False Impressions

natsukashii: Japanese word meaning something that brings back nostalgic memories or, takes you back in time. Sort of like the murky relationships that the characters share between themselves.

She didn’t know what was happening to her, no… she knew, but she couldn’t concentrate. It was explosive, it was magical… it was sheer overwhelming madness. Light and stars danced in her vision. Her breath sawed between her parted lips, as her heart beat a frantic and drugged tattoo against her ribcage. Her nails scratched down his spine, drew blood she feared, and moved to her sides, gripping the sheets- crumpling them in her bid to anchor herself to the Earth. Her head twisted, the soft tendrils of her hair tickling and dancing around her jaw in a sensuous dance.
The hands that skimmed lightly over her skin were rough, a part of her noted. Rough, in that skilled artist way. Long fingered, that small observant part of her brain whispered, even as the rest of her twisted in pure madness at what those long fingers were doing to her. Promising her, but not giving… not quite yet sweetheart, they seemed to say. She writhed, literally, as they joyously danced over every inch of her… learning- memorizing- every dip and valley, every line and curve… sometimes slow, just a brush of the rough pad of the thumb, sometimes a gentle scratch of a fingernail, and sometimes a press of a palm. Torturous. Delicious. And then… her breath hitched, as she felt the lips join the torture. She could feel the sinuous smile on them even as they drew involuntary gasps from her, tugging, licking, tasting… moving- always moving.

She wouldn’t cry out… not yet , she decided. And it was as if she had spoken her decision out loud. Because now, it was as if it had become imperative to hear her scream. She twisted, she writhed, she arched… and she tried to hold them in, by God, she tried. But it was just that impossible. Her hands unclenched from around the sheets and ran up the length of his solidly muscled back, enjoying the sensations as the muscles bunched and jumped under her touch, and then they sunk into that beautifully silky mane of hair. Tugging, as she longed to taste those lips back on hers. And her lips parted on the first of her cries, her demand for more… the first of many more to come, she realized.

She felt the sharp, satisfied nip of teeth on that sensitive part just beneath her collarbone, and opened her mouth in yet another gasp, only for it to be swallowed by those beautifully, dangerously sexy lips. Full, sensuous, soft and yet, firm. What a girl wouldn’t do to feel them again, she sighed, then gasped again as those talented fingers upped the ante another notch.

Neck arching she felt one part satisfaction and three parts desire shoot through her… would she ever get enough? Drugged, her lashes fluttered, helpless against the magic that was taking hold of her. Her neck twisted again, a low moan escaped her throat as her lips desperately sought his. Her fingers clutched at whatever they could find of him- hair, arms... him. And then those lips were on hers again, taking, giving… it was like sipping at lightning, she thought, amid gasps and half strangled screams. It jumped through her, boiling and raising her blood till it was right there beneath the surface, bubbling, simmering… that lightning raced through all her nerve endings, sparking them, as if electric charge running amuck throughout. The mad desire now burned away the satisfaction as she felt his weight settle on her. Naked skin on naked skin. And tiny sparks of electricity seemed to go off wherever they touched. Making her arch against him yet again, in her yearning for more. Always more.

Skin slicked with sweat, she lowered her head and nipped, tasted… salty, she smiled as she heard that hitch in breath that was not hers. Those fingers returned, lifting her chin as his lips exacted revenge for that small victory. Leaving her breathless, even as her blood turned heavy inside of her veins, burning, slowing… as the core of her clenched and pounded… wanting, needing fulfillment. Her heavy lids dropped in anticipation of it and she climbed… higher and higher still. And then… those lips skimmed over her closed lids. Look at me sweetheart.

Her eyes flashed open, colliding, battling, holding the pair of brilliant, antique golden ones that fascinated her so. And in that moment, she felt him fill her where she ached most for him. And she shattered. Gloriously, Blindingly, Beautifully… Shattered.

Limbs feeling deliciously weighed down, eyelids fluttering with every lazy glide of his inside of her, Payal was surprised as the sensation of her nerves zinging to life again registered. What was he doing to her? Her breath hitched as a low chuckle shook through him… making her shiver. Her eyes opened wide again, clashing with amused molten gold ones, with a sharp twist of hips that she felt all the way to her toes.
His nose glided along hers, a smile shining in those fathomless eyes of his, as he whispered of her beauty to her. His tongue danced around the shell of one ear, as his thumb swiped at her most sensitive place, and she arched into him, seating him deeper inside her. She shuddered as his almost feral growl reverberated through her, his tempo picked up- and she thrilled at the shiver that raced through him as her nails scored his back.
The slap of slick skin on hers, his lips whispering her name over and over again at her ear, his teeth nipping, his fingers biting at her hips… a whimper rose in her throat, and again she felt his lips brush over hers.
“Sshh. Payal. Let go, sweetheart.”

And it was then she felt that half smile on her lips as it swallowed yet another of her screams, as she heard a matching groan vibrate through hers… unaware of that dangerous little tug around her heart that could only spell trouble.

“What, did you grow a velcro strap to the Amazon’s side now?” was the latest snipe and he shrugged it off. “What can I say, she’s hot,” the bullshitting didn’t work often enough with Khushi. It worked with most people, but with her, it was a rare, rare thing. When it did, he knew he had to be worried. “That is disgusting! To talk about a woman’s sexuality like that at your age!” she stomped off. Fuming. NK grinned. She came back again. Teeth were bared and he thought better of patting her on the head. Gentle approach would work better right about now. Gentleness and humility, or bust. NK swallowed a chuckle before wisely draping an arm around her shoulder. “What is it Manzar mazhi? What’s got you down?”
She turned back towards him. Huffing. A little red in the face. Look at her, he thought affectionately. All dolled up in a watermelon and cream structured silk top with… wait, were those parasols printed on the fabric? She had paired it with a subtly shimmering sand colored wide legged pants. She had on a watermelon and grey sparkly wedges to match. There were gold and pink tourmaline studs in her ears, and a large gold cuff on her wrist. No one ever told her that this wasn’t the apparel one wore to an Indian police station. Hell, you didn’t even dress like this in a cop shop in LA and he had seen some during his school years. Ms. Gupta there looked like she had stepped out of a cops and robbers show right out of the television. The fashion plate. It was funny, looking back, when he remembered the first time he had met her, at 10, wearing somewhat tattered clothes. Still, didn’t it make sense she would dress to keep the past out of her head? He did the same thing after all - just in different ways. Who was he to judge?
“It’s… you think that that hanging out around the glamazon so much is a good thing NK?” she wrung her watermelon tipped fingers agitatedly.
He had veered her off in a different direction. Misdirection. Distracting her with things that already clouded her mind. It had to be enough for her to wander off, in a different direction. NK knew only of one such thing that would work. Well, two, really but Arnav Singh Raizada was a bullet he had been saving for another time. Today he needed something lighter and he had just the thing. Two birds with one stone. NK could kiss his father at this point for sending over the very thing that would make Khushi forget everything for a little while.

