They are back! My Jhanvi and Nakul are back! I am back! Just for all of you! Thank you all so so much for appreciating my previous story! Hope *Fingers and toes crossed* that you will enjoy and appreciate the sequel! To those who just peeped in and have no clue what I am talking about, please read the summary and if you haven't read please please read my first work, Mission Daya's One Night Stand! Or else you'd as clueless as you are now! Anyways enjoy the introduction and do let me know how its going! And yes Shreya ji bhi sequel me special appearance karengi. They'll have their own little Mahabharat coming up in next few chapters dont worry! Time for me to shut up! Enjoy enjoy!

My inbox is empty
There wasn't even anything in the spam folder. Not a single e-mail telling me that I had claim to a share of 5 lakh rupees, or one about some poor deformed girl in a country that doesn't even have internet telling me that all I had to do to get her a life saving operation was to forward my e-mail to twenty people on my contacts list.

I shut the lid of my laptop with a heavy sigh. There was something very lonely about an empty inbox. It wasn't just the e-mail thing though, every day had been very lonely and slow since quitting GlamGoss six months ago. Life as a freelance journalist was much tougher than I had ever imagined. I hadn't realised that we had all been spoon fed by Sanjay, my boss. Nakul and I knew practically nothing about the dog eat dog world of journalism. Neither of us was doing particularly well in the big bad world, and money was getting scarce.

I suppose you might be wondering what happened to Sanjay. Well, I knew that after the police had seen the video footage of what had happened I could press assault charges, however, I didn't. I wanted nothing more to do with him and I had washed my hands of the whole situation. It was in the past. Last I had heard, he was back running GlamGoss, on a strict diet and exercise regime to prevent another heart attack. Daya still felt horrible about that, he'd never meant to hurt him, he'd simply hid all the proofs of him hurting that guy. I told him not to worry his pretty little head about it, Sanjay was a snake and not worthy of his guilt.

Daya didn't appreciate the pretty comment.

Being out of the loop was disconcerting. When I worked at GlamGoss I got all the latest gossip and knew where all the hot stories were and who people wanted to read about. Now, as I said before, my inbox was empty.

Nakul had managed to keep in contact with a few Bollywood photographers he knew and was able to go to events and then sell the pictures on. Freelance photography was a little easier to tackle, but it meant that Nakul was now the main contributor to the bills, paying about 90% of them. I felt 100% terrible. We had always been a team, the two of us against the world. We thought we were invincible. Now we both hung precariously on the edge, clinging on by the tips of our fingers. We had never lived very lavishly, but as time had gone on and our savings ran out, we had to start selling things. Paintings in our flat, some of our more valuable ornaments, we even had to sell our living room furniture suite, exchanging it for a very cheap and tatty sofa and collecting the difference to pay for electricity. Nakul was as stubborn as a mule and refused to let me go running to my parents for money. Secretly I thought that was just because of his vendetta against his own parents, but I obliged.

It wasn't like we hadn't tried to find a permanent job. We had, and almost every newspaper and magazine had our CV's, but it was painful waiting for someone already employed to quit. It was even more difficult when you took into consideration that we had no qualifications under our belts, and all we had to rely on was our two year long employment at a decidedly dodgy magazine.

I had considered to find a way to move out of my steam and try teaching, but financially, it was impossible.

Just then Nakul stormed in through the door, slamming it shut with such force that I winced and waited for the crash of the mirror in the bathroom as it fell off the wall. Thankfully, it didn't come.

"That little bitch," he screamed, slamming his keys down on the table.

Nakul rarely got this agitated, so if he was blowing up like this you knew something serious was up. I set the closed laptop down on the little table and hugged my knees close on the less than clean sofa we'd exchanged our designer one for.

"Kya hua, what's wrong?" I dared to ask.

"She broke my fucking camera that's what's wrong," he roared, removing it from where it had been hanging around his neck.

"Who's 'she'?"

"Oh. My. God. Right, I was outside the hospital waiting for what's his face to come out after getting in that epic fight at the press conference the other night and there's a whole bunch of us. I was in this really awesome spot and right when he comes through the door, this little bitch who thinks she's all that but really isn't comes up and literally shoves me out of the way. I fell down and the lens of the camera smashed! Can you believe it? I don't have it covered under insurance, and I don't have another one because I fucking sold the rest so we could pay our fucking bills. Fuck."

I winced. I knew his camera was his pride and joy.

"If it's just the lens, couldn't you get a replacement?"

"Jhanvi, sweetie, most lenses cost more than the camera itself. We're talking about ten thousand rupees here! If you promise not to eat anything for a month I'll go and buy a new one now," he added with a sarcastic sneer.

