#desisecretsanta2023

It had been Anuja's dream to study fashion design in Paris for so long and she was finally here. The first couple of months were like a passing storm cloud. Everything happened all at once- welcome parties, assignment deadlines, one night stands, a life-altering realisation. And she was alone through it all.

Well, not exactly. She'd video-call Naani over Skype every week. Naani would rant about whatever Nanaji's newest peculiar obsession was (dal fry, that one political party, that one sceen from that one Akshay Kumar movie) and Anuja would rant about the latest event of her life (Mireille and Daisy's party, finally visiting the Louvre, finally making a friend). Naani, the badass woman that she was, had been to Paris for studying herself in the early sixties. She'd met Edith Piaf too! And that made it a bit more tolerable, her anecdotes. Anuja would try to do the things her Naani had done decades ago and feel amazing.

But right now, Anuja wasn't thinking about her grandmother. She was thinking about how damn LATE Tarun was! A quick glance at her wrist-watch told her it was almost seven and the probability of Tarun finally showing up, all windswept hair and flushed cheeks, dwindled by the minute.

A couple months ago Anuja had been terribly homesick. The aroma of dum biryani would creep into her dreams unprecedented only for her to absently munched on a random sandwich from her refrigerator the next morning. The yearning to dance manically to Diljit Dosaanjh's new song playing from crappy speakers until her feet gave way was ever-present. Maybe she should've listened to her father and started preparing for NEET. Maybe she should've run away with her friends from Mumbai and started a rock band. And that's when she met Tarun.

God, she was going to lose it whenever Tarun showed up next! He'd stood her up thrice now. Anuja understood when he canceled movie night, and forgot about the study date in the library. But this was the last straw.

Sighing, she retraced her steps and called Naani first thing on reaching her flat. It took a second for the connection to get established, but as soon as she heard the "what's wrong, beta?" all thoughts came tumbling out.

Turns out, every assignment wasn't interesting. But you still had to meet every deadline and hell, Anuja was a scholarship student. She Could. Not. Afford. To get a bad remark. She'd succeeded so far but only barely, spending the night before completing it from start to finish, fuelled by caffeine. There were plenty who got better remarks, wider smiles and more approving nods than her. It was a long road.

"What's wrong, beta?" Naani asked again, once she was done ranting. Damn.

Everything. Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic. Maybe she should maje coffee. Maybe she should hunt all over for Tarun, hold him at gunpoint and ask him why he was canceling stuff. And while she was at it, just ki-

Maybe she could catch the next flight and return to India. Yeah, maybe that'd make things so much better!

"EVERYTHING!" She groaned and her Naani laughed heartily.

"Acquired a flair for the dramatics already, meri choti si jaan has already morphed into a true Parisienne!" Naani exclaimed and Anuja rolled her eyes. (Spoiler alert: she was also smiling wide)

Her grandmother looked above the screen for a second, probably to check on Nanaji, before meeting her eyes. There was an uncertain silence before Naani broke it by asking, "Who's the boy?"

What boy?

"Naani, chalo bhi! I'm not interested in dating. This is a crisis. I kind of want to return to India. Aapka aloo paratha yaad aa raha hai, bhaad mein gaye bell bottoms!"

She meant it as a light comment. But tears had made their way across her cheeks. She had no real friends here, except for Tarun but well that depends. Mireille and Daisy invited her to ONE party and never looked her in the eye again. Same with everyone else. Anuja was alone here, polar opposite of how she was in Mumbai. And she was losing interest in stuff anyway.

"Louvre aur Eiffel Tower toh roj dikh jaata hai, Naani Maa, but there's nothing left for me here. Maybe there never was-"

"Chup kar," Naani said abruptly, crossing her arms. "Ever since you were little, beta, you were obsessed with clothes. I'd take you to the Growels Mall and you'd stare at those mannequins for hours, poetry spinning away in your head. Your arms itching to hold the dresses, to feel its fabrics and study it carefully."

Anuja had stopped crying. She longed to tell Naani that people change, feelings fade, but she remained quiet. Naani had a strange expression on her face, inscrutable.

"I want to you to know that humaare darwaazein hamesha khule hai, Anu, but I want you to think over thus for a week. Don't make any rash decisions you'll regret later-"

She stared at a point above the screen again, eyebrows raised. "Jevaayla vaadhlay, Pakya," she said with barely concealed exasperation.

Anuja laughed. This wad golden- Naani almost never called Nanaji by his name unless she was super irritated and even then, she'd use this nickname his siblings addressed him with!

That's when she decided. She'd been through four months of overwhelming stuff; a week was shorter than the time it took to convince Naani once that there was no lizard in the house. Anuja could manage. Someone chose that moment to ring the doorbell and Anuja greeted her grandmother goodbye.

It was Tarun, with windswept hair and flushed cheeks. About fucking time.

_

Seven days later.

Tarun was cooking a rather nice-smelling dum biryani in their little flat kitchen using the groceries they'd brought in last night. Anuja was pacing back and forth in the passage, overthinking every little thought she'd been so sure of last night. She was going to tell Naani today. She was going to tell Naani that-

"I want to stay in Paris and complete my education! And then, I want to go to Mumbai to start something of my own," she blurted out, all in one breath.

And the other thing. Well, Anuja had listened to numerous Lata Mangeshkar songs this week and everything else on their Spotify Blend to try and find the right words for this moment. Tarun walked out of the kitchen looking like a greek god and sat next to her on the couch. He and Naani exchanged greetings.

What if Naani thought she wasn't following her heart and only staying in Paris for Tarun? Well, Tarun was certainly a part of it. They made each other better. And maybe getting him to model all the outfits Anuja made was another plus point.

"Something else you'd like to tell me, chhakuli?"

Wait, did she know? Was it that obvious? And most importantly, why was she smiling? Was she seriously okay with it?

Ah, right. She'd been absently holding Tarun's hand the whole time. Naani narrowed her eyes and Anuja's blood ran cold. "You break my granddaughter's heart, you break my heart, clear? And I'd prefer to keep it intact for now."

"Of course, Aunty!"

Anuja was in Paris, living a dream, seeing another one - Mumbai - at midnight. She was certain she'd go far in life. She was certain she'd be okay. Well, home is where the heart is and sometimes that home is a person.

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