"Riya, what's wrong with you? You've been acting so strange lately," Mrs. Sinha snapped at her daughter rather irritatingly. "You are getting late for office and haven't even had your breakfast yet!" Riya jumped out of her daytime reverie guiltily. She had been feeling a little depressed and lost these past few weeks. She couldn't pinpoint the exact reason as she herself had no clue about the vacuum setting inside her, a certain melancholy and wistfulness about life in general.
She pretended to fiddle with her mother's painstakingly prepared breakfast and complimented her on her efforts plastering a fake smile which her harried mother bought at face value. Sighing deeply she opened her laptop at her office and stared vacantly at the screen for a few minutes. She logged into Gmail and scurried through the emails vapidly, the marketing gimmicks and promotional messages flooding her inbox bored her to death. She noticed a mail from Neha, her college roommate about their upcoming batch reunion at Delhi. A grand hotel had been booked in advance, a dandiya night had been organised at an ex-classmate's farmhouse. Neha had been pestering Riya to join in their revelry:"Know what, Riya? Tarun Mehta has finalised his presence for our meet," followed by a wink. Riya fell pale, her breath stopped for a few seconds as long lost memories came flooding.
Tarun, the golden boy of JKT Engineering College, presented a lethal combination of good looks and grey cells in addition to being manor born - his father R.J. Mehta was an influential businessman. Tarun had a swagger and an air of arrogance around him. Riya always felt tongue-tied in front of Tarun while he acted as if she didn't exist for him. Riya was the bookworm kind, nerdy and focused; the boys found her boring and the girls, outdated. Riya's attire of crisp cotton churidar kurti was considered a fashion disaster. Her waist length thick pigtail was a source of much amusement for her classmates. No wonder that Riya felt a misfit in her hip college; she couldn't make even 4 genuine friends in her 4-year stint at the engineering college.
Despite being averse to showoffs and self-proclaimed Romeos serenading the pretty and fair damsels of the college, Riya had felt a quaint pull towards Tarun. His tall, athletic physique, chocolate brown eyes twinkling with mischief and that to-die-for good looks had the entire female population swooning. Riya tried to avoid him at all cost and ignore all mush talks about him but in private she thought about him quite often. She remembered that day vividly. The annual function was a few weeks away, the play 'Pride and Prejudice' had been finalised. Tarun was to play Darcy, Jane Austen's brooding, status-conscious hero. Several girls vied hard for the main female lead role of Elizabeth Bennet, but Mrs Sequeira, the English Professor, chose Riya for the part because she seemed convinced that none of the other girls possessed Elizabeth's intensity and strength of character. Riya had felt goose pimples and refused the part vehemently. She had to give in ultimately and start the rehearsals with the entire cast at the auditorium.
The first day of the rehearsal, Riya had worn her best pink churidar kurta, washed her hair and tried to look her best. With a flutter in her heart and a spark in her eyes, she'd walked towards the concert hall.
A huge guffaw with someone taking her name stopped her in her tracks. "Where is that mousy Riya, I thought she'd be the first one up here," chortled Tarun. "Oh, she must be getting into the character of plain Jane Elizabeth," chirped the catty Shanaya. "Well, that's no big deal, she has to just play herself and she'll be ok," Tarun reparteed and the entire auditorium gave into unbridled peals of laughter.
Riya's eyes had stung with an avalanche of tears while her tender heart felt crushed mercilessly. She had run away to home, fallen sick crying for days and only came back to college after a month to giver her final exams and bid adieu to the hypocritical lot. After that life-changing event, Riya vowed to transform herself. From a simple, mousy dame to a well groomed, stylish maiden, she went on to re-invent herself with a vengeance; coloured and streaked hair, well-toned body with designer clothing and immaculately applied make-up, ultimately being labelled a fashionista in her known circle. It wasn't a very pleasant journey, though. Riya had to surrender a part of her soul and everything she believed in to don a fake persona which won her social approval but depleted her inner peace.
From day one, Sanjay, her senior at the multinational she worked in, was enamoured by the impeccably groomed and sophisticated diva look that Riya bore with aplomb. He had been wooing her persistently for a year and she was on the verge of relenting and giving into his proposal, more so for her parents' happiness and because she couldn't find anything wrong with Sanjay. But was he her Mr Right? she often questioned herself.
Neha's mail opened an emotional pandora's box for Riya. Shaking off the heavy overload of the past from her mind, Riya decided to attend the college meet and show Mr. Perfect how far she has travelled from those 'mousy' days.
The Rennaissance banquet hall sizzled with the hustle-bustle of ex-JKT students. The in-form rock band 'Jashn' was belting out their hits to the rousing crowd. Riya paused at the entrance to draw a long breath. She was both tense and exhilarated. She saw him immediately. Tall, imposing and quiet, listening to the senseless chatter of the people around him, he turned his head as if he sensed her and gave a long hard look at the vision in front of him. Gorgeous in gold, she looked stunning in her off-shoulder dress barely reaching her mid thigh. Her shoulder length hair had streaks of gold highlights while her lips shone with a crimson gloss. She was a stranger but looked oh so familiar. Tarun stared hard disconcerting her.
Neha's shriek 'Hiiiii Riya, why are you so late?" was a saviour.