“Aajkal Tere Mere Pyar Ke Charche Har Zubaan Par
Sab Ko Maloom Hai Aur Sabko Khabar Ho Gayi”

She wasn’t happy, he could see that. His jitterbug was worthy of Shammiji himself but that didn't even bring a hint of a smile to her usually mobile lips. That disdainful look was worthy of Mumtaz herself, and it was intense enough to strip paint. He wasn’t deterred and continued to sing the ditty until she sat down beside him, with a mighty huff. “Well? What is it?” Aha! He smiled to himself even when presenting the deep teal edged, discreet cream colored invitation to her. “What?” she snapped, until her eyes widened.
“Holy shit! Another auction! An Old Bollywood Clothing auction!!” Khushi goggled while NK smiled, almost paternally. “I hear that orange saree worn by Mumtaz in Brahmachari will be in it Manzar mazhi. Are we going?”
Khushi was usually self possessed. Very much so. She could lie without flinching, steal without her pulse rate going up and smile while ripping a person off, of millions. Maybe that was why it still amazed him how a film collectible auction could turn her into a blathering mush still. He wouldn’t question his fate, as long as she didn’t question his role in the police station at that point. Something told him that she was too busy plotting a win from her imagined competition to care at that point.
“Payal and I’ll pick you up around 8, okay? Its being held at the Jaigarh Hall” She must have heard, he knew it. She nodded, muttering before walking off in another direction, no doubt outlining her strategies. Nobody would outbid her on that saree. She was humming what sounded like O Haseena Zulfon Wali, to him. He sighed when her hips discreetly popped while walking into Aman’s office, no doubt to let him know that she would be leaving early today. NK shook his head somewhat baffled before he walked off to find Payal.

Why were all the women in his life cinephiles?

ztracený: Czech word meaning lost. As in unable to be found or recovered, or morally fallen or even just having suffered a loss. As is in the case of all the characters in this chapter.

She ached all over. A low throbbing pain that originated somewhere in her hips and radiated upwards. A similar pain reverberated in her head, sharper - making her feel nauseated even before she had opened her eyes. Anika reconsidered opening them - what’s the use? No doubt a bad hangover loomed in the horizon. She didn’t remember drinking last night but that’s when it hits you, when you can’t remember what you did last night. Still… her eyes fluttered open - almost on their own. Where was she? The monochromatic, monastic room she was lying in wasn’t hers, that’s for sure. She hadn’t gone and done the deed drunk, had she? Anika tried to shrug it off and the throbbing shame in her heart so at odds with her life now. She could be blase about it. She could be - as long as she didn’t remember her brother’s disbelieving look towards her when she had come down in her party gear. Who was he to say what she would wear anyway? Anika struggled to focus on a green and grey blur near the doorway talking to another slate grey blur. The picture started clearing up - almost like an old tv, finally working. It was her. Ms. Perfect. Khushi Kumari Gupta. Her brother’s purported mistress. What was she doing here? Who was she talking to? Was that… Arnav Singh Raizada? The hot hot hot Raizada heir? How much did she have to drink last night? What was the media-shy Raizada doing with that… that… perfect bitch? Did he want her brother’s impossibly perfect, elegant, beautiful girlfriend too? Figures. She sighed and focused on Khushi. NK bhaiya wouldn’t ever have a chance to talk about her clothes Anika thought, snidely. Even now, with the sunlight pouring through the blinds, the woman was dressed to perfection. How could a mere mortal measure up to her perfection anyway? Just look at her, she thought, somewhat depressed. A silk crepe de chine jewel necked teal Oscar de la Renta blouse that had just come off the runway, paired with a grey high waisted houndstooth pencil skirt with a thick jonquil ribbon instead of a belt at her waist. She had jonquil yellow satin pumps at her feet. No eurotrash top in sight, she thought waspishly. But then, the perfect Ms. Gupta wasn’t looking so perfect right now, Anika noticed. She looked tensed. Bottom lip quivering. Arnav had a decidedly violent grip on her arm, that alarmed Anika and she almost sat up. Not because she liked Khushi but this was borderline wrong and it was the principle of things. She would have sat up except she heard Arnav’s harsh whisper.

“Think about it Khushi. I don’t care about your sidelines,” he too could be snide it seemed. What sidelines, Anika wondered. “But, if you fail to cooperate with me now, step a centimetre out of the lines I’ve drawn around you - and little Ms. Raina there will be in jail faster than she can say “party”.”

