The Booking
The first thing Shila noticed about Akash was that he looked better in person.
Useful.
Photographs could lie spectacularly. Men could lie even better.
She had learned not to trust old pictures, flattering angles or photographs taken before somebody discovered biryani and stopped discovering exercise. Akash’s pictures had looked recent enough, but she had still arrived expecting some variation.
Instead, the hotel door opened and there he was.
Mid-thirties. Fit. Clean haircut. Nicely trimmed beard. Black Polo T-shirt, dark trousers, bare feet, simple watch. Bleu de Chanel, unless her nose was lying.
He looked at her.
She looked at him.
There was always this moment. Two strangers performing ordinary social behaviour while both knew they were shortly going to become extraordinarily familiar with each other.
Akash smiled.
“Shila?”
“No. Food delivery.”
His eyes moved deliberately behind her.
“Where’s the food?”
She laughed.
“Good start.”
“Come in.”
The room was properly nice without desperately announcing the price. Large bed, sofa, table near the window. Dhaka spread beyond the glass in concrete, dust, colour and late-morning movement.
Akash closed the door.
No immediate touching.
Good.
“Journey okay?”
“Your hotel isn’t difficult to find.”
“Dhaka traffic can make anything difficult to find.”
“Also true.”
He offered her water, then they sat and talked.
Nothing important. London. Dhaka. How long he was visiting. Why somebody who owned an apartment in the city was staying in a hotel.
“Convenience.”
Shila smiled. “Very accountant answer.”
He looked at her. “How do you know I’m an accountant?”
“You told me.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“That’s disappointing. I thought you’d profiled me.”
“I already have.”
“And?”
“Still collecting evidence.”
He smiled.
He wasn’t nervous. That was useful too. Some first-time clients talked endlessly because silence frightened them. Others became strangely formal, as though sex could begin only after a committee approved the minutes.
Akash seemed comfortable letting conversation exist.
Eventually he showed her the bathroom. Fresh towels, toiletries, and the outfits they had discussed beforehand.
Then she noticed the envelope, placed discreetly beside them.
“That,” Akash said, “is the boring part. Deal with it whenever you want.”
Shila looked at him.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“You’ve researched this.”
“A little.”
“A little?”
“I’ve seen how they do it in some of the American girlfriend-experience stuff. Leave the business somewhere private.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What American girlfriend-experience stuff?”
Akash realised his mistake.
Too late.
“Naughty America?”
Silence.
Then Shila burst out laughing.
“Oh my God.”
“Research.”
“Of course.”
“Market research.”
“Mr Accountant watches porn for professional development.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He left her laughing.
The envelope contained exactly what they had agreed. Shila put it safely into her handbag.
She appreciated how he had handled it. No awkward exchange. No pretending payment hadn’t happened. No standing over her while she counted it.
Business dealt with privately.
When she returned, Akash was changing the music.
“Business completed.”
He glanced at her.
“What business?”
Shila smiled.
Ah.
So that was how he wanted the day.
“Nothing.”
“Good.”
“Five minutes.”
Five became seven.
When she returned, ordinary Shila had disappeared beneath black, carefully chosen evening wear, loosened hair and fresh lip gloss.
Akash looked.
She let him.
“Well?”
“Very nice.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“Very nice?”
“What response were you expecting?”
“Something worth seven minutes.”
He looked again.
“You look incredible.”
“Better.”
Then Shila noticed the music.
“Hindi?”
“What’s wrong with Hindi?”
“Nothing. You just look very London.”
“You’ve known me half an hour.”
“Profiling.”
The song changed.
“Shah Rukh Khan?”
“Obviously.”
She laughed. “Oh God.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She moved closer.
“Your girlfriend is here.”
“Apparently.”
“Paid girlfriend.”
“Important distinction.”
“Very.”
Their first kiss was slow.
It almost had to be.
Messages could establish boundaries, preferences and expectations, but they couldn’t manufacture physical familiarity. That part had to be discovered.
