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“Of course, I am! But why did you need to make him talk? Why did you get involved? It’s the job of the police.”
“The local police station wasn’t even interested in investigating her disappearance. I had to go over their heads straight to the Police Commissioner. But for that, I needed concrete evidence, and the only person who could provide that evidence was the husband. My part is done. He has filed an FIR, and the police are investigating his wife’s murder. You will need to go to police HQ tomorrow and provide a statement about what you saw that night. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes, I am. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed,” she said, as she slammed the first aid box shut.
I barked out a laugh but straightened my face hastily when she glared at me.
“What’s so funny?”
“The fact that you’re determined to keep me at arm’s length when you want me as much as I want you,” I replied.
“I don’t want you,” she said, rising to her feet.
I shrugged.
“Keep telling yourself that, baby.”
She shot me one last glare and picking up a pair of silk pyjamas that was neatly folded on the foot of the bed, she headed to the big ensuite bathroom. I expected to hear the water running soon, but there was complete silence for almost ten minutes, and then I heard a little scream.
I rapped on the door sharply.
“Diya, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she called out, but she didn’t sound fine. I wondered if she was hurt.
“Please unlock the door,” I ordered.
“No! Go away!”
“Alright, then stand back. I’m coming in one way or the other,” I declared, as I prepared to break down the door.
“Ugh! You. Are. So. Annoying,” she growled, as she unlocked the door and threw it open. She was only wearing her blouse and underskirt, while her saree lay on the floor in a heap.
“I live to serve. Now, what’s wrong? Are you… crying?”
“No!” she lied, dashing away the tears on her face. “I’m just irritated because I can’t get this bloody blouse off.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“The stupid darzi seems to have sewn me into it,” she snarled.
“Huh?”
“I can’t undo the hooks in the back of the blouse because it’s too tight for me to reach them, Dheer. And it’s…”
“Annoying?”
She let out a frustrated growl and I took a step back out of pure instinct.
“Do you want me to call someone?”
“No! They will think it’s weird. But maybe call Isha?”
I nodded and dialled my sister’s number as I tried not to stare at Diya’s beautiful curves that called to me like a siren. But Isha didn’t answer the phone.
“She’s not answering.”
“Well, then, you’ll just have to do it,” said Diya defeatedly.