Anika drew in a sharp breath. What… Why? Then she remembered. Those pills. Those fucking pills - bought to freak her brother out. Who’d have thought this is where she would end up? Anika quietly lay down. She needed more information. Might as well piece them together from Arnav and Khushi’s interactions. “Mr. Raizada,” Khushi’s tense voice broke through, causing her to frown. “If I do this, this infraction should be stricken from Anika’s records. There should be no record of this,” she murmured, startling Anika. What was she on about? “I don’t want a young girl’s life ruined because of one miscalculation, and I want it in writing”. Arnav smiled. “Don’t trust me Ms. Gupta? Don’t worry. She’ll be safe enough. I’ll give it to you in writing with the clause that if you step out of the line, we try her as an adult”. Anika could see Khushi grow grimmer. “I’m all yours Raizada. I’ll be the bait for your drug lord. I’ll be your consultant for this case, meanwhile - I will not have you pull NK or his family into this mess. They have nothing to do with this,” the last part was said in a whisper. Anika stiffened, feeling her pains multiply. She almost groaned. Just when she thought that the woman couldn’t get any more perfect, she did something like this. Self sacrifice, Anika had learned from those around her at an early age, was declasse. Something told her Ms. Perfect didn’t get the memo. Between her Pollyanna brother and Ms. Prissy Perfect there - it was a wonder nobody had tried hustling them sooner. Now they are, she realized with a sinking feeling. All because of her. She saw Arnav give a sharp nod of assent before throwing a quick glance in Anika’s way (causing her to squeeze her eyes shut), “NK means that much to you Khushi?” he whispered. Hoarsely? Anika wondered at the tone. What was going on here? “More.” Ms. Perfect intoned quietly. “More than you’ll ever know,” she murmured. “He musn’t know about this either Raizada, I don’t want him to blame himself”. Anika saw Arnav give a curt nod. “As long as you uphold your part of the bargain,” he bit out before spinning on his heels and stalking out of what she had surmised to be the hospital room by now. Khushi stood looking at her for a moment before slowly coming towards her and kissing her very lightly on the forehead. Then, she too walked out. Anika groaned. Not just out of the various pains and aches assailing her body and head. What had she gotten her family into this time? Why did Khushi have to pay for it? She knew one thing though. NK had to know and, her crush on Arnav Singh Raizada was over. Unprincipled Bastard. Now if only she could get up and reach for the phone. Anika struggled up against the headrest before reaching for her cellphone next to her hospital bed. Whatever she was, however she was… Anika Raina was fair.

Lavanya hung up the receiver with a sigh; a strange tension and an eery feeling of foreboding running through her. Arnav Singh Raizada, Deputy Director, CBI and The Raizada had just called. Asking for- no, demanding- her cooperation with their office. They suspected that her recently murdered boss, had been involved in something illegal. Drug Trafficking. Lavanya shuddered, thinking of the irritating man who had judged her capabilities to be low based on her gender ever since she had started work in the Custom Offfices. He had apparently been into something way over his head and had tried to back out… and been offed. She flinched at the language, even if it was just in her head. But that’s how it had been told to her. And now, they thought that there was someone in her Department who was still involved. “I need you to work with my officer Ms. Kashyap. Or this is going to get real ugly real fast. Do this and you and your Department avoid the vicious scrutiny… Refuse, and, well you know what the media circus does to the upward mobility of a career diplomat, don’t you?” Those had been Mr. Raizada’s exact words. Spoken in a cool, controlled, even pleasant, tone. But the menacing threat cum demand behind them hadn’t gone unnoticed. But the threat was the last thing bothering Lavanya. And No, it wasn’t even the thought of sharing a workplace with a potentially dangerous criminal. No, it was- surprisingly the detective in Mr. Raizada’s posse that she was going to have to cooperate with. Aman Mishra. Lavanya looked around the room, finding it empty - she quickly jumped a few times in frustration before she took in another deep breath. She was a career diplomat. That meant, she was used to hassle and psychological harassment but this seemed to be more than that kind. She had been trained to withstand pressures from all fronts. Mishra wouldn’t one up on her. Or so she hoped.

There were only a handful of times in NK’s whole life that he’d experienced fear. Real gnawing-at-your-guts aching fear. The last time had been when he’d gotten the phone call telling him that his precious little baby sister had been caught by the police- high on drugs. And now this. He ran a frustrated hand through his already dishevelled hair as he sipped his coffee. Was it his third? Fourth, perhaps? Who cared? NK certainly did not. Not when his sister- yes, the same one who’d been high on illegal substances some hours before, and who was also, incidentally underaged- had called him telling him in a quiet, almost defeated voice, about the “deal” Arnav Fucking Raizada had struck with Billu. “He trapped her into agreeing, Bhai. If I had known she would do something like this I would have turned myself in. In fact- I could still-?” his sister had told him, her small voice trembling- and for a nanosecond, NK had been relieved to find that under all that bravado and spitfire attitude of hers, his little Baby Anny was still there. She was still that sweet little girl who had liked to hold his hand tucked under her chin to ensure he didn’t escape while she slept. But then the fear had come back. Khushi would do whatever it took to clear Anika’s name. That was how they worked. That was how much they meant to each other… and in any case, Khushi was one big softie. she was an easy target for Bastards like Raizada. NK frowned. But why target Khushi at all? It couldn’t have been their gig of the other night. Nobody knew of the Jewelry they had stolen- in fact, courtesy of the old goose that had been sitting on their golden egg, the thing didn’t exist! And he was too good at what he did to even consider that somehow they’d been caught. No. That wasn’t it. But then what was it, that had Raizada sniffing after Billu like a mongrel? Goddamned Fucker. He’d have to find out. And also, put a stop to it. Now how to go about it? Khushi wouldn’t tell him anything- the girl was too proud and stubborn for her own good. No. It would have to be Payal. Payal, of the beautiful inky eyes. The fiery beauty who tried to hide herself behind a stern tightly wound exterior. Could he use her that way?

The idea somehow felt repulsive… wrong. NK shook his head. No, Payal would serve a purpose… but later. Not now. Later. After he’d had more time with her. After he’d had his fill. No, right now, NK had a bone to pick with Papa Darling.

And there, it was done. NK had known he could always count on his Father for such things. Wouldn’t be the first time he had blackmailed and guilted his Father into giving him something… and it wouldn’t be the last either. But on the bright side- He was in. Whatever Raizada had roped Khushi into, NK had wanted in. And well, NK Raina always got whatever he wanted. And Boy, did he wanted this. He put his headphones on. Whether Arnav knew it or not, school was out for the summer and NK was coming.