Shila touched his face. Akash’s hand settled cautiously at her waist.
She moved closer.
Permission answered permission.
The second kiss lasted longer.
Then another.
Conversation gradually became unnecessary.
Akash didn’t rush. Once, Shila redirected him; he understood immediately. No bruised ego. No argument. Later she encouraged him and noticed how quickly he learned the difference.
That interested her more than she expected.
Protection had already been agreed and stayed exactly as agreed. No negotiation after desire entered the room.
Another point for him.
Later, breathing against his shoulder, Shila heard him say:
“Well.”
She lifted her head. “Well?”
“I think that went reasonably well.”
“Reasonably?”
“I live in Britain. We’re culturally discouraged from enthusiasm.”
“You’re Bangladeshi.”
“Dual operating system.”
She laughed and dropped her head against him.
His fingers moved lazily along her arm.
From outside, it probably looked intimate.
It was supposed to.
Girlfriend experience.
“This is included, by the way,” she said.
“What?”
“This.” She indicated herself lying against him. “Don’t become impressed.”
“I’m evaluating it.”
“And?”
“Too early. Booking isn’t finished.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Typical customer.”
He smiled.
No confusion. No butterflies. No what is happening to me?
Good sex with an attractive client.
That was allowed.
They talked afterward, mostly about films. Akash’s knowledge of Hindi cinema was unexpectedly extensive, and his opinions were occasionally terrible.
“You did that deliberately,” Shila said when he changed the song specifically to annoy her.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Prove it.”
“You’re irritating.”
“Is that covered by the booking?”
“No. Extra charge.”
“How much?”
“Can’t afford it.”
He laughed.
Shila was still smiling when she kissed him again.
This time there was less hesitation. Their bodies already knew enough about each other to make everything easier.
Later, when both were exhausted and the hotel bed had lost any resemblance to its morning condition, Shila stared at the ceiling.
Her stomach growled.
“Food.”
Akash laughed. “That was romantic.”
“I need lunch.”
“You’re very demanding.”
“You booked me for hours. Did you think I photosynthesise?”
She wanted biryani.
Akash ordered grilled chicken and vegetables.
Shila stared at him.
“Grilled chicken?”
“Yes.”
“In Dhaka?”
“Dhaka has chicken.”
“You don’t eat biryani?”
“I do. Just not too much oily food.”
Her eyes moved over him.
“You go to the gym.”
“A few times a week.”
“Hmm.”
“What does that mean?”
“More evidence.”
“For the profile?”
“Yes.”
When the food arrived, he didn’t comment on her considerably less responsible plate.
That interested her too.
By late afternoon, she had accumulated a strange little collection of facts.
Attractive. Good in bed. Health-conscious. London accountant. Menthol vape. Bollywood enthusiast. Porn apparently classified as professional development.
None was extraordinary.
Together, though, she hadn’t decided what category he belonged in.
Mildly interesting.
Nothing more.
By the final hours, the careful strangers from the morning had mostly disappeared.
There was more laughter now. Less caution. At one point an ambitious idea worked considerably less elegantly than either had expected, and Shila lost control laughing.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re literally shaking.”
“Sorry.”
“What happened?”
“You looked very serious.”
“I was concentrating.”
That destroyed her.
Eventually Akash started laughing too.
Thirty seconds later, the laughter disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
By the end, they were both exhausted.
Shila collapsed across the bed.
“Dead.”
“Same.”
“Good.”
“Why is that good?”
“Professional pride.”
He laughed.
“Service?” she asked.
“Excellent.”
“Five stars?”
“Four and a half.”
Shila lifted herself onto one elbow.
“What happened to the other half?”
“Still time left.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“Confident.”
“Optimistic.”
She laughed and dropped against him.
A moment later his arm settled around her.
“Don’t get confused,” she murmured.
“About?”
“This.”
“What about it?”
“You’ve paid for the cuddling too.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“I’d hate to discover unexpected charges.”
She smiled.
“Don’t fall in love with me.”
