of the parking lot and speeding up the ramp to stop in front of the first floor lobby.

      Gaurav and Chutki were nowhere in sight, and it was drizzling slightly so she couldn’t