Well we got no choice

All the girls and boys

Makin all that noise

'Cause they found new toys

He smiled as he picked up his pen. Time to outline the plan, again. NK would leave no stones unturned. Like the tagging games from when they were young, Arnav didn’t know what was about to hit him, again.

Well we can't salute ya

Can't find a flag

If that don't suit ya

That's a drag

School's out for summer

Song: School’s Out by Alice Cooper

iongantas /ĩə̃Ndəs/: Gaelic word for astonishment, surprise, wonder or, even curiosity (No, not the Mars robot, the word!). Used to explain unexplained turns of events.

Psychic spies from China

Try to steal your mind's elation

Little girls from Sweden

Dream of silver screen quotations

And if you want these kind of dreams

It's Californication

He had the sleeves of his chequered shirt rolled up, patiently going over the financial accounts of the vic over and over again, bobbing his head to Red Hot Chili Peppers, while the Accountant-like black rimmed glasses danced on the sharp arch of his nose, wobbling now and then. Aman was good at what he did, simply because of his sometimes seemingly endless supply of patience. He had been studying the autopsy report as well. In plain English - there was nothing there. Aman Mathur didn’t believe in ghosts and unless one returned from the dead to take revenge on Soni for some nameless sins, there was something they were missing out on. If needed, he would go over the crime scene with a fine toothed comb over and over again until they found something - except, he trusted Payal enough to know she wouldn’t miss out on anything. So that meant, waiting. He would wait until she found something and she would and he would go through the clues at hand until something popped up.

It's the edge of the world

And all of western civilization

The sun may rise in the East

At least it settles in the final location

It's understood that Hollywood

Sells Californication

He bobbed his head, while looking. Concentrating. Adding the numbers up in his head. There was something about the books that made him think that the accounts had been cooked. the numbers were just too conservative. Too pat. Aman smiled, reaching for a Kings beer. His brother had just come back from Goa and it had been his present to Aman - a case of beautiful smoky malted beer that is only brewed there. Aman smiled, taking a sip. There was a lot of memories attached to Goa; funny how a drink can bring it all back. For now though, he smiled - the past would stay where it belonged and Aman would continue looking at the books and try placing a respectable government official with Y-crystals because his gut told him that was all it was about - nothing else. Soni was neck deep in chemistry. It was Aman’s job to find out the where and the how of the whiff in question.

First born unicorn

Hard core soft porn

Dream of Californication

Aman knew how fast trails could go cold and he knew how fast he would need to work to counteract that. There would be times when he didn’t eat properly or meet and even talk to his own family for weeks at a time but that was just the part and parcel of the job in question. Aman knew the risks - he never did anything being uninformed. Now only if he knew how Soni was moving the glass; the street slang for Y-crystals, Aman knew he’d have half the case in his hand but that would be asking too much. Plus, he was now looking forward to the case, somewhat. Reaching out he took a swig of the smoky malted liquid and smiled - he was certainly looking forward to some time spent with the doll masquerading as the new assistant head of customs, certainly. Ms. Lavanya Kashyap.

Destruction leads to a very rough road

But it also breeds creation

And earthquakes are to a girl's guitar

They're just another good vibration

And tidal waves couldn't save the world

From Californication

Of course it could just be that Ms. Kashyap was knee deep in all this. Dirty to her pretty fingertips. Aman would then make certain that she got what was coming to her. Until then, where was the harm in a little cat-mouse game? He was smiling still, studying the books when the phone rang. He smiled some more when he put it down. Some rich teenager was caught with nearly a month’s supply of Glass. Stoned out of her mind. Aman didn’t believe in prosecuting the young. She would no doubt get a slap on the wrist because of daddy’s money and unlike other cops Aman had no problem with that. As long as they caught the supplier. Her supplier. Grinning, he straightened his glasses. No doubt he’d have to step out now. He couldn’t help but wish that the delectable Ms. Kashyap would be around again. Just because. For now, he had a spoiled teen to scare. Aman stripped off his casual shirt, pulling on a well ironed blue one. He never believed in mixing his private life with his public one. While he stripped of his jeans and pulled on formal slacks, he thought - the clothes sometimes really did make the man. While his boss, ASR ran from formals as far as he could - no doubt scarred from his stifling upbringing, Aman wore his - embracing them - to forget his own. Straightening his time, he walked out. Work, he knew, would wait for no one.

First born unicorn

Hard core soft porn

Dream of Californication

“You look incredibly trashy! Go up and change your dress right now!” it had slipped out of his astonished mouth. NK hadn’t meant for something like this to come out - at least not when his sister - half-sister, sister, what’s the difference? - had her birthday coming up in a few days and her mother was out of town, living it up in Corsica. Their father - the source of their shared DNA too couldn’t be bothered about the 17 year old starving with a full stomach. So, he had asked NK to move in for the time being, to keep a perfunctory eye on his sister. He had, not because of the incentive his father had promised him but because he was genuinely concerned - worried about her. He remembered himself at that age. NK wouldn’t want any sister of his to get into shit like that if he could help it. He hadn’t meant to say something so offensive either. His years with women and Khushi had taught him that talking to women requires a second and a third thought before opening your mouth and yet, one look at his sister-the polite stranger he barely knew in that trashy pink dress right out of a Euro-Trash club somewhere had him saying something like that. It was cowl necked, shiny, backless and a horrible pepto bismol pink dress that barely reached her mid thighs. The material looked cheap and he was horrified that his sister would wear something so trashy. She had teamed up her overtly made up face with diamonds with as much style as a glass would have. Where was the class? NK had stared - unable to believe that her mother would let her out like that.

“It’s a Vivienne Westwood Red Label Foil dress!” she had half screeched, nose in the air. Surprised, almost as much as he was by her non-interfering, stranger of a half-brother piping in about anything in her life. Her overly glossy pink lips opening and closing like a hungry fish’s.

The words that came out of her mouth shocked NK dumb for almost a minute. “Nose the fuck out of my business, will you? Just because Dad told you to keep an eye on me, doesn’t mean I’m going to take your shit.”

