[tw: unplanned pregnancy]

"I'm gonna wear you down
I'm gonna make you see
I'm gonna get to you
You're gonna give into me."

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december

"She's number four, Virat. Number four." his friend, Rohan says gruffly as they check out the woman in red.

Virat rolls his eyes as he speaks, "And the list is supposed to be three ladies long, right? But. I. Don't. Care."

"But she's a doctor. A doctor. Doctors are serious, grumpy kind. Won't work, nah." he grimaces.

"Maman is crazy. I know I'm supposed to get married but bringing marriageable ladies at home is another level of crazy. This is so like . . . love island. And why do you think I will have an aversion of doctors? Sakshi is a doctor too if you trip down the memory lane." He stares at the woman in the red again—Dr. Anushka Sharma—as she sips on her glass of lemon soda. He has no idea why his mother was so insistent to go talk to her, but being a mama's boy had its fair share of disadvantages.

He counts the number of seconds he will have to tolerate the woman's presence. She looks so dull in the vibrant surroundings. Like a wilting lilac amidst a field of wild sunflowers. 

"It's such a fine weather for a wintery Delhi night." he tries, standing beside her. He looks at her profile. She is beautiful, he can concede to that. But so many shadows on her face, with a constant, unwavering, unflattering frown.

Maybe she is also counting seconds until the party gets over. "Oh, is it?" she pinches her mouth in such a way that makes her drop to number ten in an instant.

"Yes," he replies. "It is." Counting seconds, sheep, stars.

"Delhi has changed a lot with a shift in power in the politics, has it not?"  he tries again.

This time she doesn't even bother to look in his direction. "Has it?" she asks.

Her terse replies brings out the devil in him. He has always been the one showering chivalry on the ladies, but this woman was . . . confounding, infuriating, exasperating. "Do you know you speak only twenty percent share of the conversation. And that part of conversation is also burrowed, Doctor Sharma." 

Beside him, she tilts her head as she looks at him. "Is it?"

He clenches his fist, his annoyance shooting beyond measure. He is trying so hard to strike a polite conversation when all he wants to do is run away from the goddamn party, and here this woman is not even trying. Even though his mother is advocating their chances of being a couple and all. In fact, she is looking at him resentfully. 

"This won't do, Doctor Sharma." he bits out exasperatedly.

"I think it will do," she finally says something which isn't morose, but Virat sees flicker of anger behind her eyes. Whatever he had done wrong? "I know what you're thinking, coming here all of a sudden when you haven't even looked around, talking to your friend and leering around. I'm not an easy prey. And you're highly mistaken if you think I am."

"I'm thinking that?" he wrinkles his nose.

Anushka looks around as if to make sure no one was hearing them as she speaks, "I know that you know what happened to me. Stop thinking I'm loose or susceptible to your vile intentions or blackmail or coercion because I am not."

It is the look on her face which reminds her of someone. It was the first time he had been with his sister in her clinic when a very young girl had come with her father for an abortion. He had wanted to leave then, go anywhere else but he was stuck on the ground and the rest did not bother to look at him.

In his years of life, he had thought about the girl a lot, whenever he saw a pregnant teenager or unwed mother. Because she didn't wish to abort, but he remembered his sister's words as she talked about the risks involved if she carried on with the term.

In the end, she had not agreed. She didn't give up.

He sometimes did wonder what happened after that. How had she managed? But the story was right in front of him. Anushka Sharma was now a doctor, with her own small private practice where she worked at night while working as a resident during the day. She hadn't just survived the ordeal but made something so beautiful of her life.

And she is glaring at him now, intensely. "Stop imagining me naked, Kohli. Because it's not going to happen. You cannot have me." How couldn't he have recognized those eyes? Also she was being morose and rude to him on purpose. Because she thought, he wanted to, oh—

"Calm down, Anushka." he says immediately. "I wasn't thinking that. In fact, I had drawn no conclusions about your—character. I only came here to talk to you because you're the fourth prettiest lady in the room."

"Am I?" she rolls her eyes. "Fourth prettiest lady in the room." There was a dangerous undertone in her voice.

"No—shit—that's not how I meant it. I didn't mean to say that at all." he looks away, totally embarrassed.

"Take your shitty list and work on the number five because number four wants nothing more to do with you." she slams her drink on the table, gets up from the seat, and stalks away fortuitously to the other side of the room.

She is now talking to some other very old guy, Mr. Vashishth if he remembers correctly. They are chatting animatedly, and then he sees her smile. The vibrancy in her personality, her wavy locks of hair swirling as she laughs out aloud at some joke made. He can swear, he had never seen anything so full of life before. 

