Diya

The hall erupted. They yelled and screamed and clapped. They wouldn’t let us get off the stage. We had to sing three more songs before they would let us go.

We didn’t even wait for the results. Aman said, ‘We’ve won. Let the others collect the trophy. We have something more important to do.’ He grabbed my hand, and we dodged all our friends who were screaming in excitement, and ran for the exit. We had to fight our way out of there.

Aman had borrowed a motorcycle from a friend. I began to tie up my hair, but he pulled the rubber band from me. ‘Never tie your hair up,’ he said. My hair blew behind us as we rode that bike. I put my arms around his waist and leaned into him. He smelt so good. Only the two of us, warm against each other, and the speeding bike.

They caught us just off Peddar Road. A car full of men. They forced us to the side of the road and then jumped out, sticks in hand. Two of them grabbed me. The others grabbed Aman. He tried to fight free, but they held him easily. He yelled to me, ‘Run away! Run away, Diya!’

I didn’t move. I had recognized them, and there was no place to run. My father’s secretary was with them. He smiled at me as the goons held Aman and me.

‘I know them,’ I said to Aman.

‘You know them?!’

‘Yes. They’re my father’s men.’

‘Don’t touch her!’ shouted Aman. ‘Don’t you dare hurt her!’ His only concern was for me. But I was terrified for him. I knew my father.

The secretary said politely, ‘Don’t worry about her. We aren’t going to touch her. We’re here to beat a lesson into you.’

‘You want to beat me up?’ said Aman. ‘You’re not going to harm her?’

‘No. Our orders are that we don’t touch her. She is like a daughter to us. You, however . . .’ The secretary smiled. His politeness was chilling.

‘All right,’ said Aman. And then he just stood there. The lead thug smashed his fist into Aman’s face. Aman just took the blow and stood there waiting. He didn’t do a thing.