Page 66 of Not Safe for Work
‘The constant hustle, living from pay cheque to pay cheque, fighting, clawing, perpetually stuck in survival mode. It’sexhausting. Some days I want to give it all up and just … go home.’
He was quiet for a moment and I worried I had overshared.Why would Mr Worli Sea Face give a shit about my middle-class miseries?‘If you did go home, would you be running towards something … or away from all this?’
I blinked, taken aback. ‘Um … I don’t know.’ I traced a finger along the rim of my mug. ‘All I know is, life would be easier. I wouldn’t have to prove myself every day, you know?’
There was a glimmer of something raw in his eyes before he looked away. ‘Can’t say I know what that’s like.’
‘What do you mean?’
He pulled his legs back from the coffee table, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The fabric of his knitted tee stretched across his shoulder blades, faintly outlining the V of his back. ‘I’ve always had to prove myself at home … ever since I was a kid.’ He paused, studying my face as if he was weighingthe risk of saying more. Whatever he saw there seemed to tip the scale, because he kept going. ‘My dad … he’s never been easy on me. That’s why I moved out and got my own place.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, feeling a pang of empathy. ‘That’s not what home should feel like.’
‘What does yours feel like? When you go back to Mussoorie?’
A small, wistful smile teased my lips. ‘Like coming back from the office and unbuttoning the top button of my pants. Like I can finally breathe.’
Neil let out a soft huff of laughter. ‘That’s … oddly specific.’ Then his grin faded, his expression shifting. His eyes seemed to light up when he said, ‘Wait … that’s it.’
‘Huh?’
He got up from the couch and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes fixed on the marble floor. ‘Clothes that let you breathe … no, that’s too simple. Clothes that ...’
I watched him with a mix of confusion and intrigue as he paced in front of the table, mumbling to himself like a madman. ‘Neil, are you okay?’
‘Clothes that make you feel at home,’ he whispered, pausing, before shaking his head again. ‘No, too long.’
His voice was barely audible, but his words hit me loud and clear. Oh.Oh.‘Clothes that—’
‘—feel like home,’ I completed for him.
His eyes shot up to mine and widened. ‘Clothes that feel like home,’ he repeated.
The words echoed in the room, mirroring the sound of the thunder outside.
thirteen
Too Close for Comfort
Bollywoodshould be sued for its wildly misleading portrayal of the Mumbai rains. ThatHum Tumdream sequence of Rani and Saif dancing in the rain? One imbalanced twirl and they would’ve landed face-first in a pothole. And the kissing-under-the-jacket scene fromAashiqui 2? You really want me to believe that flimsy garment was rainproof? Don’t even get me started on that final Marine Drive scene fromWake Up Sid. Because, let’s be honest, nobody has ever managed to have a private moment there. You would be sharing space with at least ten other couples, two popcorn vendors and a policeman trying to chase everyone away.
Whoever wrote those movies had clearly never experienced the wind flipping their umbrella inside out, getting splashed by a speeding vehicle or being stuck somewhere and wondering—like Neil and I were right now—if the only way to get home was to swim.
We were standing under the office building, watching as a man with his pants rolled all the way up to his crotch waded through knee-deep water. Neil let out a string of cuss words. ‘There’s no way I’m taking my car through that. It’s practically a swimming pool.’
I nodded, tapping my phone to check the status of my Uber booking.There are no drivers available right now.Great, just great. ‘Maybe we can just walk to the train station?’
Neil looked at me like I had completely lost it. ‘Through this muck? You’re joking, right?’
I sighed, defeated. It was already half past eight and the rain showed no signs of slowing down. HR hadn’t been kidding about that storm warning.
The security guard left his post and walked up to us. ‘Madam, you should go back inside. The news is saying trains are suspended.’
Neil blew out a breath, looking up at the thundering sky. ‘He’s right, we’ll just have to wait it out.’
The realization that I was stranded in the empty office with Neil Desai didn’t hit until we were back upstairs. Even the office guard must have left after us, because there was no one to let us in and we had to punch in with our biometrics again to enter. With all the lights switched off and flashes of lightning flickering through the windows, the place looked like the set of a low-budget horror movie.
I fumbled around in the dark until I found the switchboard. The overhead bulbs blinked to life, casting a cold, fluorescent glow over the rows of workstations. Which only made things worse, because now I could see everything clearly, including Neil’s chest through his rain-soaked tee.
