The rest of the week passes in a blur. Riya is busy prepping for the exam and upcoming debate. Not to mention she has gone out of her way to avoid eye contact with Dr. Roy whenever their paths cross. Every time she sees him, her skin prickles with the phantom heat of his hand on her waist, driving her straight into an overdrive of studying just to keep her mind occupied.
During his lecture, she has chosen the far end seat of the class. Lily has raised a brow but didn't ask further which was a relief to her. Cause what will she say? That the professor she is hell bent on proving wrong is making her feel hibby-jibby, jittery feeling. No, I don't think so.
By Saturday evening, Riya is sprawled across her narrow hostel bed, completely drained. Her notes and crunched papers are scattered like fallen leaves. The ceiling fan creaks rhythmically overhead.
The quiet sanctuary of her room shatters when the door bursts open without a knock.
Lily marches in like a whirlwind, carrying a sleek black garment bag over one arm and a glittery makeup tote in the other.
“Up! Off the bed, bookworm!” Lily commands, using her foot to nudge Riya’s leg out of the way so she can toss the garment bag onto the mattress.
Riya groans, throwing a pillow over her face. “Lily, leave me alone. I’m in the middle of crisis. "
"And that is exactly why I'm here. Your lady in knight in shining armour. Ready to rescue." Lily says dramatically. Snatching the pillow off Riya’s face she exclaims, “Look at yourself! You have dark circles under your eyes, your hair looks like a bird nested in it, and you’re practically vibrating with stress. You look like a ghost that got rejected by another ghost.”
Riya sits up, rubbing her tired eyes and leaning against the wooden headboard. “I’m busy.”
“Too bad. Because tonight, you are off duty.” Lily unzips her tote bag with a dramatic flourish and sets two intricate, velvet-trimmed masks onto the small study desk. “It’s Saturday night, and The Velvet Room is hosting their annual masquerade event. We are going. No excuses.”
Riya stares at the masks, then looks at Lily like she has lost her mind. “A nightclub? A masquerade? Lily, it’s raining outside, I’m exhausted, and I hate crowded clubs.”
“Riya, please!” Lily drops to her knees beside the bed, clasping her hands together in a desperate attempt to make her agree. “I’ve been planning this for weeks! Everyone from the university is going to be there, but the best part is the masks nobody knows who anyone is! You can literally dance, drink a little, and get out of your own head for a few hours without worrying about your reputation or your GPA.”
"I really don't think it's a good idea. In less than a..."
"It is a good idea, Riya. Who knows maybe you will find your prince charming there." Lily bats her eyelashes making sweet gestures. Riya rolls her eyes but cannot hide the amusement at her best friend's antics.
"I don't have an outfit." Riya deadpans.
A sly, triumphant grin spreading across her face as she sees Riya’s resistance faltering, “I already brought your outfit. You don't even have to pick clothes.”
Riya glances suspiciously at the garment bag on the bed. “Of course, you did. What did you bring?”
Lily zips open the bag to reveal a sleek, emerald-green silk slip dress that catches the dim light of the hostel room, paired with a delicate, black laser-cut filigree mask that looks straight out of a Venetian party.
“I borrowed it from my sister,” Lily says proudly. “It’s gonna fit you like a glove. Come on, Riya. One night. Just you and me, good music, and zero academic drama. Do it for your best friend who will literally cry right here on your floor if you say no.”
Riya looks from Lily’s wide, hopeful eyes down to the shimmering green dress. A long, resigned sigh slips past her lips.
“If I hate it, we leave in an hour,” Riya bargains, though a tiny, reluctant smile touches the corner of her lips.
Lily shrieks in excitement, jumping up to pull Riya off the bed by her wrists. “Deal! Now get in the shower while I heat up the curling iron, we have two hours to turn you into a goddess!”
Two hours later, Riya stands in front of the full-length hostel mirror, barely recognizing the girl staring back at her.
The emerald-green silk dress clings to her frame like a second skin, falling in a smooth, liquid drape to mid-thigh. Her dark hair falls over her bare shoulders in soft, voluminous waves, and the black filigree mask resting across her upper face frames her dark brown eyes with a sharp, mysterious elegance.
Lily lets out a low whistle from behind her. “If Professor Roy could see you right now, he’d probably forget every single line of Jibanananda Das.”
“Lily!” Riya snaps, her cheeks flushing hot, though she can’t hide the faint curve of a smile in the mirror. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just stating facts, babe,” Lily laughs, slipping her own silver mask over her eyes. “Now let’s go before the line at the entrance stretches all the way to Park Street.”