Puffing out my cheeks I let out a long sigh. Things had just got a lot worse. If Nakul's lens was broken, his camera was utterly useless. If Nakul's camera was useless, he couldn't take photos, and he couldn't work. If he couldn't work, we couldn't get any money and without money, we wouldn't last two weeks.

"Fuck," I agreed.

"Uh-huh," he hummed, folding his arms.

"Apne parents ko call kar yar," I pleaded with him, "You know they're rich, and your mum especially will…"

"I'm not calling them Jhanvi, end of," Nakul interrupted, "I still haven't forgiven them yet."

I had to agree with him, even if his decision could seriously hinder our living standards. You see, Nakul's parents are devout conservative, and when Nakul had come out about his sexuality when he was sixteen, they'd send him from Mumbai up to Banaras to live with his Grandmother. She'd died last year, and it was the money from her will that had kept Nakul and me afloat without a stable income for so long.

"So what are we going to do then?" I sighed, looking up at him with sorrowful eyes.

"We're going to have to move," he shrugged, "It's all I can think of."

"Like you'd get a cheaper flat for two people here in Mumbai," I laughed scornfully.

"Well what's your great suggestion then?" he asked, raising his voice.

"Have you ever thought of getting another job? One outside the journalism industry?"

"Jhanvi, agar hum kisi restaurant me bhi waiter ka kam kare, we still couldn't afford this. We had a great salary at GlamGoss for what little work we actually did."

"Hum waha wapas to nehi ja sakte na!" I yelled at him. Before he could reply, the phone began to ring. Nakul , who was closest, snatched it out of it's dock.

"Kon hai be?" he snapped. The anger in his face dissolved as the person on the end revealed their identity. He took the phone from his ear and set it down on the table, having pressed the speaker button.
"Hi Daya!" he said.

"Kya hua, kuch pareshan lag rahe ho," the voice on the other end of the speaker chuckled.

"Yeah, sorry, pata nehi tha ki tum ho. How're you?"

"Thik thak," he sighed, "Thora to problem chal raha hai Bureau me. Ek case ke peeche ek mahine se pare hue hai! Ab to dimag bhi kaam nehi kar rha, har roz larai hoti rehti hai is sare hue se case ko leke."

"Aw, yeh to bhot hi galat baat hai," Nakul mused, "By the way, kya tum ab bhi straight ho, ya gay ban chuke ho?"

I hit my palm off my forehead as the end of the line went silent for a few moments.

"Yar jab bhi me landline pe phone karta hu tum mujhse yeh bekar sa sawal kyu puchte ho…"

"Bas ese hi, you're a very sexy guy and I'm very available," Nakul purred.

"Esa hai," Daya suggested, "Agar, thik hai, agar maine apna mind change kiya, to mai khud tujhe inform kardunga, sahi hai na?"

It was impossible to hold in my laughter, and I just exploded, holding my sides to stop them from splitting.

"Saale Nakul, tune mujhe speaker pe dal rakha hai?" Daya yelled from the phone.

"Humesha rakhta hu tumhe mai speaker pe," he laughed, "Baat karni hai Jhanvi se?"

There was another pause on the end of the line as Daya sulked. Finally he crackled through.
"Please."

Nakul tossed me over the phone, then signalled that he was going out again. I gave him the thumbs up before turning the speaker off and putting the phone to my ear.

"Hi Daya," I giggled.

"…it's not funny," he hissed from the other end.

"Oh it really is," I laughed.

"Fine, mai rakh raha hu phone, bye!" he huffed.

"No, please don't," I said quickly, "I promise to be good."

"Okay then," he sighed, "Kesi ho?"

"Thik hu," I lied. Daya had enough problems with his Bureau and everything else to be burdened by my own, "Thik nehi chal rha kya bureau me kuch?"

"Meh, esi baat nehi hai, hum to humesha larte rehte hai. We'll fight, we'll walk out, we'll come back tomorrow and do it all again until it clicks into place. Logo ko lagta hai main daravna hu but I should really introduce them to my best friend, Abhijeet."

"Abhijeet bas band kamro me hi daravna hai," I reminded him, "Tumse to 24/7 kisi ko bhi dar lage."

"Thanks, I'm glad you think so highly of me," he droned sarcastically. I chuckled, curling up into a little ball on the sofa, completely contented by the voice on the other end of the phone. Okay, I'll admit that I still really, really liked Daya, but we were nothing more than friends. And I was perfectly happy with that. Having him as a friend was better than not having him as one right?

