Incense and Sensibility (The Rajes #3) - Sonali Dev Page 0,27
needed flashing in her head right now was that first time she had met Yash at his sister’s wedding. It had been years since she’d thought about how dazzled he’d been when she’d helped him move those heavy boxes.
“Likewise,” Brandy said. To no one’s surprise she had an impressively assertive handshake. “Is there anyone else in there?”
“The studio is closed.” India threw a look at the CLOSED sign hanging on the door. “My mother is upstairs and we don’t open again until six.”
Yash was watching her. The awareness of it fell like sparks on her skin. She was glad for the tie-dye yoga jacket she’d thrown on over her usual yoga wear to go to the doctor’s office. No one needed to see the goosebumps that danced down her arms. He hadn’t said a word, but his presence was a hum in the air. Exactly like the breathing of a sleeping dragon in a fairy tale.
“Are there any other entrances to the place?” Brandy asked.
“There’s an entrance in the back that leads up to our home on the upper floors.”
Yash looked up at the facade of the studio and the late afternoon sun caught his eyes. A crystalline gunmetal-gray she’d never seen anywhere else.
She had been to the house he’d grown up in. Just the pool house on the Raje estate was larger than the Dashwood studio and apartments put together. But it was hers and she loved it. Childish as it was, she stuck out her chin as he looked at her, but he gave away nothing.
“Is that entrance secured?” Brandy said, studying the building as though it might blow up if touched.
“It’s locked and has a touchpad that unlocks it. This is the only public entrance.”
“I’m going to go around the back and check it out. Please keep this door locked.”
It’s a pretty safe neighborhood, India wanted to say, but Yash had just been shot, so India was happy for Captain Marvel here and her paranoia.
“I will. Come on in. Please.” She pushed the door open and Ashna walked in. Yash pressed his hand against the door and held it, waiting for India to go in before following her. He still hadn’t said a word.
She led them through the waiting area past the registration desk and the benches with cubbies for shoes and hooks for bags and jackets.
Yash took in the place with that utterly flat expression he’d been wearing this entire time. The kind of expression a guilty person might paste across their face when invited to testify in front of a grand jury. Trying to get people to plumb the depths of their emotions was what India did for a living. Resistance was her daily companion. He was not here of his own free will. This was not in the least bit surprising.
“Let’s go to my office.” Her office was her sanctuary. She loved what she’d done with it during the renovation. Self-consciousness kicked in her gut when she thought about the dramatic beauty of his parents’ estate. She kicked it right back and led them past the yoga rooms and showers and threw her office door open.
Fading sunlight streamed in through the wall of windows lined with shelves that held her grandmother’s bonsais. They were now her bonsais. They had been since Grandmona died almost ten years ago. White walls and white furniture were offset by an orange couch and carpet. The perfectly balanced beauty of it made her feel just a little bit less off-kilter.
Ashna sat down on the couch, but Yash walked straight to her bonsais, mouth slightly agape. A universal reaction to the miniaturized trees her grandmother had tended for fifty years and India would cherish for as long as she lived. She would not let the fact that he looked awestruck by her cherished trees affect her. It was perfectly normal to be fascinated by an art that harnessed the splendor of a giant life-form.
“Is this a banyan tree?” Those were the first words he uttered. The first words he’d addressed to her in ten years. Not that it was anticlimactic or anything.
The way he talked had changed. There was a deliberately understated quality to his diction now. The boundless enthusiasm that had struck her as so endearing was completely leashed. This new voice was the one she’d heard on TV. His jaw barely moved and each word came out laced with careful sincerity.
“It’s the bodhi satva tree,” she said, her voice even more deadpan than his.