How the hell had his little sister learnt to talk like that? The girl he’d always brought home pretty Barbies for, before they’d lost touch? “Now, wait just a minute...” he almost stammered, when she turned on her heel and stormed out of the Living Hall and into the foyer.

NK started seeing red. Where did she get off talking to him like that? Hell, he was almost 12 years older in age and decades older in experience where the little brat was concerned. “Alright, that’s it.” He’d caught her painfully thin arm (Had the child even heard the word ‘food’? How did her mother allow her to live like this?) in his hand and escorted her squirming and screeching back into the house.

“I forbid you to step out of this house looking like,” he looked her over once again and barely refrained from saying exactly what she looked like, lest he be impolite, “this. Go upstairs, change into something that’s respectable- not trashy- and I’ll drive you to your friend’s house. Am I clear?”

“You know all about trash don’t you, Bhai?” NK was taken aback at the scorn in her narrowed gaze. “Of course you do! What with that slut hanging around you all the bloody time! So, tell me Bhai its okay that you play with trash but when it comes to me, you think of your outdated patriarchal values first? Fuck that!”

NK was the affable sort. Usually. He hardly lost his temper and with it the vein of cold running through him - those were parts of him he hardly ever let out, until today. “Not. Another. Word.” He could have sworn he felt steam coming out of his ears as the unknown, hoarse voice shot out of his throat like pressurized steam. “Go to your room, you’re not allowed to go outside tonight. In fact, I’m grounding you, till your Mother gets back.”

Any other person would have seen his pale face, clenched fists and red ears- and heard that cold biting voice- and obeyed him at once. Not Anika Raina, though. No. She stuck her tiny, pointed nose in the air and proceeded to hike his anger up to previously unseen heights. “Fuck you!” she hissed. “Like I would ever listen to you! We are nothing but strangers with half of the same DNA. So fucking what? You’re the golden child and I’m the afterthought. I owe you nothing.” And with that, the little idiot had stormed out of the house, past him and into the car. What was she even doing, driving a Car? She was not even 18 yet! Then, ironically mirroring his actions at the same age, she had driven off in a cloud of dust. The only difference? He had never left behind another person worried sick about him. She, he was surprised to notice at that time, mattered. Not like a pet belonging to a member of the family, as he had grown into a habit of thinking - she mattered.

And here he was now. Called down to the fucking Police Station, because his barely 17 year old half-sister had been caught in possession of drugs. He groaned again, letting his head fall back into his hands, as Khushi lightly patted his shoulder, while she navigated the car one handed. Drugs, of all the crimes to get involved in, the little idiot had gotten high. Goddamnit, would his Father never Learn?!

Arnav stood outside the hospital room while the spoiled little meth-head threw a tantrum inside at having been placed in police custody. Hard to believe that she was NK’s half sister. That they share any sort of DNA at all. Where NK was affable, this one was spoiled. NK was a thrill seeker, while Anika was lost in her own bubble and where NK loathed drugs (no doubt for his own reasons) and his stance on them was notoriously rigid, yet Anika was packing more Glass than any teenagers or dealers he had encountered lately. This placed the loathsome teenager in his legal clutches - through her, he had a handle on NK Raina and through him - Billoo Rani. Raina would be a means to an end. Arnav had used enough of those to know that it wouldn’t be the first time his conscience would twitch guiltily but needs must. Instincts were barely wrong and his said, she’d know. To paraphrase Heroes, find the Butterfly, find the drug lord.

Aegle (Ancient Greek: Αἴγλη): Meaning “Dazzling Light”. The most beautiful of the Naiads (Celestial Nymphs), daughter of Zeus and Neaera, by whom Helios begot the Charites. She is where creativity and kindness started. She signifies all that is good and right about mankind; in the oddest ways possible.

She had tested the drugs - conclusively. The drugs found in the hollow gold bangles. They were a derivative of Meth; but it was neither refined as Yabba, nor was it as fast acting as pure Methamphetamines, but with all and more of it’s aphrodisiac-like tendencies - it was something new and possibly far more dangerous than both combined. The street name, she had been told - was Y-crystals. As a scientist, she couldn’t but be impressed at the precise knowledge taken to cook this up - but as a CBI agent, she was horrified. Payal put down the sample, cleaning up after herself. The chemical composition had told them enough - this wasn’t a backdoor kitchen-lab cooked meth; no. This was sophisticated work: Done by a chemist excelling in his or her field and, this was the second time this week that this drug had been used intentionally to murder someone. Arnav sir and the others where there right now; Payal had come back with the samples. What did it all add up to?

She rolled down the sleeves of her simple grey shirt, before shouldering the darker ash-blue jacket and her bag. Nobody looking at her would think of a Glamazon, she knew. In her street clothes, she looked very... capable. Payal sighed, wondering why that felt like such an insult. She sighed again, slowly walking out of the CBI compound. She knew, why. It was her job as a scientist to ask questions, to establish hypothesis before proving a theory. It was that man with all that issues, the man with those rich toffee coloured eyes. NK Raina. Thinking of him made her despondent; maybe that’s why thinking about a man was the wrong thing to do. Payal had never thought of one beyond friendship up until now - she had wanted it all. Good grades, a great career. Men would have been stumbling blocks in her path. She wanted none. Now... she sighed. What was going on with her? Why would she be thinking ab0ut a man whose orbit had no space for a low paid government employee? Would he have looked at her if she hadn’t been decked in luxurious, borrowed plumes suited for more exotic birds rather than a plain brown wren like her? She didn’t think so. Unlike others, Payal didn’t really care about it, usually. Then, why did it smart today? She didn’t know... Something told her, that it was an answer best not known. She would rather focus on the Y-Crystal’s chemical structure. Once she would determine it, she would start searching for a chemist present in India good enough to make something so complex - there couldn’t be that many. The moment she tracked him down, she knew that everything would be alright. It had to be, really. Payal had worked for years to be where she was, right now. There were no safety nets waiting for her in the form of family fortunes to rescue her when she got bored with her job. This was all she had. The product of years and years of sacrifice. She wasn’t going to give up on it now, because some man with odd colored eyes was jamming her signals.