"So, kal maine leave liya hai, case ne dimag ki band baja di hai to ACP sir ne khud hum sabko bureau me ane ke liye mana kiya hua hai...Har koi larta hai yar, aj kal to woh Purvi bhi larne lag gayi hai bato bato pe" Daya continued, " Wese I was wondering if you'd like to catch up over a coffee?"

"Sounds nice," I murmured, "Same place as usual?"

"Mmmm, esa lag ta hai humne wahi apni choti si duniya bana li hai, haina?"

"Ha or kya. We should have our name on those seats at the back."

"We should. Do you want me to look into it?"

"Daya, I was joking."

"Well… so was I."

"Could you really buy your own seats?"

"I'm famous, I can do anything," teased Daya.

"Show off," I sighed mockingly.

Just then I could hear a door slam in the background of Daya's phone.

"Shit, Abhijeet bureau me," he moaned.

"That was fast," I mused, "What time do you want to meet at?"

"Nine tomorrow morning."

"Itne subah? Itne subah kaun uth ta hai?" I taunted.

"Chup raho, subah uthna achi baat hai," Daya defended, "There's nothing wrong with that!"

"Oh ho health teacher firse, yar yeh health guru nehi chahiye mujhe please!"

"Ah, hum kal pranayam ya kapalbharti nehi karenge…"

"Ha woh to hai," I laughed, grinning from ear to ear.

"Mujhe esa kyu lagta hai ki me hi tumse milne ke liye pagal ho raha hu...yeh bhot galat baat hai! Meri senior wali reputation ka kya? Kabhi khud to mujhse milne ke liye mujhe pataya hota! Kitna acha lagta!"

Through another burst of laughter, I heard a voice in the background of the phone conversation say: Kis se baat kar rehe ho Daya?
That was Abhijeet.

"Oh shit, main badme baat karta hu," Daya muttered hastily, "I'll see you at eleven."

Abhijeet continued to speak over the top of his best buddy.
"Tum us bazaru kamini se baat kr rhe ho kya?" he snapped. I cringed. Although Daya had moved on from the incident six months ago his best friend seemed to be less forgiving.

"Yar us baat ko leke firse larai mat karo," Daya hissed, his voice distant having, I assumed, covered the receiver of the phone. Then he was back. "Bye," he whispered timidly.

"Bye," I replied before the line went dead.

Daya was late. Not overly late, only by fifteen minutes. I knew I would have to make allowances for his hectic lifestyle, but he had said that today was his day off. Maybe Abhijeet showed up and had turned his alarm off and he had overslept. That would be one of the most likely reasons. But then he would have called to say he would be late. Daya wasn't the type to stand anyone up for a date.

Then, I knocked myself around the head. It wasn't a date. It was simply two friends meeting up for a perfectly innocent cup of coffee in a perfectly innocent coffee outlet.

Fed up with waiting and the girl asking me every two minutes if I was ready to order yet, I got up and joined the queue. When I got to the front, I predictably ordered a Vanilla latte and handed over my credit card. I hated paying for things on the card, but with so little money around, I never had any cash in my purse and had to pay with the card. I placed it into the little slot and waited for the screen to come up telling me to enter my pin. I waited, and I waited. The girl at the till apologised and tried the card again, cleaning the chip. This time the screen for the pin came up and I entered my pin.

Would you believe me if I said it was only a coincidence that the pin was Daya's birthday? In my defence it's an easy pin to remember.

The little card device started to beep and the girl at the till snatched it off me. I wondered for a moment if I'd entered my pin incorrectly. Then she took the card out and handed it back to me, shaking her head.

"Apka card reject ho raha hai ma'am," she said plainly.

I could feel the colour rise in my cheeks as I was thoroughly embarrassed. Fumbling with my purse I opened the coin department and emptied it out onto the counter trying to see if I could scrape together enough money. The business woman behind me sighed loudly and began to tap her shoe impatiently as I counted out the money. I was fifty rupees short of my coffee. I had never felt so humiliated before as I gathered up the change and put it back into my purse, muttering apologies.

A five hundred rupee note, accompanied by a hand landed on the counter.
"Main pay karta hu. Mujhe inke bill ke saath ek cup Mocha bhi add ki jiye please!"

Looking up over my right shoulder at the grand six foot something I smiled in relief. The smile quickly faded as Daya took off his sunglasses, revealing a very serious look on his face.
"Kuch bataogi bhi kya hua hai?" he asked bluntly.

Avoiding Daya's eyes I watched the cars going past out the window as we waited on our coffee, my hands resting on the table as I fiddled with a napkin.

