Ishq Complicated

The first time Ayaan Rahman thought about telling his brother that he was in love, he was sitting on the floor of his London apartment, eating takeaway biryani straight out of its container. His laptop was balanced on the coffee table. Three unfinished assignments lay scattered beside him, his phone was buzzing with messages from his university group, and the television played some film he had abandoned watching nearly an hour ago. It was, by every reasonable measure, a terrible time to make an important confession. Naturally, he called Zayyan. His brother answered on the fourth ring. "Have you looked at the time?" Ayaan glanced at the clock on his laptop. "It's not that late." "It's nearly midnight here." "You're awake." "That isn't the point." Ayaan grinned and leaned back against the sofa. "You know, for a man who runs half the business empire, you complain a lot." "And for a man pursuing a master's degree, you have remarkably little respect for sleep." "See? This is why I call you. You always know exactly what to say to make me feel loved." Zayyan exhaled, the sound familiar enough to make Ayaan smile. "What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong." "Then why are you calling?" "Can't I call my own brother?" "You can. But you usually do it when you've broken something, need money, or want me to lie to Ammi about your grades." "I have never asked you to lie about my grades." "You asked me to explain why you failed to submit an assignment on time." "That was an administrative misunderstanding." "You forgot." "Details." For a moment, they laughed. It was the sort of conversation they had been having since Ayaan was old enough to hold a phone. Zayyan had been fifteen when Ayaan was born, old enough to remember the house before the baby arrived and young enough to become attached to the little boy who followed him everywhere. As Ayaan grew older, Zayyan became more than an older brother. He was the person Ayaan called when he had a problem he couldn't explain to their parents, when he needed advice he didn't want to hear, and when something good happened that he wanted to share with someone who would understand why it mattered. Tonight, he had something very good to share. "Zayyan?" "Hmm?" "I think I'm in love." Silence. Ayaan waited. Then his brother said, very carefully, "You've been in London for four months." "Five." "That makes it worse." Ayaan burst out laughing. "What does London have to do with anything?" "I sent you abroad to study, not to fall in love." "You didn't send me. I got accepted." "An important distinction. One I shall remember the next time you ask me to pay your rent." "You're impossible." "And you're twenty-two." "Thank you for reminding me of my age. I'd forgotten." "Apparently, you've forgotten several other things too." Ayaan's smile softened. "I'm serious, bhai." Something in his voice must have reached Zayyan, because the teasing stopped. "All right," Zayyan said. "Tell me." Ayaan looked toward the rain-streaked window. Beyond it, London glimmered beneath the streetlights, unfamiliar and familiar at once. Five months ago, the city had meant a new degree, a new job, and the freedom of living far from home. He hadn't expected it to mean her. "She is my senior " He said it quietly, almost reverently. "senior "Zayyan repeated. "She's thirty." "Thirty?" "Don't start." "I haven't said anything." "You said it like you've just discovered a serious problem with my eyesight." "You're twenty-two, Ayaan." "And she's thirty. I know. I was present when we discussed our ages." Zayyan sighed. "How long have you known her?" "Since I joined the company for my internship." "The company where you're working?" "Yes, bhai. That's generally what an internship means." "Keep talking." Ayaan smiled again. He could picture his brother sitting behind the enormous desk in his Mumbai office, probably loosening his tie, perhaps setting aside a file to give him his full attention. Zayyan had always done that. Whatever else was happening, when Ayaan genuinely needed him, he listened. "She's a senior associate in the strategy team. I was assigned to her project during my first week. At first, I thought she was terrifying." "Why?" "Because she actually reads the reports before meetings." "An admirable habit." "She asks questions. Difficult questions. The kind that make you wonder whether your university degree was a very expensive mistake." "Perhaps it was." "You're supposed to be on my side." "I'm on the side of competent professionals." Ayaan rolled his eyes. "But she's not arrogant about it," he continued. "That's the thing. She can disagree with the director in a room full of people and still make him feel respected. She doesn't need to embarrass anyone to prove she's right." He paused, searching for words. "She works harder than almost everyone there. And she