The Velvet Room is a world entirely aesthetic and classier than other nightclubs in the area. Beneath the low-slung, ceiling , deep violet and amber neon lights slice through a hazy mist. The pulse of heavy bass vibrates straight through the floorboards, throbbing in Riya’s chest the moment they step through the heavy velvet drapes at the entrance.
The club is packed with a sea of masked figures. No one knows who is behind the mask. And that's the most thrilling part of the evening.
Lily immediately grabs Riya’s hand, pulling her toward the sleek marble bar. “Two gin and tonics, please!” she shouts over the booming music.
Riya wraps her fingers around the cool glass, taking a slow sip. The bitter, refreshing bite of the gin cuts through the heat rising in her skin. For the first time in weeks, as she looks around at the anonymous crowd dancing under the swaying lights, begins to loosen up.
She actually feels... free.
“See?” Lily nudges her shoulder, leaning in close to speak over the bass. “Told you it would be good for you! I’m gonna hit the dance floor. You coming?"
“Go ahead,” Riya smiles, waving her off. “I’m just getting another drink.”
As Lily vanishes into the swirling sea of bodies, Riya turns back to the bar, resting her elbow against the polished counter. She takes another sip, letting her eyes wander casually across the upper level. It is a quiet mezzanine area flanked by leather booths and dim, warm lamps overlooking the main floor.
And then, her heart stops.
Her pulse gives a sudden, violent thud against her ribs.
Standing near the dark wooden railing of the mezzanine, a glass of amber whiskey held casually in one hand, is a tall, imposing figure in a crisp black shirt and a tailored dark suit jacket.
A sleek obsidian mask covers the upper half of his face, but there is no mistaking that sharp, carved jawline. No mistaking the broad, powerful broadness of his shoulders, or the effortlessly commanding way he holds himself while listening to a man speak beside him.
Dr. Arindam Roy.
Unmistakably.
She can recognize him anywhere, at any point. There's no mistake it's him.
Riya’s grip on her glass tightens so hard her knuckles turn white. What is he doing here?!
As if sensing the sudden, sharp intensity fixed on him, he turns toward her. Across the crowd, among the hundreds of dancing bodies, flashing lights his dark, masked eyes lock directly onto hers.
Neither of them moves. The deafening roar of the bass fades into a dull, distant hum in Riya’s ears.
Even behind his mask, his gaze is razor-sharp, tracking down to the deep emerald silk of her dress, lingering on her bare shoulders, and rising back up to clash with her wide, breathless eyes.
Arindam slowly brings the rim of his glass to his lips, taking a measured sip his dark eyes never leaving hers for a single, intoxicating second.
Does he recognize me? No, that’s impossible. My face is half-hidden behind the mask. But then again, I recognized him instantly, didn't I?
I blink, my heart thumping wildly against my ribs, and lift my gaze back to the mezzanine.
My breath catches in my throat. He’s gone.
The man he was talking to is still standing by the dark wooden railing, casually nursing his drink and looking down at the crowd, but Arindam has vanished. My eyes scan the upper deck frantically but I find him nowhere.
A sudden, nervous tremor runs down my hand, making the glass in my grip rattle slightly. I tilt my head back and swallow the last drop of my gin and tonic, letting the bitter cold liquid burn down my throat.
I am losing my mind. Clearly, I’m not thinking straight. The fact that my brain is conjuring up my professor in the middle of a masquerade bar is proof enough that I need to get a life.
I came here to escape academic stress, not bring it onto the dance floor.
Determined to clear my head, I set the empty glass on the marble counter and turn on my heel, ready to lose myself in the crowd and find Lily.
I take one sharp step and slam straight into a solid, unyielding wall of muscle. My foot slips in my heels, but before I can even brace for the fall, a strong, muscular arm loops around my waist with breathtaking speed, catching my weight and pulling me up. The momentum pitches me forward until I crash flush against a broad, firm chest.
Damn! What a déjà vu!
I don't even need to open my eyes to know who has saved and equally trapped me in his grip. That rich, intoxicating scent of rain, and a deep, masculine musk floods my senses, instantly making me dizzy just like it did between the book shelves in the library.
His hand around my waist tightens, anchoring me so close to his body that the thin silk of my dress offers almost no barrier against the radiating heat of his torso. My hands instinctively brace against his chest, feeling the solid contours beneath his crisp shirt and the heavy, rapid thud of his heart.
Despite the deafening bass thumping through the floorboards and the roaring noise of the club, his voice drops right beside my ear.
Dark. Smooth. Dangerous.
Like vodka.
“Are you making it a habit? Should I expect this to be a regular curriculum too, Miss Sengupta?”
