Free A Bollywood Affair by Sonali Dev Page B

mattress to the living room for her. For the hundredth time since she had met him, she sent up an apology for comparing him to Kamini. The only thing Kamini had ever bothered to save was her marble-white complexion from the Rajasthan sun. Mili had always marveled at her impressive collection of umbrellas and her diligent use of them. The only thing Samir was proving to have in common with Kamini was said white complexion but with none of the proud awareness of possessing it. He might strut around in that way of film heroes with overly bulky arms—as if he were lugging buckets of water in both hands—but he had carried Mili up and down the stairs to her doctor’s appointments, fed her, and made sure she took all of her thousand medicines before the pain killed her.
    As usual, he had propped up the crutches against the wall so they were within easy reach. Frustration tugged at her mouth and she frowned at the blasted things. What was the point of those crutches anyway? She’d been brilliant enough to hurt her wrist and her ankle at the same time, so she had no real way of gripping the stupid things to push herself anywhere. Add to that the fact that she was the most uncoordinated fool in all of Balpur and those crutches were going to stay propped against that wall until one of her broken parts healed.
    “Why are you glowering at the crutches again?” Samir grinned his toothpaste-model grin and it was almost as beautiful as the sandwiches in his hands. “Do you need to go?” He indicated the bathroom door with a flick of his head and Mili wanted to die.
    His stupid grin widened. It was a good thing her medication turned her into a drooling, groggy loon who dropped off into la-la land without warning. If it weren’t for being drugged and half-conscious she didn’t know how she could have handled letting a complete stranger help her to the bathroom and then wait outside while she struggled to do her business. And he usually did it without any hint of that amused grin he was flashing at her now.
    He nudged her with the plate and she realized she was staring at her hands to avoid meeting his gaze. She gaped at the twin pieces of art he had piled on the two plates Ridhi had left behind. Her mouth watered like a starving street urchin’s. Every kind of vegetable was stacked up in layers of color between two brown pieces of bread.
    At first she’d been embarrassed to let him into her kitchen, given that the sum total of her food supply included one half-eaten Hershey bar, a carton of milk, and stale, greasy noodles. But he had gone out and picked up bags full of groceries, and all her medicines, and a heating pad. He’d insisted the groceries were really for him, because he needed to eat too and apparently there were no utensils in his apartment.
    He had let her use his cell phone to call the Institute, Panda Kong, and her professors to let them know that she needed to stay off her ankle for two weeks. Professor Bernstein at the Institute had told her to take four weeks if she needed to. “I’ll remember to exploit you once you get back on your feet,” he’d said with so much kindness she had spilled tears onto Samir’s super-fancy phone.
    Egghead at Panda Kong had been far less gracious. “Don’t know if can keep job whole two weeks,” he’d said. But at least he hadn’t fired her like she’d expected him to. She’d been prepared to beg if needed, but a promise to return to work as soon as she could had been enough. How on earth was she going to send money to Naani this month with two weeks of dishwashing wages gone? And there was still the little issue of the rent. Not to mention paying Samir back for her medicines and the groceries.
    Samir handed her a plate. “See, you can already sit up by yourself. In a few days you’ll be using the crutches with ease.”
    Only someone who had no idea how clumsy she was would say such a thing.
    “This is beautiful,” she said reverently, and picked up the top slice to