Sofia was jade green. Royal and romantic. Karan continued to go steady with Sofia despite her act of hyper-impudence for the sole reason that she may one day be the mother of his child, the treacherous act notwithstanding. He seemed to be in perennial denial, his deepest fears obfuscated by the consolation that her infidel act was but an arbitrary aberration.
A few weeks later Sofia dumped Karan. His crime? He had dared to point out that she could show a little more respect -- she had been bitching more than usual about her mother.
Sofia had looked at him with stunned surprise. “No one ever tells me what to do. Or what not to.” She threw him out of her house that very minute. In the middle of the night.
Karan had tried to reason with her. Silence was her weapon. Deadly and effective. Karan had no ammunition that could stand up to it. Luckily, he had not yet vacated his old apartment.
The next night, Karan parked his BMW Z4 in her driveway and rang the doorbell incessantly. He knew Sofia was inside -- the lights were on, in the living room and her bedroom. There was no response. He rang the bell again and again and again. So intently was he concentrating on this repetitive action that he did not hear the siren of the approaching police car. Or see the flashing red and blue lights.
“Sofia, give me another chance.” He was still screaming when the police officer had got out of his car and aimed a gun at him.
“Get back in your car.” The police officer instructed Karan to drive his car to the Beverly Hills police station and followed him closely, his car lights flashing.