She noticed that her breathing was getting choppy, with a scientist’s curiosity. Why was that the case? Was it because she felt a latent sort of guilt for thinking about Arnav sir as she had, so ungraciously. She knew how hard he usually worked, after all. Or, was it because she was affected somehow by the thought of never meeting the man again? That man. Why was it important to meet him again? What difference did it make whether he found her interesting, or appealing or, not? She was, nothing but an investigator whose interest only lay in her investigation. Yet, wasn’t it an interesting phenomenon that she had taken up reading page 3 magazines - less for her movie stars, more for a much coveted glimpse into the life of a man who interested her ceaselessly.

What was it about him, she thought, irritated now. Was it those Mocha and Gold eyes that

had twinkled so beautifully? Or was it that slightly dimpled smile? Or was it the raw Animal Magnetism that he’d exuded? So effortlessly charming, and yet with a touch of dangerous iciness? She sighed, she’d never met a man before that had fascinated her so... He was like Carbon, she thought - one essential element with so many beautiful compounds - so many facets. Why wouldn’t she be captivated? Shaking her head, she had just stepped on the sidewalk, craving some coffee, some calorific dessert.. anything to get her mind off him, when she collided head-first into someone.

She looked up, irritated, her tongue ready to whiplash the person into a trembling mess on the roadside, and then... she was lost. She was lost in Mocha and Gold.

“I’m sorry.” He said, as he gently held her by the shoulders, stomping on the urge to lean in and take another whiff of that unconventional scent of hers. What was it, really? Vanilla? No... she sure wasn’t just vanilla, he thought with a smirk. She was something... exotic. Amazon. Fire. He shook himself, now wasn’t the time. But he couldn’t get himself to release her, he just... couldn’t. He watched those gorgeous black eyes, lined with the thinnest layer of kohl, as they blinked in astonishment behind those green rimmed glasses. Did she think that those glasses would shield those beautiful depths? He wondered, amusedly. He was sure she had been about to rip him one when they’d collided, but somehow, her expressions had changed, amusing him further. Her frown had quickly disappeared, and a pretty blush had colored her cream and roses skin.

“We’ve met, haven’t we?” he asked, even as she kept on staring - those dark eyes sparkling in the watery sunlight. When she said nothing, he added, “You were at Mannan Saab’s party that night. Ms. Payal Mathur, right? I guess you don’t remember me - I’m NK Raina. Anjali Raizada Jha introduced us?” he trailed off bashfully. She nodded, mutely. “Its good to see you again Ms. Mathur. Are you a local? I need to find...” he made a great show of taking his phone out of his pocket and looking at it, “The Government IT office? You’ll have to forgive me. I’m very bad with directions. On top of that...” he awkwardly shrugged, “I’m late for meeting my father’s good friend Asgar Ali Saab for tea,” He looked at his watch again, tiny frown lines appearing between his brows. “Uncle is going to think that I’ve stood him up,” NK glanced at her again, eyes begging, “Do you suppose you could help me?” he handed her the phone containing the address.

Payal finally found her tongue, standing in front of the vision of masculine perfection, who had been haunting her for close to a week. Her cheeks and her ears, she noticed, to some surprise - were still burning. She extended her hand to grasp the phone, without even looking at it. “How do you do Mr. Raina?” she whispered, startled at how throaty her own voice sounded. “Of course I remember you. Nice seeing you again. Yes, I am a local - I work at the...” she shrugged towards the CBI office, “there... let me guide you. It’s quite close by actually,” and then she looked up to see him smiling. Brilliantly. “Why, thank you Payal! You’re a lifesaver! I had no clue that it was close!” He followed after her, leaving a respectable distance behind her. “So... The CBI, huh? That explains why you were with Anjali. Are you a friend of Arnav Singh Raizada’s?” he asked, smiling. “We were in school together. Funny, how we’ve never kept in touch afterwards.”

All too soon, they were there, NK was smiling at her beatifically.”Thank you Ms. Sharma, you saved my life!” While all she could do was awkwardly nod. Payal bade him a hasty goodbye, and had turned her back towards him, trying to walk - to escape as fast as possible. Away from the man who made her IQ drop down. Lose her vocabulary. She shouldn’t even be here. She had walked perhaps fifteen paces away, when she heard a thunder of footsteps pounding on the pavement. Payal turned around, surprised to see NK rushing towards her. “On the other hand,” he said, breathing fast, “I never much liked tea anyway and Ali uncle already thinks that I’ve stood him up. An hour late, you see,” He grinned again. “Payal, would you like to go somewhere for coffee? Its really nice to see you again. We never had the chance to talk the last time,” Payal opened her mouth to say no, all of Arnav’s warnings rushing back to her but when she spoke, all that came out was, “I’d love to, Mr. Raina,” and then, she stared, appalled. What had she done? NK hadn’t noticed it though. “NK, please,” he said, breezily. “Mr. Raina reminds me uncomfortably of my own father and grandfather - both of whom are living,” and before she could say as much as a boo, he had herded her towards his car - into the passenger seat. What had she done? Payal thought, panicked - looking out of the window. How was she supposed to handle this?

But then, he had slid into the driver’s seat, and practically dazed her with that full blinding smile of his, and every thought just seemed to... fly out the window. He was wearing a Grey checked sweater, over a pair of dark wash jeans. His bronze skin seemed even more... delicious in that attire, the unruly black hair flopping onto his forehead, his Mocha eyes glinting golden in the sunlight, as a gentle smile lit his beautiful face up. She felt an unfamiliar yet sensuously delightful shudder course through her, as she saw the muscles in his arms play under the Grey expanse and had to tear her eyes away from them. What was a girl to do? she sighed, exasperated with herself.

