Danika Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Other books by Varsha Dixit

  Acknowledgements

  Meet the Author

  Danika

  CONTENTS

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Other books by Varsha Dixit

  Acknowledgements

  Meet the Author

  Danika

  By Varsha Dixit

  Copyright © Varsha Dixit 2018

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

  CHAPTER 1

  October 10, 2015

  2:03 pm

  'The Grove' Apartments

  Los Angeles, USA

  Twenty-five-year-old Danika Dheer clutched the pink tulips wrapped in clear plastic as she walked past the Seven-Eleven store with its usual crowd of teenage boys on skateboard and homeless people snacking on a-dollar hotdogs. Taking the next right on Fairfax Avenue, she walked past the large wrought iron gates and into her apartment complex consisting of a few red and green twelve storied buildings.

  Today Danika was excited and a warm shade of hopeful, unlike the resignation and dread that usually assailed her when she headed to her small one bedroom apartment she shared with her techie husband of ten months - Piyush Saxena.

  Piyush and Danika's arranged marriage wasn’t made in heaven but rather in a bottomless barrel of differences. Differences that started from thought meandered through food, books, hobbies and ended at the boudoir.

  Still walking, Danika discreetly pulled at the red velvet thong biting into her bum. Before leaving her work because of contrived fever, Danika had slipped into new, provocative and red lingerie that felt more uncomfortable than erotic. It was making her burn and sweat in very places it was meant to make arousing.

  If it was up to me I would make big airy bloomers mandatory for all women. Danika flexed her chest trying to ease the discomfort caused by the restraining velvet rope that kept the two tiny triangles that barely covered her nipples in place. Danika gritted her teeth, determined. Be positive, Dani, all this is for a cause. Excite Piyush, add some spice to your non existent sex life.

  Going past the Halloween decorations in the lobby – a howling, shaking witch and the heap of orange plastic pumpkins with green and purple lights twinkling inside them, Danika grumbled, “Thanks a bunch, Shazia! This is all on you.”

  Shazia Leonard had moved in the apartment opposite Danika’s ten days after Danika and Piyush had landed here. Shazia was the girl Danika used to be before marriage – positive and brimming with life minus the 'free love' mumbo jumbo, which Danika personally thought was just a pseudo term for no-strings attached sex with strangers.

  Danika and Shazia had instantly hit off when they had first bumped in the bleak gray laundry room in the building's basement that smelled like chemicals, damp clothes and more often than not weed. Go figure! For the first few minutes they had stood next to each other exchanging polite smiles as they waited for their individual washing cycles to finish and then Shazia had started a conversation by saying, “Have you ever tried having sex on the top of a running dryer?”

  Danika had been struck speechless as her face had turned various shades of red and then she burst out chuckling at the mischief in Shazia's green colored eyes. It had felt good to let go of some of the tension she felt 24/7 around Piyush and his high expectations of always being proper and only talking when necessary. The devil in her prompted Danika to say, “Haven’t tried it and won't be able to. My husband isn't that tall.”

  Shazia had snickered, seemingly impressed with Danika's candor and quip. That frank one-heck-of-an-icebreaker conversation had led to some more in the apartment corridors, building lobby, and parking lot. Eventually they had met up for coffee at the nearby cafe. A close friendship had been cemented between Danika and Shazia.

  If God closes a door, he leaves the washing machine in the basement.

  Danika sighed as she rode the elevator to the seventh floor. Piyush had hated Shazia within five minutes of meeting her, for all the very reasons Danika had liked her. Piyush immediately tagged Shazia, not on any Facebook post but in their life, as a 'bad influence'. Revise that, 'a very bad influence'!

  Danika's nerves jangled as she got off the eleva
tor. Hope Piyush likes the flowery surprises. She killed the nervous giggle that flooded her mouth. Lots of flowers - actual flowers, thongs with flower pattern and the bottle of rose wine in my purse.

  To others, Danika always came across as someone calm and quiet even though her wit and words were expansive. However, Danika had realized at a very young age that majority of people liked to talk rather than listen-especially in her family, and especially the men. Danika could not have been happier when she had got the opportunity to migrate from her hometown.

  Danika was the kind of gal who could see hope in the tiniest of flowers growing from under a rock, a rhythm in blaring horns and a whiff of something pleasant in the smog, of first Mumbai and now Los Angeles. Thus, she wasn't willing to give up on herself, Piyush and their marriage.

