Notting Hill

As much as Chiranjeev had resisted being friendzoned by Chanderi, he couldn’t deny how much fun he was having being just that. He didn’t have to go through a mental list before sending her something funny that his children did at school. His parents never quite understood or appreciated their humour and the teachers at his school had their own anecdotes and he was loath to get into a competition of whose class was cleverer. He drew the line there.

Oh please. You just like to pretend that you don’t get sucked into the leaderboard but you’re forgetting I have photographic evidence that you were leading said leaderboard last week. You sent me a screenshot with many, many exclamations !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chiranjeev laughed in the middle of his walk because obviously his phone was in his hand. They had been texting back and forth since it was a Saturday and his day off. Chanderi was in the market sourcing for…he went back a few messages…right, organza silk. Apparently, it was all the rage this season since Pihu wanted one of her…he went back to the messages…lehengas to be in that material even though Chanderi had told her it wouldn’t work.

He chuckled to himself. He was learning so much about fabrics and embroidery. He just knew his children would love to play around with needles and threads if given half the chance.

Hey random thought. Have you ever taken workshops with kids on how to do embroidery? Or I don’t know sew a button? I feel that’s a life skill my kids should learn.

Your kids have money coming out of their ears. They won’t ever need to sew a button.

Are you saying you don’t have experience taking workshops?

He held his breath. Three months ago, he wouldn’t have dared make a joke like this but now, he knew it would make her sputter indignantly and she would spend her Sunday planning a workshop if it killed her.

I did not say that! Give me some time, I’ll figure it out. Okay I’m sending you some colour samples, please ignore. Bye now!

Yes, she had started doing that. Sending him random images she needed so she could forward them to other people. He liked to think it was because his commentary on them made her laugh but secretly, he thought it was her way of sharing her work with him. Just like she made him feel seen and heard when he spoke about his children, he made her feel seen and heard when she shared samples, talked about clients who frustrated her or on one rare occasion, a client who had hugged her. Chanderi had made them feel beautiful, a feat they hadn’t thought possible.

It was addictive, this feeling of having someone who you could share things with without filters. He had hated knowing she hadn’t loved him and so had left him. But the more time they spent texting each other, the more he realised he too hadn’t really loved her. He had only loved a carefully curated part of her. He couldn’t deny he was enjoying this phase in their friendship but he also couldn’t deny that he wanted her to fall in love with him too.

Before he could allow that train of thought to germinate any further, his phone pinged repeatedly. He smiled, keeping it away in his pocket, looking forward to passing his judgement over them once he had completed his rounds.

* 

Chand, are you sure, absolutely sure, that these are different colours?

😱 What do you mean? Did I make a mistake taking photos?

Chanderi went through her gallery again, panicking that she had lost the photos and sent the same photo ten times to a client. This was one of her more challenging clients who couldn’t say she didn’t like something. She had to say an entire paragraph telling her exactly what was wrong with the design, or fabric, or colour. God forbid if she liked something. She would only raise her eyebrow and Chanderi was supposed to divine that it meant it was fine.

God, she hated such people. But they paid the best. So, she tolerated them.

I don’t know. They look the same to me.

At Chiranjeev’s message, she relaxed. Oh, he was that variety of man who could not differentiate between mauve, purple, lilac and pink.

Of course they do. You and your man eyes cannot see the difference.

Hey there’s nothing wrong with my eyes. Also, this one looks brown and not pink.

Chanderi laughed. She had been doing that a lot lately. Laughing. Sharing. Feeling like she was finally in a place where her life made sense to her. So, she sent him the message she had been meaning to send him for a week now.

Do you want to meet? Catch up?

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Chapter 14 of 26 of the ongoing series Chanderi. You can read all posts here. Written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z.