never acts as if the work beneath her is beneath her. Last week, she stayed late to help one of the junior analysts fix a presentation. It wasn't even her project." "Sounds like a good colleague." "She's more than that." The words came out too quickly. Ayaan lowered his gaze, smiling at nothing. "She's kind, bhai. But not in that way people are kind because they want everyone to like them. She'll tell you when you're wrong. She told me I was wrong in front of an entire meeting." "What had you done?" "That isn't relevant." "It sounds relevant." "I had a point." "Did she prove it was incorrect?" Ayaan hesitated. "Yes." Zayyan laughed, and Ayaan found himself laughing too. "Anyway," Ayaan continued, "she remembered that I don't drink coffee. Everyone else in the office thinks I'm strange for surviving on tea, but she remembered. She brings her own tea from home, and sometimes she makes an extra cup when we're working late." "She makes you tea?" "Don't say it like that." "Like what?" "Like I've announced an engagement." "I would hope you'd tell me before announcing an engagement." Ayaan went quiet. It was a small silence, but Zayyan noticed it. "You're thinking about marrying her?" "I'm thinking about telling her how I feel." "Does she know?" "No." "Does she suspect?" "I don't know." "Have you considered that she might not feel the same way?" "Every day." The answer was immediate, and the lightness left his voice. Ayaan had thought about it more than he wanted to admit. Inaya was thirty, established in her career, independent, and seemingly content with the life she had built. She had never behaved in a way he could confidently interpret as romantic interest. She was warm with him, but she was warm with other people too. He knew the difference between kindness and love. At least, he hoped he did. "Then why tell her?" Zayyan asked. "Because I don't want to leave London without trying." Ayaan picked at the cardboard edge of his takeaway container. "My internship ends in six weeks. After that, I have to return to India and finish everything there. I've been thinking about it, and I want to tell her before I go." "And if she says no?" "Then she says no." "You'll come home?" "Of course." "And you'll finish your degree?" "Yes, bhai." "And you won't abandon your entire future because a woman doesn't want you?" Ayaan laughed softly. "You make me sound like an idiot." "I'm trying to establish whether you are one." "I'm not going to abandon anything. I just..." He searched for the right words. "I want to give this a chance. I want her to know that someone sees her as more than the person who fixes everyone's problems at work." Zayyan said nothing. "I know she's older. I know she'll have her own expectations, and I don't even know if she wants to get married. But I like that she has a life of her own. I like that she doesn't need someone to rescue her. She makes her own decisions, and she stands by them." Ayaan smiled. "And when I imagine my future, she's there." For the first time that evening, Zayyan had no immediate response. Then, more gently, he asked, "And what happens if she says yes?" Ayaan's whole face brightened. "Then I'll bring her home." "Bring her home?" "To Mumbai. I'll introduce her to everyone properly. I'll tell Ammi, I'll tell Abbu, and I'll make sure she knows this isn't some passing thing I dreamed up because I'm lonely in a foreign country." "Have you told her any of this?" "No. I intend to let her answer the first question before I start planning the next ten years." "At least you've retained some common sense." "Some." "Very little, apparently." Ayaan laughed. "But, bhai?" "Hmm?" "I want you to meet her first." "Why me?" "Because you're the person whose opinion matters most to me." Zayyan went quiet again. Ayaan hadn't meant to make the conversation sentimental. He rarely did. But there were certain things he had never needed to explain to his brother. "All right," Zayyan said at last. "When you bring her home, I'll meet her." "You promise?" "I promise." "And you won't scare her?" "I cannot promise that." "Bhai!" "She should know what she's getting into." Ayaan laughed so loudly that someone in the neighbouring apartment knocked against the wall. For the first time in weeks, the thought of returning to India filled him with excitement rather than the usual reluctance to leave London behind. He had six weeks left. Six weeks to tell Inaya Siddiqui that he loved her. Six weeks to find out whether the future he had imagined existed outside his own head. Six weeks before he could return home, stand beside his brother, and introduce the woman he hoped would one day become part of their family. He had no idea that Zayyan, too, would soon be preparing to marry. And that the woman his brother had just promised to welcome home would arrive in Mumbai wearing someone else's wedding jewellery.