Shocking recognition dawned in Tarun's chocolate brown eyes and he looked flustered for a second. Riya gathered herself and moved with a perfected swish towards the group, deliberately ignoring Tarun. 'Let Mr Perfect rue his loss', It's my day today!'
"Hi Neha, sorry yaar, the meeting with the French delegation got over just an hour back," Riya stated gloatingly.
"Hi Riya," Tarun's soft voice cut through her monologue. Riya gave a long disinterested look to the man of her dreams and belled a loud, "Oh. is that you Arun, sorry Tarun? Nice meeting you after ages." Tarun gave an amused, wry glance, "Likewise. How are you Riya? You look very ... different I must say."
"Well, it's been five years, people change you know," Riya said pointedly. "And some more than others," Tarun quipped.
After an hour of usual chit-chats all around, Tarun walked off with an "I'll take leave now, nice seeing you again, Riya." Feeling as if she'd been rejected a second time, Riya too said her goodbyes.The evening had gone horribly wrong. Tarun hadn't seemed impressed by her at all and she felt fake inside. At home, in bed, Riya relived the past few hours and consoled herself that they had at least exchanged phone numbers.
Ping! Lost in her thoughts, Riya saw a message on her phone from Tarun Mehta; 'Sorry for hurting you that day. It was rude and unbecoming of me. Waited for five years to say in person but the one I wanted to say it to has gone and you have taken her place. Please pass on my apologies to my Elizabeth, the one who I could never forget. Tarun.'
Shock, disbelief, rage, and an inexplicable emotion filled Riya. How dare he? After all these years, he had the gall to say sorry!! Her sleep gone, she paced the room back and forth. Hypocrite, Liar, Brute....muttering all the profanities, Riya picked up her phone and typed her response, 'Mr Mehta, that girl is dead. You murdered her simplicity and innocence in one cruel stroke. Apologies not accepted. The door for forgiveness closed a long time back. Ghost of Riya.' Pressing send, Riya exhaled deeply..."Don't cry, baby," she told herself, "Let the man stew in his guilt, he deserves it!'
It was Wednesday evening and Riya was tired. Mulling constantly over their last exchange Riya wondered if he will ever get in touch with her again. She willed herself to not check her phone to see if he had replied. It had been about three days now. She hated that she was constantly checking his 'last seen at' status and yes, he had logged in just five minutes ago. Yet she couldn't stop herself. This sinking feeling to find absolutely no communication from him was becoming unbearable, almost torturous.
And then, just as she sat down in her chair, her phone vibrated. With her heart thudding in her ear, she unlocked her phone and stared at the screen. Finally! It was his message. But when she opened it and read it, she nearly stopped breathing. She didn't know if he was joking or not. What was this?
"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admired and loved you." Tarun had quoted Darcy from the novel! Riya almost wept at the sheer wonder and futility of it all.
Trembling, she wrote her favourite quote from the novel back, "I could easily forgive his pride if he had not mortified mine." Sent.
Riya was startled by her doorbell ringing an hour later. Almost expecting him but still taken aback to find Tarun at her doorsteps, Riya let him in. They savoured the next few minutes of silence, each lost for words. Giving a long sigh, Tarun spoke,"Pride has no place in love. But it wasn't just my pride but also your prejudice which stopped me from approaching you. Your lovely, quiet eyes looked at me with disdain, your disapproval of my wealth and lifestyle emanated out of you strong enough. You avoided me as if I had the plague and that incensed me no end. I wished to impress you but only ended up distancing you from me. That day I was waiting so anxiously for you to show up for rehearsals, but I daren't reveal my excitement publicly hence I chose to take the sarcastic path. I deliberately mocked you because I was fighting my growing feelings for you. When you didn't turn up I thought it was because you couldn't stand the sight of me. I went to USA soon after and met Neha at the same institute who told me how hurt you were by my insensitive remarks that day. I swore then to meet you as soon as I return. Our college reunion party was a Godsend but the one I wanted to see wasn't there. You can't begin to fathom the depths of my anguish and regret at hurting you but I'm even sorrier now that I drove you to become what you always detested. This is just not you, Riya!", Tarun ended passionately.
Riya felt numb and drained as if the wind had been knocked out from her lungs. She needed time to process these startling revelations. "Will you have some coffee?" she asked more to buy time than politeness. Tarun was stumped but agreed. "You were the hero of the college and I felt so pedestrian next to your glory. Hence, I always kept out of your way. I've never felt as low as I did that day listening to your description of me," Riya's voice broke with remembered pain. Tarun cursed himself and took her hand in his, "I know I have a lot to answer for. Let's have dinner tomorrow, PLEASE!" he begged. Riya relented. She had never felt more stirred and alive as she had the past one week. She needed a closure on this relationship either way.
Tarun sat tensely at the exclusive restaurant and the private table he had booked for the girl who captivated him all these years. He didn't know which direction this evening will head but he was willing to give it his best try. She deserved this courtesy. A few minutes later his heart glowed and he found himself grinning; as fresh as a dew, raven-haired radiant beauty wearing a pink chiffon churidar kurta entered the place and sat smiling in front of him.
"So what do you recommend to encourage affection?" Tarun says softly. Riya laughs gleefully after ages, "Dancing, even if one partner is barely tolerable." "Oh Riya, how I missed you all these years," Tarun waltz his lady away onto the floor, bridging the distance between the past and the present with one sweeping motion.
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