Part 13: Well Matched
Present day...
Sarfaraz scanned the restaurant to no avail. 'Where was that guy?' he wondered.
Things had taken an unexpected turn and Mehar had been quick to report it all to their HQ. One brief pterodactyl screech via the phone, an attached photo later, he was searching for Aabhan Musthaq, Tushar Malhotra's secretary.
HQ wanted eyes on both employee and secretary to intercept any communication between them and Kanimozhi. Besides, even if Balthazar had been linked in the past with smuggling, they couldn't just let him be killed.
Sarfaraz dashed through the gym, the spa and the outdoor basketball ball court, and yet no sign of Aabhan.
He skidded to a stop in front of the indoor games room and after a brief look inside, was about to take off again. When he realised he had seen someone inside.
Looking again, he saw Aabhan at the Foosball table, darting from one side of the table to the other in an attempt to play the game by himself.
The angel's namesake was dressed in a puffy white shirt and beige cotton pants- Sarafaraz wondered why on God's green earth would someone be dressed like this at night.
Aabhan felt an intense gaze on himself and turned to look up. At the sight of Sarafaraz, hair tousled and bewildered, he couldn't help but stare.
Sweat dotted his forehead and he mopped it with his shirt sleeves, head tilting back a little. Sarafaraz noticed a chain on his neck, a flash of something glittering through the middle of his shirt.
Taking the other side of the table, he grinned at Aabhan, extending a challenge. With a grin in return, it was accepted.
He left the bottle of vintage wine on the floor beside the table. He had orders from the restaurant manager to show their new client what they can provide for the banquet, but that could wait.
Hands gripping the rods, the game was underway. The clattering of the foosers could be heard from the corridor, peppered with slight grunts, as Aabhan proved to be a worthy opponent.
For all his reflexes and strength, Sarfaraz had only played the game a couple of times before this, whereas Aabhan looked quite at home at his place at the table.
His eyes would dart from the ball to the goal, charting a path, and would glance at Sarfaraz at brief intervals. The moment Sarafaraz tried to meet his eyes, he'd score.
Every time he scored, Aabhan spun around and laughed, the air and his shirt would seem to slow down in time, flowing. Every time the other scored, he would do just that, whining a little this time.
Sarfaraz couldn't look elsewhere, the tawny young man was strangely hard to take his eyes off of. He rarely laughed, but this was making him want to, but the man who looked through his eyelashes at him, was doing and undoing things.
The ball went shooting through the gaps between the players, and it was in Sarfaraz's post.
He made an attempt to groan, eyes still sparkling, fixed on his chuckling adversary.
The ball bounced and tumbled onto the floor, and he bent down to retrieve it. He could see Aabhan standing barefoot next to a couple of beer bottles, the spherule rolling off towards the door.
He picked it up and walked towards Aabhan, and his eyes caught the score- 7-10.
Lifting his eyes to meet Aabhan, he punched him on the stomach lightly as congrats, but the other looked almost sorry the game was over.
The punch made Aabhan laugh, and the odd reaction cracked Sarafaraz up.
"I'm ticklish!" Abhan protested.
Sarfaraz was barely listening, he couldn't remember the last time he had lost it like this.
To distract him, Aabhan bent down to retrieve the beer bottles and offered one to him.
"Were you expecting someone else?" Asked Sarfaraz, clinking his bottle with the other's in cheers.
"Nah, was planning to get drunk alone."
Sarfaraz turned to look at Aabhan when he answered, expecting wry sarcasm, but he seemed perfectly honest and at peace with his previous plan.
His eyes strayed from the bottle at his lips, and the drops of sweat that dotted his neck making way for the bulge at his neck and further down.
The rose gold chain resting on his collarbones, dipping into his shirt, hiding away. The locket still pulled Sarafaraz's curiosity. He leaned over, putting the bottle down behind them on the Foosball table, the foosers floating parallel to it looked at the object with interest.
"May I?" He asked, his fingers inches from the chain, eyes raising to meet Aabhans, who nodded.
His fingers fluttered at the contact but they preferred to pretend that never happened, he tugged at the chain, and his fingers clasped the lavaliere, downturned.
"Got it in Paris," Aabhan started, when they were interrupted by the chime of Sarafaraz's phone. Kept by the ledge, the screen lit up with a message,
'I'm in room 101, you know what to do.'
But Sarfaraz had read the inscription on the pendant before his orders, and it said -
'Mon Amor'