"Jhanvi," Daya sighed, "Am I going to have to force it out of you? What's up?"

"What do you mean?" I shrugged innocently, still not looking at him.

"Tumhara credit card rejected ho gaya hai, or pese ke naam pe chillar!"

"Is mahine ka kharcha bhot gaya hai na mera isilye," I breathed. It was true, I did spend too much. Spending anything of nothing is spending too much.

"It's a fucking cup of coffee," Daya hissed, suddenly agitated, "Look me in the eye and tell me what's up."

My eyes felt hot and a lump appeared at the back of my throat. A hand rested over mine, stopping me shredding the napkin to a million little pieces. Looking up, I found a pleading pair of brown eyes looking at me.
"Tell me," he whispered, his agitation gone, "Please?"

After that, there was no holding back the flurry of words from my mouth.
"Hum sab kuch kho chuke hai," I choked, "Nakul and I, humare saare paise khatam ho gaye hai, we're struggling to pay our bills. We can't find any jobs but we've no money to do anything else or start a business, we're going to have to move, and Nakul broke the last camera lens he had so he can't work freelance, and no-one will take my freelance stuff. Sir ke upar se sab kuch ja raha hai, I have no idea where we could live because none of us can drive or afford a car so we couldn't commute to any of the big events without racking up huge costs. Journalism is my dream, main kisi waitress ka job nehi kar sakti.…" I paused to wipe away a salty tear that had managed to escape from my eye against my will.
"Or me pagalo ke tarah ro rahi hu."

Sniffing loudly, a few more tears slid down my cheeks. Daya stood up, his chair scraping on the floor. For one small, crazy moment I thought he was leaving, but then he came and stood beside me, commanding that I stand up too. Enveloping me in a hug, I buried my face into his chest, not caring that my glasses pushed uncomfortably against my face. His strange scented mix of cologne, washing detergent and cigarettes that I'd become accustomed to, calmed me considerably. He rubbed his hand over my back a few times, shushing me at the same time. As everything else felt as though it was crumbling away from me, it was a comfort to know I could still count on Daya.

"Mat ro please?" he asked, pulling away. Taking a long relieving breath in, I nodded. We resumed our positions at the table and I took off my fogged up glasses, and cleaned them on my t-shirt.

"Tum yeh baat mujhe bata sakti thi hai na?" Daya asked after another sip of caffeine.

"Main tumhe pareshan nehi karna chahti thi," I muttered truthfully, "Tum apne case ko leke ek mahine se sheher me or sheher ke baahar chakkar kat rahe ho. You were so busy and I didn't want to intrude."

"You'd never be an intrusion," he chucked warmly.
"So… kuch idea hai, kya karogi ab?"

I gave him a look as if to say 'Main kar bhi kya sakti hu?'

"Okay, I get it," he sighed, taking his coffee in both his hands and blowing over the top to cool it. I resumed shredding the napkin on the table.

Guilt was hitting me to some extent. Daya didn't need to be plagued by my problems, it was easier just to try and breeze through life without telling him. However, I did feel slightly better having told him, like a small weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It was only a small weight.

It still felt as though I was being crushed.

Daya cleared his throat a little.
"Agar..." he began hesitantly, "Agar tumhe paise chahiye to main..."

"Daya please," I cut across him, "yeh nehi. I couldn't. Thank you... really, but I don't want charity."

Daya nodded and resumed stirring his coffee with the little plastic spoon. Feeling a little awkward at the lengths of his generosity, I turned my attention out the window, watching the people go past in the street. Did he really mean it or was he just being polite?

"Oh ha,yad aya!" cried Daya suddenly. I snapped my eyes back to look at him curiously, "Mera next week birthday hai."

Shit. How could I forget, it was my bleeding credit card pin number. Well, it wasn't as if I had forgotten, but more that I had been too busy to remember. He was grinning ear to ear like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. It would be his Thirty fifth birthday, yet as he sat there with that stupid grin on his face he could have passed for five.

"Mere dosto ne mujhe pagal kar diya hai party ke liye, is liye me soch raha hu tum bhi aati to maza ataa..So you are invited!" he announced.

"Your party?" I asked sceptically.

"Mujhe pata hai, Abhijeet bhi arha hai par... you're not exactly on his guest list. It's my birthday!"

Of course I wasn't Abhijeet's favourite person. I'd tried to set his friend up for a one night stand with the intent of taking photos and writing an article. It was surprising that Daya had forgiven me, let alone persisted in keeping contact, to the point where now I would regard us as quite close friends. Abhijeet was displaying the reaction I'd anticipated from Daya, rejection, anger and hatred. But, you can never please everyone. If I was going to keep in contact with Daya, I would have to put up with his bestest best friend's cold demeanour towards me.

