PROLOGUE
Alcohol. Sex. Smoke. Sweat.
She closed her eyes as the unmistakable scents of the club wafted in through her nostrils. Threading her fingers through her hair, she tossed her head casually and let her wavy tresses tumble down.
Many eyes brightened in recognition as they perceived her from a distance. Several people flocked around her, desirous of an introduction, while the elite patrons of the club invited her to their private lounges. Her fingers curled around a now familiar glass of sin, and she flashed rather amorous, insincere smiles at the people around her, yet when a careless hand stroked her bare back, her eyes widened in disgust and the innocent girl, now almost entirely hidden under the layers of carefully heaped facade, was hurt.
She took a moment to collect herself before she looked around, and turned just in time to see the lecherous smile dim as his face flooded with recognition. Before she could completely turn around, the man had disappeared into thin air profuse with apologies.
The fiery hazel calmed into a dull brown, her eyes seeking the man she barely wanted to see. A small chuckle escaped her mouth; his distance brought pain, his proximity brought trepidation.
She became hollow for she gave all.
And he remained opaque, just as stoic as before.
Her phone rang with frantic calls every now and then. Wiping a hot tear with the back of her hand, she wondered if this was necessary.
Must it be so painful? Nothing had prepared her to give up a part of her existence and sacrifice all in the name of journalism.
Or wait, was that even the problem?
A reporter, a cameraman and a story. That’s all it had ever been.
Until one day she had decided to be his equal. Now that she was going… he let her go. Did he not care for her? Did he not want to see her one last time? Did she mean nothing at all to him now?
“Listen, baby doll, this isn’t going to be easy,” Khushi was jerked abruptly out of her meditations by a voice. “You might not even come back.”
“And whom do I have the pleasure of finding here?” Khushi said, with a mock laugh. “The great Anjali Roy following me all the way to a club just to warn me before my biggest report till date?”
Analyzing the woman in front, Anjali felt the muscles in her throat grow taut. “Khushi, in the state of mind you are in right now, it won’t be too much of a task for you to get yourself killed. I mean this thing isn’t your preparation for tomorrow and if your screwed-up life is making you do all this then remember - never mix your personal life with your professional life. Do you get that or do you not?”
“I won’t need advice very soon, ma’am. Like you said, I won’t be coming back again,” Khushi answered, with an unwavering gaze.
“If you’re bent on doing this, then at least listen to me and take a few armed guards with you! What’s this new stunt?” her eyes flashed, as Khushi downed a tequila and sucked at the lime. Anjali looked on as the woman leaned against the bar, for support.
“Stunt? Oh no, I am just trying to relax… Don’t you remember what he said in the morning? ‘Go and get the fu****g story since that’s the most important thing for MBC. Since no one and nothing else exists other than you exists, just go… and die if need be!’ Yes, that’s what he said.” Her eyes shone with emotion for a moment, and then the spark died out almost as soon as it had appeared.
Years had taught Anjali to discern the undercurrents of despair all too well. “I honestly don’t care what he says or what you say. Aakash sent me here to take a look at you and get you prepped up before you leave. You see, neither of us are particularly interested in losing such a valuable asset to our company, but I personally wouldn’t mind if you go ahead and kill yourself in a warzone.”
“Aakash sir sent you,” she said, slowly, nodding her head and repeating Aakash’s name. “Of course, what was I expecting?” the woman mumbled to herself.
“Tell him not to worry,” she said, turning to Anjali. “I mean, nothing much can happen in a warzone other than the routine kidnappings, shootings, bombings, rapes and murders; I’ll make sure the pulse throbs.” For you see, I have mastered the art of living without a heart.
When she looked up after her tirade, she saw Anjali walking away and saying something to an evidently irritated Aakash. But the fatherly concern in his eyes, behind the irritation, was touching, she thought. Tears welled up in her eyes as a sudden need to be loved and reassured gnawed at her insides.
Closing her eyes as a few tears escaped them, she failed to notice the pair of caramel eyes trained on her ever unflinchingly since she had stepped in. This wasn’t her first time with a challenging assignment. The Kashmir story from years ago, was still fresh in her mind. It was his words that broke her.
Completely.
What had destroyed them?
The last remnants of the hazel spark in her eyes were also wiped out, and they grew cold and aloof. His hands shook as he felt an acute need to wrap them around her delicate little frame. She was not the powerful journalist to his eyes; it was always the honest and innocent reporter with a heart that he saw. It was that very honesty and innocence shining through her eyes that stole the hearts of all who saw her.
Stealing his… was a mistake. For she got a heart of gold - shimmering with justice and bravery… but with no signs of life. At the end of it all, isn’t gold also just a scrap of metal?
Breathing heavily, his heart ached to touch her, feel her, assure her… but he remained still. Nothing had broken her till date, not the terror attacks she was nearly a victim of, nor her solo encounter with the Naxalites. Yet today, her eyes betrayed something he had never before seen in them.
Fear and pain.
It was his words, but he could have sworn he didn’t meant a word of what he said.
But unfortunately, his ego mattered more. It always did.
Gulping slightly, Arnav Singh Raizada found his heart skip a beat as he recalled the meeting from earlier.
Khushi Kumari Gupta was heading unaccompanied and unprotected to the warzones of Syria.
And he did nothing about it.
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