  Danika treaded the faded, dark gray carpet of the long corridor, her gait slow, anxiety gnawing her insides. She pasted a smiled on her face and straightened her shoulders. Blinking her almond shaped, onyx eyes a few times, Danika attempted a brighter and excited countenance. She stopped in front of the green apartment door, 7C, with the dull and scratched golden knob.

  Over her shoulder, Danika glanced at the door of the flat opposite to them. Her one foot turned toward that door.

  Shazia's apartment! I could go in there and genuinely laugh a little. But I won't. Because you darling Shazia have arm-twisted me to bring spice to my marital bed. Throwing caution to the winds, Danika had decided today would be a good as any to act on that advice. She had taken half the day off from her job at the advertising agency to surprise her husband.

  Danika reached in the pockets of her pants and making as little noise as possible, she extracted a key ring with several keys hanging on it.

  The door of the apartment next to her, 7E, opened partially. A head full of frizzy, auburn and gray hair popped out. Danika lobbed a smile at the wrinkled face that belonged to the hair- Ms. Pitrova, the old lady with the cats. Ms. Pitrova knew exactly what went on in all the ten apartments on the floor, even though she barely spoke a polite word to anyone. Her favorite form of greeting was a scowl.

  Shazia had a theory about the old lady. One word and an acronym: Retired KGB.

  Ms. Pitrova's face broke into a toothy grin. Not a kind one! She nodded at Shazia's apartment door and spoke in a raspy voice, “Only if you had key for that one.” She shut the door on Danika's puzzled face.

  “What?” Danika pursed her mouth as she swung her gaze to Shazia's apartment door. Panic flooded her. Did something happen to Shazia? Ms. Pitrova disliked Shazia because of the loud music Shazia loved to play whenever she was home. Danika glanced at the keys in her hand.

  The silver key at the very end was of Shazia's apartment. I should at least check. Piyush can wait few more minutes. I have to make sure Shazia is okay.

  Danika slid the silver key in the keyhole turned it clockwise till she heard the soft click. Slowly pushing the door in, Danika stepped inside.

  Chapter 2

  The living room was empty. This is trespassing! Danika hesitated at the door. She turned to go but paused when she saw the pair of shoes discarded carelessly near the sofa. Frowning, Danika tilted her head to the side.

  Aren't those Piyush's sneakers?

  The blue and white sports shoes with stained laces, carelessly discarded near the door were similar to her husband's favorite pair.

  Danika thought she even smelled Piyush's overpowering musky cologne. My mind is playing tricks on me. Her ears pricked. Muffled and indiscernible sounds came from behind the closed bedroom door.

  Was that Piyush groaning?

  Some sweat appeared on Danika’s upper lip as her insides knotted. She walked toward the closed bedroom door. The bedroom door with the bright red sign, 'HOTTIE ALERT'. Danika pushed at the door. It was unlocked and swung open.

  Danika felt like all her breath had left her body. The flowers slipped out of her hands and fell on the laminated floor with a soft thud.

  Piyush who had his face twisted over his naked damp shoulder was first to see his wife. He froze in middle of his sex romp. Bug-eyed, his mouth fell open. Piyush's body language and sudden inertness alerted his lover.

  With a small yelp, Shazia pushed a-very-naked-and-very-aroused Piyush off her. Piyush fell back on his bare butt and hurriedly pulled a sheet over his lower body, his face as red as the Hibiscus flower painting above Shazia's bed.

  Shazia did not bother covering her bare body as she gazed at Danika with shock and guilt.

  Danika could not take the sight of her cheating husband and best friend anymore. Her eyes crowding with tears, she turned around sharply tripping over the flowers she had dropped. She paused for a moment, caught her balance and then walked blindly to the front door. Her mind seemed to have shut down, but her heart felt like someone had taken a chainsaw to it.

  “Dani, wait!” Shazia called out.

  “It’s Danika for you!' Danika screamed back. Suddenly, her insides revolted. She ran to the tiny, pink and white bathroom next to the living room and barely had the time to close the door behind her.

  In seconds, Danika was bent over the pot throwing up her guts. Afterwards, she tumbled to the cold tile floor, dazed and hurting. Her body felt icy and her head kept playing the image of her husband and best friend having sex.

  Danika lurched once more and threw up in the pot.

  I have to get out of here!

  Fighting the dizziness, she got up, flushed and wiped the seat with toilet paper. Her hands were as unsteady as the ground during an earthquake. Her legs wobbled as she splashed water on her face and rinsed her mouth. The bitter taste refused to go away.