Rohan comes to stand beside him, his eyes following the direction of his gaze. "So, she is number four. Is she on the list then?"

No, Anushka Sharma was not on the list. She couldn't be in the list because she was the goddamn list.

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august

Anushka sees a swirl of saffron, white and green around. White, she loves white the most because it brought to her peace and contentment. No chaos, no torments, no furore.

Their neighborhood has a tradition of gathering for a collection drive for the poor and needy ones. Everyone is all smiles, including her even though her cheeks ache from the pain. But she will not look on her left. She will not give him the bloody satisfaction.

"Aren't you always so full of spirit, Doctor Sharma. Be it a national holiday or something more . . . festive. Always full of cheer and frolics."

"Why, yes, I suppose I am. Happy Independence Day, Mr. Kohli."

He doesn't return her greeting, just laughs softly. She thinks in an almost mocking manner. He is almost her height so there is really no way she cannot not look into her eyes without appearing to be cowered or meek. And that she is not, so she looks into his brown eyes which sparkle with such intensity. His mouth curls up on one side as if she is for his own private amusement.

Whenever he is here in the city, all the people around them giggle because he is—well, important—Virat Kohli now. People like to fawn over him, and maybe, she would have too if he didn't make her remember all the things she wanted to forget so bad.

"Happy Independence Day that's what you're supposed to reply politely even if you don't return the sentiment. It's like those sweet nothings I'm sure you throw around."

"I thought you were just describing the surroundings around. Really didn't think you were happy."

How could she ever forget that they shared her shame? After all, it was this day when she had visited his sister's clinic, he was there and she didn't bother to ask for privacy because her world was falling apart then.

"Yes. The whole of August symbolizes a sense of freedom to me. This day, the monsoon, the sky, everything. So yes Mr. Kohli, I'm happy, thank you very much."

His eyes meet hers, "You must not be thinking that there is freedom and happiness in real sense. And August is it now? Why, you were after all trapped during this month because someone did not care and got you with a child when you were a child yourself."

"I want to slap you, right now but you already know you deserve so much worse. You always goad me when we are alone. You've been doing that for months now."

"Well, there can be two possibilities to that: one good and one bad. Either I am too much of an ass, too rude, arrogant, conceited person who loves to vent his ire on you, Doctor Sharma. Or," then his voice softens, "I am in love with you. Truly, madly, deeply in love with you, and have been for these past months."

"Well, there are supposed to be two theories to that, right? One good and one bad," she turns to face him so that he can see the merriment in her eyes clearly. "I can only see two bad, dreadful, horrible ones."

"Ah, Doctor Sharma, you wound me. Now you have to patch it up too." His mouth pulls into a smile but his eyes dim a little.

Anushka peers at him, and feels a little disheveled in the mind. She thinks it was rude and callous of her to speak like that to him. He is a man of consequence, after all. "I didn't think—I meant it in all good fun, Virat."

"Yes, I know." his smile broadens. "I'm all but prone to injuries and exertion after all. It's all my daily business. I actually have a bet for you if you have the stomach to bear it, Doctor Sunshine."

Anushka looks at him in incredulity, then a flicker of indignation. "A bet? Why would you want to have a bet with me?"

"Because you have something I want." he replies smoothly.

Anushka looks at him in vexation. "Well, never mind. There's nothing you have that I could want."

He frowns. "There must be something you could want from me. I can give you anything, really."

Her mind starts reeling, and then she realizes it is the one thing she wanted, more than anything, if she was being honest with herself. "You won't talk to me, ever again."

He acts as if he hadn't heard her well. "What?"

Anushka clears her throat, and speaks louder this time. "I say you will not talk to me ever again. None of your sarcastic quips, biting wit or bitter remainders of my past. None of it. So you won't talk to me."

It was his time to look vexed, and a little . . . shaken. "What if you decide you like to talk to me after all? What if I change your mind?"

"Over my dead body." she replies firmly, without any second thoughts.

"What if—"

"—over my cold dead body." she interjects smoothly. "What is it that you have from me if you win?"

"The smallest token of your affection, Doctor Sunshine." he smiles. "Just one kiss."

"And what is this magnonimous bet?"

"You only have to make three people smile or laugh or happy. Three people I choose. You can tickle them too, unlimited resources at your disposal."

So how hard could it be? She gives into him, and his stupid plan only to sees his broad, broad grin in return.

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Author's note: thanks for reading! there IS another part to this. also read check out my other book, "Come Back, Noelle" if you haven't. adiós!