This is awkward.

"Uh.. sorry," Jeet's voice seems ragged and huskier than usual, his caramel eyes - darkened to a deep amber.

I hastily drop my hands to my sides. "No, it's.. my.. fault," I reply in a feeble strained voice, forcing the words to come out. The accidental embrace has left me flustered. "I should have held on to the handle."

Jeet picks up my bag and hands it over to me. I give a tight smile, as a way of saying thanks, since no more words come out of my mouth.

We avoid looking and talking to each other for the rest of the journey.

At the next station we got an empty row of seats. I sit at the far end near the window and Jeet sat next to me keeping enough distance between us so that we didn't touch but little enough so that no one else could sit between us.

We disembark at Churchgate station and take a cab to News of the Nation office. Khushboo was right. Jeet knew his way around the city. He guided the cab exactly which way to go, so that the driver couldn't take a longer route to hike up the fare.

We approach the receptionist when we arrive at the newspaper office. Thankfully by then, I had time to gather my wits around me.

"Good morning, I am Tarana Dheer from PR department of DeGlobal Corporation. I have an appointment with your Editor-in-Chief."

I had instructed Khushboo to call the newspaper offices and fix appointments for me with the editors, so that I would not have to wait or be turned back.

The receptionist, looking coolly at the two sweaty, ordinary looking people in front of her, narrows her eyes in disbelief. She probably had heard that excuse many times before, with people pretending to have an appointment with the Editor-in-Chief.

"Sir is very busy now and will not be available for the next two hours at least. Please come later or you can wait here till he is free." By the sound of the bored tone of her voice, it was probably a line she had practiced thousands of times.

Then she went back to her ongoing phone call, ignoring us standing there. "But I have requested an appointment with him. My office called ahead. Could you at least please check with him? I think he may be expecting me."

"Ma'am," she drawls patronizingly, looking annoyed to be disturbed from her phone call. "He would have informed me if he was expecting you, which he hasn't. So, you could either wait or leave." She jerks her head towards the security guard at the entrance. Either sit quietly or you will be kicked out, her face indicates.

I looked at Jeet despairingly. "Let's wait for some time," he suggests. As I turn find us the nearest seat, he calls out to me, "Tarana, I need to make a call. I'll be back in five minutes." I nod and head to the sofas.

I call Khushboo and she informed me that she spoke to the Editor's secretary who told her that he was a very busy man and may or may not meet us when we arrive. I instruct her to call once more and inform the secretary that I am waiting in the reception for him.

Jeet is back within 5 minutes as promised. He smiles as he sits down next to me. "Interesting painting," he points to the canvas I was observing, hanging on the wall opposite me. It's an old, medieval looking painting of two ladies, carrying pots of water, talking near a river. "Yes, it looks intriguing, must have taken the artist a long time to paint."

"It's not an original," he states in a matter of fact tone.

"Wha..? How do you know?" I look at Jeet in surprise.

"That painting is supposed be at least a hundred and fifty years old, yet see how bright the paint is? If the piece was genuinely painted that many years ago, the colours would have started to fade."

"Maybe it was restored," I argue.

Jeet dips his head next to mine as he points to the painting, "See, even from this distance you can see there is no depth in the layers of paint. Someone has printed a photo of the painting, and made brush strokes on it, to make it look like its painted."

I see what he means, when I observe the artwork carefully. "Wow! That's incredible. I would have never guessed that it wasn't an original," I reply looking at him in amazement. "You seem to know a lot about art."

Jeet's eyes shine brightly. He clearly loves talking about the subject. "Yeah, painting is my hobby and I took an art appreciation class when I was in.... college," he briefly paused before saying college which didn't go unnoticed. Before I could figure it more, a man with salt and pepper hair, goatee and round glasses, approaches us.

"Excuse me? Tarana Dheer?"

"That's me," I stand up and shake the hand extended at me.

"I am Vishwas Aumi, Editor-in-Chief. I am so sorry I had no idea you were waiting." He glares at the receptionist, who suddenly looks very busy.

I look at Jeet who shrugs nonchalantly. I wonder what made the very busy Mr. Aumi drop all his work to meet us.