  Danika came out of the bathroom, as blank as a board. She leaned on the wall for support, her legs weren’t the strongest.

  The cheaters were clothed and waiting for her in the living room.

  Piyush met Danika’s eyes and was quick to lower his gaze. His lashes, wet, stuck to each other. Shazia stood at one side of the room, smoking and blowing out of the open window. She chugged at her cigarette hard.

  Ignoring them both, Danika picked up her purse where she had dropped it on the floor and went to the front door. Her purse felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

  “Why are you sad? You don't even love him!” Shazia called out.

  Danika paused and bit her lips to stop the scalding tears burning her lids. She turned around and glared at Piyush. “That is her excuse for betraying me. What is yours? I thought you hated her.”

  Piyush whimpered, tucking his head to his chest. “Sorry Danika. I told you she was a bad influence.” His voice wasn't the steadiest.

  Danika could only stare at her cheating spouse. His ridiculous excuse left her speechless.

  Shazia moved from the window and landed a tight slap across Piyush's face.

  Danika did not wait to see how Piyush reacted. She had seen enough. She walked out of the apartment, her head held high. The door to Ms. Pitrova's apartment swung open. The old woman gave Danika a toothy, malicious smile that revealed yellowed dentures.

  “Thank you!” Danika said with feeling.

  The old woman flinched. Something akin to guilt crossed over her wrinkled face. “Be strong!” She said and then shut the door.

  Danika dragged her feet inside her apartment. She paused and her eyes ran over the apartment she had taken pains to decorate. Frugal yet chic! More pain rammed her heart.

  Why the hell do I have to suffer when others screw up?

  A startled laugh escaped her lips. “Screw. Nice choice of words Danika!”

  Even though Danika had to stop often to wipe her eyes, she began to pack in an organized and thorough manner.

  Will not take anything of Piyush's nor will I leave anything that belongs to me. Not even a piece of my floss.

  In less than two hours, Danika walked out of the apartment. Piyush sat slumped on the floor near the front door, his eyes red and beseeching.

  Danika ignored him, knowing well that her eyes would be r
ed and her thoughts dark for a very long time. All thanks to her husband and best friend! As she waited for the elevator, Danika was gripped by panic.

  I can’t live here. I’ll have to leave the city. How long will it take me to find a job? She bit the inside of her cheek not caring that she tasted her own blood. How much money do I have in my account? Not enough!

  The sound of the elevator doors opening snapped her out of her thoughts. Danika was scared.

  “Don’t pray for a life without problems. Pray for problems with solutions. Then, become the solution.” Danika blinked. Her maternal grandmother, one of few people to love Danika seemed to be speaking to her from beyond the grave.

  Danika got in the elevator pulling her bags behind her. She knew there was one person, her only family, who would help her out come what may. Her stepbrother in Philadelphia.

  Danika observed the glum expressions on Piyush and Shazia’s face as they stood few feet from the elevator doors.

  Just look at us! We will always be bound to each other by this pain. Danika tightly closed her fast filling eyes.

  Trust is an expensive commodity. I should not have given it so easily, she thought.

  “Assholes!” In a last spurt of defiance, Danika raised her middle finger at the duo, just as the elevator doors shut on that part of her life.

  Chapter 3

  October 15, 2015

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  A Caucasian man sat hunched on the scratched, green plastic sofa in a dinghy office that smelled of dust and old paper. The smell of greasy kababs being sold in the miniscule and cramped restaurants outside wafted in the office, adding its own flavor to the atmosphere.

  A US flag and the flag of Afghanistan flag with black, red and green stripes hung on two pole stands in front of him. The man's head was lowered, his blank gaze fixed on the floor. His clothes were wrinkled and stained. There was an unnatural stillness in his pose that would make an onlooker question if the man was breathing.

  A pair of tan sandals stopped next to him. “Dr. Noah Collins.”

  Noah raised his head. His eyes were tired as if he had not slept for weeks. His complexion lacked vitality, his cheeks gaunt and his lips appeared to be stuck together as if he had no intention to speak ever again.

  The other man, a local Afghani, Lala Pashtooni, extended a white envelope to Noah. “This and the box,” he pointed at the cardboard box behind him, “belonged to Mrs. Collins.” The burly Afghani had a thick hooked nose, a long beard and was dressed in a Pathani Suit - the traditional garb consisting of knee length shirt and loose pants. The hulk-sized man seemed to have trouble holding back his emotions as he swallowed rapidly and rubbed his eyes. “She was an angel!”