Author's Note: Another fluffy little DDLJ ficlet of no real substance. I couldn't help myself. Basically what happens after Simran gets all drunk. Read and review, folks!
It was strange really, how much heavier people were in their sleep. It was as if being awake gave an awareness to surroundings that somehow made you lighter as you adjusted yourself to them. It was when in sleep that you forced your surroundings to adjust to you.
The surrounding in this case, Raj, was struggling to adjust. Not only was she heavier to carry than before, but she was dripping wet, which just added to the weight.
Don't get me wrong. Raj was not that weak. He could carry her fine; he was just commenting on the fact that he had been able to carry her more easily when she had been awake (albeit extremely drunk).
And the struggles were not only to do with weight. Raj had found out that guys carrying girls cannot fit horizontally through doors. It had taken a while before the thought that perhaps he should try turning sideways to go in penetrated through the haze in his brain.
Then after finally entering the room, Raj found that he had all the makings of a great comedian as he tripped spectacularly over his own feet.
He somehow managed to land on his knees without dropping her. Amazingly, she still slept on, completely unaware.
As he got up, he thought maybe he should turn on the lamp near the bed. The problem was, he had to get there without tripping over anything. He slowly moved towards the bed, his hands stretched out as far in front of him as they could be when he was carrying Simran at the same time.
He found the bed.
By having his knee collide with it with a painful crack. Inwardly cursing, he hobbled over to deposit Simran on the bed.
It was when he had laid her down and tried to stand up himself that he realized that she still had her arms around his neck from when he had been carrying her. He tried to simply get up a few times, but her grip only seemed to tighten.
It turned into a ten-minute struggle between him and the Hands, before they were finally left clutching his collar instead. He had a brief feeling of triumph before he realized that he could no more get up with her holding onto his collar that with her arms around his neck.
He gently tried to prise each one of her fingers off his collar so that he could leave and perhaps get a few hours sleep in the barn before they had to catch their train.
Suddenly, she shivered.
Uh-oh. It was then that he remembered that she was still dripping wet from the swimming pool. She could catch her death in those clothes. What to do, what to do…
For a few seconds, he waved his hands agitatedly partly because it helped him think and partly because it was strangely fun. Then the solution came to him. All he had to do was give her some dry clothes to wear!
He got up and rummaged through his backpack, looking for some clean clothes. He chanced upon an un-used white shirt, but couldn't find any trousers or anything that were suitable for sleeping in. Oh well, he thought, it'll have to do. In any case the shirt would be so large for her it would come half-way down her thighs.
He took the shirt and a towel and placed it on the edge of the bed.
'Simran,' he said gently, nudging her shoulder, 'wake up. Dry yourself and put on these – Simran? Sim…?' Oh no. Please no.
It occurred to Raj that she was sleeping like a log and there would be no waking up until the morning.
His hands moved towards the buttons on her blouse, but they stopped. This is wrong, was the thought going through his head again and again.
Sure, he had undressed girls before, but they had been awake and in full consent of it. This one was asleep and knowing her, something told him she wouldn't really like him undressing her.
To undress or not undress? That was the question. Of course, to not undress meant to leave her possibly in risk of catching pneumonia. So to undress was the only option he had.
Screwing his eyes shut, he went to feel for the blouse buttons. Then his eyes opened in the horror at the terrible wording of his thoughts. His hands froze again before they were half-way there.
Deciding that this time, he would keep his eyes open, Raj's hands moved towards the blouse buttons yet again.
Deep breaths. In, out, in, out, in –
Hey, that wasn't so hard! Top button undone.
Second button undone.
Third button un – Holy shit.
Eyes screwed shut once again, Raj tried to breathe again. In, out, in, out, he told himself, in, out, in… His thoughts started wandering from his breathing pattern. Wasn't that the same bra on the train? The white lacy one? Then the perverted-ness of his thoughts hit him. Here he was, thinking about Simran's bra when he was just supposed to change her clothes and get going.