The line was automatic. Playful.
Akash didn’t hesitate.
“I’ll check the terms and conditions.”
“Very expensive.”
“I’ll avoid it.”
“Smart man.”
Nothing changed.
She was his paid girlfriend until the booking ended.
Akash understood.
Shila understood.
That simplicity made everything easier.
Later, Akash discovered Shila sitting on the sofa wearing his black Polo over her clothes.
“That belongs to me.”
“I know.”
“You have clothes.”
“I like this.”
“You’re stealing from a client.”
“Call the police.”
“I can afford another one.”
“Then stop complaining.”
“Principle.”
“Mr Accountant.”
He held out his hand.
“Give it back.”
“No.”
The ridiculous argument ended with both of them laughing, and eventually with the Polo returning to its owner.
By early evening, clothes changed the atmosphere.
They always did.
Shila packed her things, fixed her hair and checked her phone. Akash handed her the small MAC bag he’d mentioned earlier.
She looked inside.
Lip gloss.
“You remembered.”
“You said you liked it.”
“I didn’t ask you to buy it.”
“I know.”
She looked at him briefly.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
At the door, he kissed her.
Nothing dramatic. After the day they’d spent together, a handshake would have been considerably stranger.
“Five stars?” Shila asked.
Akash considered.
“Four point nine.”
“Asshole.”
“Room for improvement.”
“Next time find another escort.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Good.”
She stepped towards the lift.
“Message when you get home.”
Shila turned.
“Girlfriend experience finished.”
“Fine. Get kidnapped.”
She laughed.
“Excellent customer care.”
“I’ll message.”
“Good.”
The lift doors closed.
Done.
In the car, Shila checked her phone.
Romel.
Free tomorrow night, baby?
Normal. Familiar.
Romel had been booking her for months. He knew her rates and boundaries; she knew what he liked.
She checked her calendar.
Okay. Tomorrow night.
His answer came immediately.
My place. Same time.
Yes.
Tomorrow sorted.
Today had been good. Very good, actually.
The money was good. Akash had respected every boundary. The chemistry worked. He was attractive, clean, funny, and hadn’t made being a client unnecessarily difficult.
Professionally, she couldn’t ask for much more.
Interesting man.
That was all.
By the time she reached home, ordinary life had already begun reclaiming her.
Her mother called from another room. Her sister asked something before Shila had properly sat down. The envelope went where it needed to go.
Then she found the MAC bag.
Nice shade.
Akash had remembered.
Thoughtful.
Clients sometimes gave gifts. There was no reason to make it complicated.
She put it with the rest of her makeup.
Done.
Her phone buzzed.
For a second she expected Romel.
It wasn’t.
Akash.
Are you free tomorrow night?
Shila stared.
Then laughed.
Tomorrow?? You just had me all day.
I’m aware.
Four rounds weren’t enough?
A pause.
Apparently your customer service is very effective.
She shook her head.
Idiot.
I’m booked tomorrow night.
Three dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Okay.
That was it.
No complaint.
No cancel it.
No offer of extra money.
No question about who the client was.
Shila noticed that.
Then another message appeared.
When are you free next?
She checked.
Day after tomorrow.
Evening?
Yes.
Same arrangement?
Same rate. Same rules.
Fine.
A moment later:
Same girlfriend?
Shila laughed.
Depends on customer behaviour.
I’ll prepare accordingly.
More market research?
A pause.
Professional development.
She laughed aloud.
Her sister called from the other room.
“What?”
“Nothing!”
Shila looked at the screen.
A new client becoming a repeat client. Nothing mysterious about that.
He respected her boundaries. He paid without nonsense. He was enjoyable. And she wouldn’t need to screen another stranger.
Maybe Akash would become another regular.
Useful.
Tomorrow was Romel.
Then a day to herself.
Then Mr Accountant again.
Simple.
No competition.
No decision between men.
Just her calendar.
Shila put the phone away and went to find something to eat.
Mr Accountant could wait.
Tomorrow night was already booked.