"Party kab hai?" I asked him, beginning to list the things I could get him for a gift. What the hell do you get for someone who has almost everything, and can afford anything else?

"This Saturday, I know it's short notice, we've been busy, or case ke liye pagal ho rahe hai isliye time bhi nehi mila. Or gift ke bare me sochna bhi mat! Bhot bura lagega mujhe!" he mumbled, speaking to his coffee instead of me the further he got to the end of his sentence.

"You'd feel guilty?" I laughed, holding up my wrist, displaying the chunky, solid silver charm bracelet to him, "Tumne mere birthday pe apni jeb khali karke mujhe itna acha sa gift diya tha, ab tum guilty feel karoge agar mai tumhe gift du, Daya tum mahan ho!"

Daya laughed.
"Yar tumhara birthday special tha, Tum Tees ki hui thi. Or yeh sirf tumhare liye nehi, sabke liye, mujhe gifts dena acha lagta hai. So please, don't bother with a present."

"If you insist," I sighed, half of me glad that I wouldn't have to spend any money, the other part still thinking of something small to get him anyway to ease my conscious.

"Or Nakul ka birthday kab tha?" Daya questioned, "I remember you mentioning it a while ago but I can't remember exactly when."

I paused, ashamed of myself that I had to think about it for more than an acceptable amount of time for being his best friend.

"July," I blurted suddenly when it popped into my head, "His birthday was on the twenty fifth of July."

"Ah okay. So tell me," he said, veering into a completely different conversation, "Nakul ka camera kese tuta?"

"Uska lens. Uske pas das lenses the, but he had to sell them all. They're worth quite a lot and its one of the reason hum abhi bhi bhuke nehi mar rhe hai. But kal ek press conference ek photographer ne usse takrake woh tor diya."

"Konsa Camera woh use karta hai wese?" Daya enquired casually. I frowned, not expecting him to be interested in this topic.

"Yeh photography ka shauk kabse?"

Daya shrugged.
"Soch raha tha ki ek mai bhi le lu, wese bhi hum ese ese jagah jate hai waha snap lena kabhi bhot mushkil ho jata hai ordinary digital camera se, bhot saare details lene hote hai kabhi koi incidents me!"

"Hhm," I agreed, "Camera ke bare mujhe to zyada pata nehi hai but I'm sure Nakul would be more than willing to talk with you about them. Uske pas shayad Pentax K10 hai."

"Oh," he breathed.

All too soon, Daya had to leave. His busy schedule meant he always had something to do.

"So Saturday?" he asked, getting to his feet and probably adjusting his gun around his belt at the back. Usually I would have puzzled over it for a few moments, but I had learnt by now that Daya had these little quirks, and he wouldn't be Inspector Daya without his gun. I'd just have to grow to live with his weapon protective self.

"Bilkul nehi bhulungi!" I replied, pushing my chair back under the table.

"Good. Okay, well I'll see you there then, agar possible hua to me phone karunga. Or please tum hi phone uthana. Mujhe uske gay gay sawalo ka jawab bilkul nehi dena hai!"

I laughed into his quick embrace, savouring the brief moment.

"Thanks for coffee," I replied, releasing my grip, though I would have preferred to stay in his arms for longer.

"No problem," he smiled, "Or paise ka fikar mat karna, Nakul kuch na kuch bandobast to Zarur kar lega. Kya pata, jaadu ki kabhi kismat khol de!"

And Jaadu did happen itself, the very next day.

"Oh. My. God." I heard Nakul call that morning while I was in the bathroom, preening myself after stepping out of the shower. Usually he uttered that phrase a hundred times a day, yet this time felt different somehow. Curiosity devoured me, so I wrapped a towel around myself and went to investigate.

Nakul was standing at the kitchen table, the unwrapped contents of a box and paper scattered around the place.

"What is it?" I asked peering over his shoulder, glad that I'd picked up my glasses.

I didn't need an answer. I could see perfectly well what was in the box. Wrapped up in factory packaged foam were two brand new Pentax lenses.

"Yar pagal," Nakul swore, gaping at the box, "Tune kharida kya?"

"Of course not," I snapped back, "You know I'm broke too."

"Then... there's no name. It just says 'Happy belated Birthday'" he managed, still dumbfounded.

I had a pretty good idea who had sent it.

No, scratch that. There was only one person.

"Daya," I muttered under my breath.