He opened his eyes again, only to see the White Lace staring accusingly at him. It seemed to be saying something along the lines of, 'What are you staring at, perv? Never seen a beautiful girl in her white lacy bra before?'
Wait, maybe that was just his conscience. Conscience or not, the fact remained, he somehow had to do this. Keeping his gaze concentrated on a freckle on her neck – and a very nice neck it was – he somehow managed to avoid looking at the White Lace of Doom while undoing the buttons.
There. Blouse undone. He had just pulled over his white shirt to put it on her when he realized that unbuttoning the blouse wasn't enough. He actually had to remove it.
Okay. He could do this. He picked up one of her arms and pulled the blouse towards him so that he could take it off. But it wasn't working, as the other sleeve was riding up the other arm, making this whole business more difficult.
He adjusted his position, and sat her up gently, so that he could take the blouse off both arms at the same time. Problem was, somewhere along the way, his shirt button had caught onto one of her blouse buttons.
He tugged. The buttons didn't budge.
He twisted. The buttons didn't budge.
He frowned. The buttons didn't budge.
He attempted to solve the problem in a smart, brainy way that involved physics. The buttons didn't budge.
He pulled and pulled and pulled and –
Shit. Ow. The next second, he was in excruciating pain as he had hit his head against…
A cow-bell? What in heck was a freaking cow-bell doing in this room?
Then he remembered. It was Simran's cow-bell.
He wearily got up, to get back to the business of removing her blouse, and that's when it fell off onto the bed. He froze, his eyes screwed shut again.
He opened one eye a crack to verify what he was seeing. Yes, he had been right the first time.
After all that trouble involving stuck buttons, breathing problems and just general uncomfortable-ness, her blouse had just fallen off, perhaps in the force of button loss.
Well, at least it saved him some trouble. He hurriedly picked up his white shirt and put it on her, gently helping her arms through the sleeves.
Now it was time to button up. Perhaps buttoning up her shirt would be easier than unbuttoning her blouse because buttoning up as opposed to unbuttoning had less wrong implications.
Or not. His hands still had freezing problems and that convenient concentration freckle on her neck was now hidden by the stupid shirt collar. He kept his gaze on where the freckle was supposed to be, but it was hard going.
He kept fumbling with the buttons and when it was finally done up, he realized the consequences of not looking at the shirt you were buttoning. One of the buttons was in the wrong hole, mucking up all the rest.
Great. He unbuttoned the whole thing, wondering what this would look like if the people who had lent him the room walked in now.
Okay. Button one done up.
Button two done up.
Button – he gulped as his hand unintentionally brushed against White Lace – three done up.
Button four done up. He sighed in relief as the White Lace of Doom was hidden.
The rest of the buttons were soon done up. He sat back to admire his handiwork. He saw a pristine, perfectly-buttoned white shirt.
Great. The wet blouse was gone. What about the skirt?
He pulled the white shirt as far down as it would go – it went a little farther than he predicted; almost to her knees – and unzipped the skirt at the side.
The skirt operation went surprisingly smoothly, probably because there were no buttons involved. He removed the wet skirt and pulled up the covers.
There. All done.
That wasn't so hard, was it?
And also counting the fact that he hadn't done anything perverted, despite the fact that there had been countless occasions almost guaranteed him a place in Heaven where he could where a white dress and play a harp and sing in a girly angel choir.
He was just tip-toeing out of the room when he slipped on a conveniently placed wet blouse on the floor.
He looked up from the ground to see a wet skirt lying not far away as well as his own jacket. That gave him an idea…
Screw the girly choir.
Tomorrow, he would get his revenge…
Author's Note 2: So? How was it? Comments, constructive criticism, unconditional praise and worship all accepted.
I think I will conduct a survey, because I have nothing better to do. How many people here like Bollywood but are not Indian and how did you first discover it? Curious, because I don't personally know any non-Indian Bolly-fans. Also, if you are Indian, do you know Hindi or if not, what language do you speak?
And also review the story. Thanks.