"Wait! What?"

Rohit exclaims in shock. I have just informed my colleagues that I have sent my resignation to our HOD and HR.

"Why are you doing this? Is there a problem? You cannot quit such good firm. You are extremely lucky to be working here." Everyone talks at the same time. I lift my hands to silence them. "I am starting my own business and so I have to quit."

I explain Purvi and my plan to them. They all nod in understanding. "Maybe we will join your firm someday," Rohit teases.

As the day nears to an end and all are getting ready to leave, my heart starts thudding faster. I guess my fear of being stalked and attacked is still entrenched deep in my memory even if I cannot remember it. I ponder if I will ever stop looking over my shoulder or if I will have to live with this added anxiety all my life.

"You coming with us?" Kavita asks, peering over her cubicle.

"Where?"

"Didn't you read the mail from HR this morning?"

"No! What email?"

"The one about starting a bus service on a trial basis to pick and drop staff at Kurla and Bandra stations. Don't you stay somewhere in Bandra? You should check if the bus goes by your place."

I quickly scan my inbox, finding that I had filed the HR email in a wrong e-folder. Sure enough, the email states what Kavita just explained. The mail also mentions the routes, stops and time. I am thrilled to see that one of the stops is very close to my house. I gleefully fill the attached form and send to HR. It feels like a rock has been lifted off my shoulder, now that I have one less thing to worry about.

Reaching home was a breeze. My travel time was cut by half and I feel really sad that I get to use this service only for a month. I wished they had started it earlier. I have a niggling suspicion that Jeet may have something to do with this, after my incident.

Lost in my own thought, I walk toward my house without looking ahead. I nearly bump into a tall, petite figure who was similarly lost in thought.

"Oops, sorry!" both of us exclaim at the same time. My eyes fall on a statuesque girl, someone you can expect to see on the cover of a magazine. Flawless golden bronze skin, sparkling grey green eyes, luscious shoulder length reddish brown hair with gold highlights. She is impeccably dressed in elegant cream shirt and dark tan coloured pants, no doubt designer, just like the sunglasses perched on her head, the bowling bag dangling from her hand or the nude stiletto shoes, she is balanced on.

"I am so sorry," the young girl apologises, giving an embarrassed giggle, "I was so lost admiring the building, I didn't see where I was going."

I would say she was in her late twenties.

"It's my fault too, I wasn't looking either," I smile back.

Although she looks rich and sophisticated, the girl has none of the arrogance carried by the rich. I immediately take a liking to her. I guess she came to visit the landlady's grandson. He has been having many visitors since he arrived yesterday.

"Zenia," she thrusts her hand out. "Tarana," I reply, shaking her extended hand.

"Are you the tenant who lives on the ground floor?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I have heard about you," she says in a soft, singsong kind of voice, "but no one told me you were so pretty!!" she says, looking at me appreciatively, without any trace of malice or sarcasm. I am tongue-tied at the compliment, blushing in response.

"Well Tarana, I guess I will be seeing you around." She flashes a dazzling smile, before heading out to her car.

I stare at the girl as she leaves the building. She seems really familiar. I am sure I have seen her before. Upon reaching home, I google 'Zenia'. A dozen pictures of the girl I just met, pops up on my screen.

Of course! Zenia Mirsaiti.

A very popular social media personality, she has millions of followers. Her family owns Zen PharmCo, a well-known pharmaceutical company in India, but Zenia has been living in London, since last year to study Interior Design. She has made a huge name for herself online, through her travel and lifestyle posts. I make a note to myself to get her contact the next time we meet - for my business.

Jeet's name flashes on my phone. I look at the phone guiltily. Last night I fell asleep without disconnecting our call. I have no idea how long he went on talking before he realised that I wasn't listening.

"Hello?"

"Why are you resigning?" he starts without preamble. "Is there a problem? I told you Deepak is out of your life forever. You have nothing to be afraid of. I will -"

I let out a silent snort at his assumption that I have nothing to be afraid of. If he only knew.

"Sir!" I stop him mid-sentence, "this has nothing to do with Deepak or the company, which I love very much. I am venturing out in my own business."

"Oh! I see. Why didn't you say anything before?" he sounds annoyed.

"I informed my boss and HR. I wasn't aware I had to inform the CEO," I snap cattily.

"I thought we were still friends. And you agreed to call me Jeet outside office," the hurt in his voice cuts me deeply.

Stop being a jerk Tarana! "You're right. I am sorry...Jeet. It's just that everything happened so quickly.." I repeat what I told my colleagues at work, but Jeet being the eternal businessman, asks pointed questions about my plans and budget, so I have to explain to him everything in detail. He proceeds to suggest ideas to get investors, the plans and reports I would have to provide banks for loans, marketing strategies and policies. Although I have an MBA in Marketing, Jeet has practical experience which is very helpful. This man is a fount of all-round knowledge and I am constantly amazed by his expertise.

I would have loved to continue our discussion, had it not been for my growling stomach. "I have to go make dinner," I tell him apologetically.

"What are you making?" he asks.

"Today is my dad's birthday, so I was planning on making his favourite dish - dum aloo," I say with a bittersweet smile.

"I like dum aloo too, although I have never tried making as yet. Hey! can I watch how you prepare it? or better still, let's make it together, like yesterday's movie watching. Only hopefully today, you won't ditch me midway," he chuckles.

My face flushes in embarrassment, thinking about it. We switch on our phone cameras at the same time. At home, 'Vicky' has become 'Jeet'. Casual, relaxed, mussed up hair, so, so sexy. Looking at him increases my heart rate.

Control Tarana, control!! He is a friend ONLY!!

I forgot I was in my spaghetti tank and shorts. I was about to go change but he stopped me, "you look cute in this, let it be," he says in a low, smoky voice.

Cooking along with relaxed Jeet is so much fun. He cracks jokes, his self-deprecating humor is dark and funny. Not surprisingly he has all the ingredients, so it is easy to teach him the recipe. He is pretty messy in the kitchen, almost cut himself, but quite adept in cooking. Both of us childishly argue which dish was better, before agreeing to have a face to face cook off, the next time. In the end, I grudgingly admit, his dum aloo looks better than mine, though my kitchen looks cleaner. We both pour ourselves a glass of wine and toast to the memory of my dad.

I can't think of anything else to say, but I don't want to disconnect, and judging by his hesitation, neither does Jeet, so we keep smiling at other. Jeet searches my face before he lets out a long sigh, "I have to tell you something," he begins, "this happened before I met you or knew about you," he speaks tentatively, as if carefully choosing his words.

His phone beeps with an incoming call. This time a frown mars his face when he sees the number. "I'm sorry, I have to take this call. It's the Vet. I will talk to you later," he says before abruptly cutting off our call.

A knock on my door prevents me from staring at the phone for longer. A well-dressed man, in his mid-thirties, is waiting outside with a paper in his hand.

"Good evening, I am Chirag, your landlady's grandson and you must be Tarana?" he smiles warmly.

I greet him in return, before he hands over the letter to me. "What's this?" I ask, though I have a feeling I know what it could be - an eviction notice.

"It's a notice of termination of your rental contract." My face falls in dismay, even though I was expecting it.

"How much time do I have to vacate the house?"

"Well I guess at least six months!" he shrugs.

I am taken aback.

"Wait! What?"