NK looked over at her, as he changed gears. She was as beautiful in her simple grey shirt and trousers attire, with her shiny, glossy hair tied up in a bun at the back of her head, as she had been in that dress of Fire. Her skin glowed, her pouty lips invited... He bit back a groan. What the hell was he doing? He’d come to the CBI building, with Ali Uncle as an excuse, to see what exactly ASR was playing at, handing out his Personal Card to Billu. He had checked out everything he could get his hands on about every person working under Arnav, obviously. And had almost jumped with... excitement, when he found out that one Payal Mathur worked there too. And at that point, he had wanted to do anything to understand this mystery sitting next to him. Nothing helped. She was flustered, he noticed. Doesn’t date, her file had said - now he was sure of it. Maybe if he could embed himself into the daily life of Ms. Payal Mathur - he’d know what ASR was playing at. If the thought was an underhanded, sneaky one - he’d done worse. What he didn’t understand was why the thought of doing so with her soured his mood.

He shrugged, as he turned back to the road. Well, you had to do what you had to do. He wasn’t going to let Arnav Fucking Raizada play with his Billu. And he could do anything for Billu. Even if he meant he had to hurt someone as beautiful and captivating as the nymph sitting beside him for it. He sighed. Even if it meant hurting himself. Billu was his responsibility, and he would look out for her. It was his duty. He shook his head, as he heard Payal sigh heavily, and looked at her.

“You seem to be one of the quiet types,” he said, smiling at her, and was amused as she promptly blushed a pretty pink. “How am I supposed to enjoy my coffee if you refuse to talk, Ms. Mathur?” he asked, pulling on every ounce charm he possessed. And for some reason, his heart skipped a beat, as she smiled shyly, looking at him from under her dark long lashes. Hurting her was going to be one hell of a task wasn’t it? With any luck, she wouldn’t even know. However, NK Raina, destiny’s own child - didn’t think luck would favor him this time.

He strode down the airport lobby, where people looked up to see him, momentarily. Why wouldn’t they? It wasn’t everyday you saw someone that tall striding down towards you - nearly six five on his barefoot with the narrow face of a poet and black rimmed glasses that made you think of an accountant or maybe a lawyer. He may have been fair at some point but the harsh Delhi sun had marked him as her own - bronzing him lovingly. A man that noticeable, who knew would be able to fade into the woodworks at will? He could. It was one of the things that made Aman Mishra as invaluable as he was to his CBI team - second in command to his Boss - Arnav Singh Raizada. The only man who had his ear. Well, Boss... and Payal. She was the Forensic. One would think she would be a bit respectable to him, wouldn’t they? But No. That woman... well, plainly put, she was scary. Nice, but scary. Wouldn’t want to tap that. Aman shuddered. Wouldn’t want to be the one to cross her! He shook his head. Rajeeb Soni, Head of Customs. Killed with one injection. Poor Bastard. He was supposed to check through the office again, where Mr. Soni had been found dead, sitting in his chair, staring at the door, fear evident on his features, by his Assistant Head. She had called the Police in- and today was going to be interrogated. Boss was quite sure that the Prostitute that had been killed and this guy were connected somehow- not in the least because of the Y-crystals. But the Asst. Head had motive, and so, she was to be interrogated. Just covering all the bases, he thought.

He had walked into the office, as cat-footed as he always was. The body had been moved by the M.E. office so that was something at least; no doubt the Assistant Head woman would have been throwing a fit over it - would she faint? That would be an unnecessary stress on his time but like they say, he was - for better or worse, a bureaucrat and dealing with people - even other bureaucrats was what he did - because he had to. Diplomacy, he sighed, walking into the office. She sat there - looking nothing like he envisioned the Assistant Head he had envisioned. For some reason, that annoyed him greatly. Instead of chunky shoulder padded all purpose shirt, she had worn a printed, sheer mauve and cream shirt with a white wife-beater underneath. She had paired it up with a sleek pencil skirt that just covered her knees, with slits on both sides. From there came miles and miles of glossy legs straight out of vogue. There was not a pair of spectacles in sight. The face too... What a face! Butterscotch skin, with fine, clear hazel eyes and a pair of lips tilted in an unconscious smile. Aman always had a weakness for butterscotch and damned if that didn’t remind him just how much of a weakness it was too. It wasn’t often that Aman Mishra was caught off guard but finding the pampered model lookalike in the Assistant Head’s office put him on the backfoot. Who was this? Where was the Assistant Head? Was this a air hostess? If so, what was she doing in an active crime zone?

Not wanting to be politically incorrect - he cleared his voice and tried, “Ms. Kashyap? Ms. Lavanya Kashyap?” She stood up, in those killer heels that made her legs look even longer. “Yes, and you are, Detective...?” Aman’s lips upturned, a barely there. It wasn’t often that people realized who he was at first meeting. Most often they thought he was a lawyer or even an accountant. He’d been told that there was a certain monkish way about him that made them think of an accountant. The woman had a sharp eye, he thought catching her eye the shoulder strap that barely showed through his well cut jacket. Did she have the nerve required to kill as well? Instinct told him no, but Aman had always been far too methodical to merely rely on instinct.

“My condolences Ms. Kashyap. I am Detective Aman Mishra and I need to ask you a few routine questions about the murder,” she nodded and indicated for him to seat down. “Of course Detective Mishra, I understand,” she got up and paced. “Forgive me for not being seated, I’m finding this deeply disturbing,” she waved her hands around and eyes flashed animatedly. “Mr. Soni wasn’t even supposed to be here today, at my office - that too before I came in and I can’t imagine what just went down here,” her pace had quickened, Aman noticed even while filing that fact away for future reference in his head.

“How long have you worked with Mr. Soni, Ms. Kashyap?” she stilled and turned around to face him. “About two years, since I was transferred here. Six months of directly working under him ever since I had been promoted. He was... initially unsure about working with someone so much younger but I’d like to think he had come to accept it and we had been working together in relative harmony since then,” he nodded. Frictions.

“Why had he been in your office today Ms. Kashyap? Care to take a guess?” She looked at him straight in the eyes. “That’s what I’ve been wondering as well Detective. You see, I came back to find my door open. With keys that I had thought I lost and Mr. Soni dead inside. Mr. Soni’s office is not in this building Detective Mishra. He had no reason to be here unannounced,” Aman looked at her again.

