Free The Runaway Bridegroom by Sundari Venkatraman Page B

masala omelettes . While her parents were pure vegetarian and eggs were not used at home, Chanda had learned to make them at a friend’s house in Jaipur. She loved the taste of eggs and had learned a few recipes.
       She chopped onions and tomatoes quickly. As she was cooking the omelettes on a skillet, she deftly toasted bread slices in a toaster. Breakfast was ready in twenty minutes and the two of them sat down to eat at the kitchen table. It was cosy and Chanda enjoyed Ranveer’s company even though he was quiet throughout. It looked like he wasn’t a morning person.
       Chanda looked at Ranveer surreptitiously, as he hid himself behind the newspaper, his right hand reaching out for the coffee cup. She wondered whether this was what happened if a person lived by himself. He probably wasn’t used to having company and hence didn’t talk much.
       A small sigh broke through from the depth of Chanda’s system before she could stop it. Ranveer heard it and wondering what it was all about, he lowered the paper to look at her. Chanda was a mite embarrassed when he found her staring in his direction. He caught her gaze before she could look down.
       Chanda had no control over the hot colour that bloomed in her cheeks.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Sixteen
     
       Ranveer stared in fascination as the colour spread on Chanda’s cheeks. She looked so beautiful and so young! A spontaneous smile broke on Ranveer’s face as he continued to look at her.
       He realised that he was behaving like a boor, not uttering a word. After all, he had brought her home to spend time with her; to get to know her better. And how could that happen if he hid himself behind the newspaper? But Ranveer had been quite disturbed by the sleepless night he had spent thinking about Chanda. He had got quite scared by the depth of attraction he felt for her.
       Ranveer folded the paper that he had been reading and decided that some sort of an apology was due. His smile turned sheepish as he said, “I’m sorry I got carried away reading the paper. I very rarely bring anyone home and—,” he shrugged, letting his gesture speak for itself.
       Chanda wondered at what he said. He rarely brought anyone to his home. How come he had invited her here then? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but innate shyness stopped her from uttering the words.
       “And so, how do you spend your weekends? Do you guys go out a lot, catch the movies, go clubbing, or—?” asked Ranveer, genuinely interested.
       Ch anda swallowed her coffee before saying, “We have a lot of projects that we tend to do in the weekends. I love watching Bollywood films, but none of my roommates are keen to go to the theatre and watch them. They prefer DVDs. I don’t enjoy watching films on the small screen. There’s nothing to beat watching a movie in 70mm, don’t you think?”
       Ranveer nodded his dark head, caught by her enthusiasm. Ranveer enjoyed films too, but was not exactly a Bollywood buff. He caught an occasional one, maybe 3-4 times in a year. Due to Dave’s influence, Ranveer had gotten used to watching Hollywood films. To begin with, Dave ensured that there were subtitles available so that Ranveer could understand. Slowly, over time, Ranveer had acquired a taste for English films, as he began to understand the language and the many accents as well.
       “I s’pose so. And who’re your favourites? Wait, let me see, Shah Rukh, Salman, Aamir, or,” his brows drew together as Ranveer tried to recall the names of actors other than the Khans. “Abhishek Bachchan, John Abraham?” Ranveer’s right eyebrow went in query.
       Chanda smiled as she said, “You’ve forgotten Hrithik Roshan. He’s quite a hunk and I think he’s a great actor.”
       Ranveer decided then and there that he didn’t like Hrithik Roshan. He vaguely remembered reading news about some