He apologizes profusely, more than required, in my opinion. He leads us into his cabin in the innermost part of the huge office. The cabin is exactly like I had expected an Editor's office to be. The entire wall to the left of the entrance is lined with bookshelves crammed with books on journalism, autobiographies, books on law and various political magazines. The furthest bookshelf displayed trophies and commemorative plaques. The wall behind Mr. Aumi's chair is like a wall of fame, with their most famous articles and various photos, some of Mr. Aumi with VIPs and celebrities, framed and proudly displayed.

His desk is littered with filing trays, stacks of manila folders and papers, newspapers, cutouts,  and a computer squeezed into a corner of the desk vying for space. A filing cabinet to the right is filled with files.

Mr. Aumi leads us to the right of the room to a coffee table surrounded by a two-seater sofa and two individual chairs.

After the formalities, we quickly discussed our business. Jeet simply observes as I negotiate for a sizable discount on the advertisements as well as a commitment to print at least a half page report of the launch. Mr. Aumi wanted a couple of extra passes for the launch so that he could bring his guests. I was hesitant as I did not know whether it would be approved.

Jeet nudged me and beckoned me with a short nod, I dipped my head so that I could hear him whisper. "I think you have just saved the company a great deal of money and got good publicity. I am sure they would not mind sparing a few extra passes. I think you should go ahead and confirm."

"Are you sure?"

Jeet nods his affirmation. However, I could not be so sure. What if Nivedita disagreed? I left after assuring Mr. Aumi that I would try to arrange his passes as soon as I could.

The meetings with the editors and marketing departments of other newspaper went pretty smoothly. I was pleased with myself as I got good deals for full page adverts and firm commitments for news article of the launch to appear prominently in their papers.

"That went better than expected," I exclaimed happily as we stepped out of the last office.

"Yes, you did a pretty awesome job out there," Jeet also looked very pleased. He lifted his hand as if to pat me on my back and changed his mind and let it drop to his side. The tinge of disappointment that ran through me was unexpected.

It is a bright, hot, humid day. After the sitting for the last 30 minutes in the almost freezing temperatures of the air-conditioned office of the newspapers, for a minute it felt good to be out in the sun.

But only for a minute. Then as the body starts perspiring and the clothes stick to the body like a second skin, I want to run back to the freezing office.

"I am thirsty, do you also want something to drink?" Jeet seems to read my mind. Sweat trickles down from his temple, which he quickly wipes with his handkerchief.

"Sure, why not?" What do you want to have?" I ask.

"Anything cold and available quickly." He is perspiring again and from the little bit of face than I can see, not hidden behind those ridiculous glasses or beard, is flushed red.

I spot a sugarcane juice stand about 50 meters away. "How about having sugarcane juice?" I suggest.

"Sounds good, let's go."

The stall is crowded with many trying to beat the heat with a cool glass of the sweet sugarcane nectar, mixed with a dash of lime and ginger for an added bit of punch.

We gulp our drinks in no time, glad to be able to be relieved of our parched throat. Paying for our drinks, I turn around to come face to face with Janice.

"Tarana?" She squeals in delight, "Is that really you? Holy moly!! It's so great to see you here. I thought you lived in Delhi." 

She gives me a tight hug and launches into a barrage of questions and news, hardly allowing me to add in a word or two which is good, because I really do not want to explain what happened in the last five and half years.

Jeet observes in amusement and as Janice talks animatedly to me.

"Janice, how come you are here?" I finally manage to squeeze in my question. In response Janice grabs the hand of a man standing near her. "This is Derek, my husband. I am here on my honeymoon," she replies grinning.

"Oh wow, that's great!" I exclaim, "Congratulations to you."

"Thank you," she replies, looking at Jeet standing near me. Her eyes grow wide as if she's just realized something.

She stretched her hand out to him. "Hi, I am Janice, Tarana's school friend," she turns to look at me, "So this is the guy you ran away to get married to.. I must say you two make a good looking pair."

Jeet's eyes widen as he looks at me with surprise.

Oh dear!

This is awkward.