“Ms. Kashyap, we need for you to come down at the station and give us your statement today, if you can manage it,” she nodded and he noticed that her fingers were trembling slightly when she reached out to shake the hand that he had extended. So that’s why she hadn’t been sitting down, he thought, very curious.

“Ms. Kashyap, it would be better if you didn’t suddenly take an extended vacation during the course of the investigation,” he murmured while leaving, having the pleasure of watching her eyes flash. Her cheeks reddened, even as she drew in a deep breath, no doubt to calm herself down.

“I am the Acting Head of Customs now, Detective Mishra,” she replied icily. “A government official can’t just leave town on a whim, as you should very well know by now. If you don’t, then I suggest taking a refresher’s course in Government and Politics,” he smiled politely at the dig and walked out. Curious.

Aman walked out, a rare wide smile on his face. Too bad he hadn’t met the Assistant Head under more... amenable circumstances. Things would have been a lot more interesting than they were at the moment. Not that it wouldn’t be a lot more fun now but for now, but he’d keep his nose clean. Pity. All that gleaming butterscotch of her skin... He straightened his glasses and faded into the crowd.

Arnav Singh Raizada was someone who was always sure and completely confident about each every action of his. Be it Professional or Personal. He always made sure that solid reason and unfailing logic backed every decision of his. Being a detective had taught him to not jump to conclusions based on mere assumptions, and yet not to discard assumptions altogether either. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as he closed his eyes and frowned in frustration. Then why had he done what he’d done that night, in the Mannans’ party? He sighed and looked up as a waiter in black put a glass of neat Whisky in front of him. It had been a long day. What with the Head of Customs at Indira Gandhi International Airport being murdered, finding no clues to connect the two murders of a Whore and a high paid and respected government official, apart from the means of killing- the injection of an illegal drug in high doses into their bodies, and of course, his own problem of Madame Butterfly who seemed to have taken permanent residence in his head. He shook his head and looked across the room.

Tonight, he was at the Q’BA Bar in Connaught Place. The Black, Purple and White surroundings gave the place a sort of quietly cheerful ambience, The circular central bar was certainly impressive- and the cool night wind from the terrace was soothing, for once. A good place to sit and brood in- in short- while you had a strong drink.

He shook his head again, and eyed his drink. Swirling it around in the glass. Why the hell had he lost his head that night? So she had danced on a raunchy song- quite provocatively- who was he to judge her on that? True, he wanted her... Oh how he wanted her! But that didn’t mean he would make questionable assumptions about her... or judge her on her choice of... work. He sighed again. But somewhere, it smarted that she hadn’t called. Yet. A snide voice inside his head said decisively. Yet. It should only be a matter of time, after all. He was Arnav Singh Raizada, wasn’t he?

And just as he had raised the glass to his lips, someone slid into the seat opposite him, inside his booth. Someone, with long, long legs, encased in high waisted, finely tailored black Bleecker Pants, and tiny feet encased in cream pumps with cut-outs on the side with rhinestone embellishments. Gleaming, luminescent, porcelain skin playing peek a boo through long sleeved white lace top tucked in over a white and rose printed racer-back shirt. Tucked in at the waist, there was a belt - of sorts. One that resembled a red silk bow, like she was a gift wrapped and he couldn’t wait to undo her to see the goodies inside.

Someone, with captivating, ensnaring Emerald eyes- the same shade as the Spider Web Emerald pendant that gleamed at the hollow of her throat.

The glass suspended motionless at his lips, as his eyes widened. His mouth falling slightly open. Agape. Trust Madame Butterfly to be the one who crept up on Det. Raizada. An unheard of feat, until yet anyway. She raised one beautifully shaped eyebrow at him. And he lowered his glass, finally finding his voice. But just as the words were about to take off his tongue, an elegantly manicured, petite hand covered his mouth- Sending shivers of white hot desires racing through his very blood. The other hand plucked his drink off the table, and the Emerald of her eyes danced with frank and haughty amusement, and something more, as she took a long pull from it. Still eyeing him. And for the first time in his life, Arnav Singh Raizada found himself at a loss. His brain seemed to have gone into a temporary lockdown. His limbs and mouth refused to so much as acknowledge his commands- and still he stared at the green-eyed mystery in front of him. All his eyes could focus on was the hand holding the glass of whiskey and the odd ring she had on one of her digits. It was a diamond studded panther curled around a cloudy green stone of some kind. He knew how the panther felt, he thought with a jolt. Captivated. Rooted to the same spot.

She had placed the now half glass of Whiskey back, and leaned across the table towards him. Her hand travelling to his cheek from his mouth, as he got a whiff of her scent. Soft, seductive... mischievous. The pad of her thumb rubbed tiny circles at the corner of his mouth, and he resisted the urge to groan and close his eyes, giving in to her. “Assumptions, is a dangerous game, Mr. Raizada,” she smiled, as the husky melody of her voice sent yet another shot of desire flashing through his veins. Her voice lowered, as she came closer, her dark lashes lowered before she peeped at him through them. Anything but coy. Challenging. “You’ll never know who it’s making an ass out of- you, or me?”

He stared, still as granite. And she had withdrawn. After one last swipe of her thumb against his lower lip. Standing up, Winking down at him- she had turned and walked away. Elegant. Leisurely. And he still sat there. Staring.

After what felt like an age, sanity returned. And with it- came the need to get to her. In time. And he had leapt up, throwing a handful of notes down on the table, he dashed after her. And as he ran out into the cold night, he remembered another afternoon when he’d chased after the same vixen, he looked around frantically- tonight wasn’t going to be a repeat show. Not if he could help it.

And then he looked up as someone whistled past him. The car, a very familiar car, with the license plate that he’d memorised a few weeks ago. To the name of one Rajesh Koothrapali. With the Bane of his Sanity at the wheel, he stared as she pursed those generous lips and blew him a kiss before she drove off.

And once again, Arnav Singh Raizada had been left behind by the enigma that was Billu Rani, or Madame Butterfly as he liked to think of her.

Dammit!

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