The Mills & Boon Novel that Never Was

I should explain why exactly this horrific attempt at a romantic story exists. Mills and Boon are having a romantic short story competition in India, and I thought it would be fun to have a shot at writing an entry. This is one my failed attempts - halfway through, it dawned on me that Mills and Boons are never written in the first person. But here goes...

It was monday morning. And I was at another, boring, long editorial meeting, trying to determine the articles and issues that our next issue of India Now should cover.
Don't get me wrong. I love my job. India Now is a great place to work - we have a great team and we produce excellent content. More than any other magazine, India Now really has it's pulse on what is happening in India today. But I hate editorial meetings. They go and on and on - and there painful, pointless, longwinded arguments. I have to be there of course - but when I'm at one, I pretend I'm lying on a beautiful beach, under clear, blue skies, sipping on a margharita, feeling the sun kiss my skin.
"Ila? Were you listening to what I'm saying?"
The voice of Rajan Moitra, my boss and the chief editor of India Now punctures my daydreams.
Sighing inwardly, I pulled on my brightest, happiest smile. "Yes, of course I was." I shot him an arch look. "How could you think otherwise?"
My editor smirked. "Well, if you were," and his tone clearly told me that he didn't think I was, "then do you have any objections to taking on this assignment? It's just your cup of tea."
Drat and double drat. What was the assignment that Rajan was talking about?
"Ila?"
"Yes, of course. I'll do it." I sighed and slunk back into my seat. What else could I say?

Four hours later, I was buckling my seat belt on a chartered flight. The economy section of the plane was full of reporters and photographers. I spotted my friend Kalpana, a reporter from a newspaper Indian Times, comming through the aisle. Even though she's a reporter for a rival publication, we've both been part of the jounralistic pack for years, and have covered many of the same events. We've been through a lot together - riots, assassinations, murders and gang wars. And in that time, a fast friendship has stuck between us. We'll still vie for the next scoop, and the best quote, but still our friendship survives, intact.
Kalpana saw me wave and headed over. She slipped into the empty seat next to me.
"It's quite brave of you to come," Kalpana said, as she buckled her own seat belt. "I thought you would opt out for this one."
"What do you mean?" I frowned, puzzled.
Kalpana shot me an incredulous look. Just as she opened her mouth to reply, a steward passed us with a stack of press kits. He handed Kalpana a copy for each of us.
Kalpana opened the magenta folder and pointed to the letterhead embossed on the pages inside. "That's why," she said.
I looked to follow her meaning. "TRITON TECH is pleased to Announce the Launch of Paradise Hotels & Resorts Chain"
Triton Tech...Triton Tech. That meant only one thing.
Oh no. Damn it. I had to get out.
Kalpana hissed at me. "You didn't know?"
"No...I...I didn't... Shit. I have to get out of here." I stood up, and scrambled across, just as the pilot began to announce our imminent departure.
Kalpana shot me a worried look. "You better hurry, Ila."
I ran down the aisle, towards the first class section, just as the plane began to taxi down the runway.
A steward blocked my path. "You better get back to your seat, Ma'am."
I stared him down, as I edged my way about him, into the first class section.
"I have to get out," I told him. "I have to get off the aircraft."
"We can't do that, Ma'am. We are just taking off." He gestured to indicate the window outside. The plane had just begun to incline, towards the sky.
"I've got to get out," I pleaded, my voice hysterical. "Please."
The steward was gruff. "Please get back to your seat, Ma'am, I can't let you out. It's dangerous to be standing while the plane takes off."
Just as he spoke, the plane shot towards the sky. I lurched, stumbled forwards, and as the plane swung upwards, fell across, onto the lap of passenger seated in one of the First Class Seats.
A pair of hands grabbed me. "Are you okay? A familiar male voice asked me.
Full of horror, I looked up - into a pair of piercing, hard grey eyes. A pair of eyes I only knew too well.
"Ila?"

I shut my eyes. Shit. Shit and double shit. This was exactly the situation I had been trying to escape from. Here I was sprawled across the lap of the very man I had been trying to avoid. I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand, hoping that this was just a dream.
"Ila? Are you okay?" He sounded as shocked as I felt. "You look like you are in great pain."
Cringing, I opened my eyes. Yes, it was Aditya. Radiantly handsome, clad in a grey suit, whose perfect cut could only have been the handiwork of a Saville Row tailor. His crisp, blue shirt, and his grey silk tie, patterned with a subtle silver pattern fitted him perfectly and would have no doubt cost the entire sum of my monthly salary. He hadn't changed - still darkly handsome with a patrician profile. Waves of black, glossy hair swept away from his forehead with just a tint of grey at his temples. And just a shade uncoventional - the sideburns and the slightly long hair proclaimed him. But this eyes had changed - there was something dark and brooding.
"Aditya, I'm fine." I tried to squirm out of his grasp.
He smiled, it was the same smile that broke the severity of his face, and sent shivers down my smile. I tried not to reveal my reaction - it was awful, that even after all these years, he could still have this effect on me. He helped me to my feet, but didn't release his grasp on my arm.
"You're here for the press conference?"
I nodded, feeling the warm press of his fingers on my arm, shooting sparks across my skin, triggering memories long-buried. Images of him and me together, his lips pressing down on mine, his arms around me filled my head. I felt weak and light-headed. "I've got to go Aditya," I stuttered incoherently.
"I've really got to go."
The smile faded. His eyes hardened and he released his grip on me.
Just then, a door opened, and a woman stepped out of the toilet. My eyes narrowed as I recognized her. It was my once-Nemesis, the Arch-Fiend herself. Priya Malhotra, 32, a glamorous Bollywood actress whose svelte figure curved at just the right places. She was wearing a clinging Armani frock that didn't leave much to the imagination.
"Well!" She exclaimed haughtily, her full, red lips curving into a smile. "Look who we have here." She examined me, sizing me up, a disdainful look on her pretty face.
"Hello Priya." I smiled thinly, and walked past her. Just as I reached my seat, I turned, to see that Aditya was watching me. Our eyes met. There was a look of impatience on his face. Or was it anger? He turned away and, my heart still pounding, I sat down.
"Well?" Kalpana whispered. "What happened?"
I told her what happened. "I really wish I could get off this damn plane."
"But you can't," she told me. "There isn't a plane back for the next two days. You're stuck. Cheer-up, your paths were bound to cross sooner or later."
"Well," I sighed, "I would have preferred later. But you're right."
"That's the way, girl," Kalpana patted me affectionately. "You show him."
I sank back in my seat, trying to calm myself. But I couldn't. I could still smell his cologne, and when I shut my eyes, the image of his face seemed imprinted on my eyelids. It had been two years, but it felt like it had happened yesterday. Two years ago....