Chapter 5 Keeping it locked

Chapter Five: Keeping it Locked

Three years drifted away like smoke. While Arnav threw himself into his studies, graduating with top honors and a cold heart, Khushi busied herself in the rhythmic monotony of household chores. Her life felt hollow. She had completed her education through a private college, studying from home and only venturing out for exams. Anjali had been her sole anchor in the Raizada mansion, the only one who forced her to keep going when Khushi felt like a ghost in her own skin. Gradually, the initial shock of the tragedy subsided, but the void left by Arnav was a wound that refused to heal. When they were apart as children, he was a beautiful memory; now, his vow to be her greatest enemy made his presence feel like a haunting shadow.

These three years were a gauntlet for Khushi. Dadi ensured that every breath Khushi took in that house was difficult, never missing an opportunity to lace her words with poison. Khushi was forbidden from wearing colorful salwars or western clothes, forced instead into the dull, colorless wrap of a white saree. Dadi even stripped her of small comforts, banning non-veg food as if Khushi's palate were a sin. The only light was Anjali’s daughter, Kittu. The first time Khushi held that tiny bundle, she wept tears of genuine joy. The bond between them became her only sanctuary.

**

"What are you cooking, Khushi? Make sure to add bhindi to the menu today," Anjali said, stepping into the kitchen to stir the stew. Khushi stiffened, her heart suddenly hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She didn't turn around, but the air felt charged, as if a storm were approaching. Why did she feel that Arnav was near? She closed her eyes, trying to swallow the unsettling premonition. Anjali turned and gave her a sympathetic, tight smile. "Everything is going to be alright, Khushi. Three years is a long time. I’m sure Arnav has moved on."

Khushi leaned into Anjali’s palm as it cupped her face. "Di, you don't know him. He doesn't forget. You didn't see his eyes that day. He’ll never forgive me."

Anjali tried to brighten the mood. "I’m sure he has. He doesn’t ask about Ankush anymore, or bring up the past."

"But he doesn't ask about me, either. He never asks how I am," Khushi sighed, her eyes blurring with unshed tears. "I miss him, Di."

"Trust me, Khushi, he still cares. Even when he avoids your name, I can hear it in his voice during our calls. He asks if 'everything' is fine three times over, and when I say you are well, I hear him sigh with relief." Anjali kissed her forehead tenderly. "Give him time to adjust. Think of what he went through—the accident, the loss of his brother, and losing his best friend. He was deeply wounded. It wasn't your fault, and I know you’ve suffered the most, but don't lose hope."

Khushi hugged Anjali, a miserable sob breaking through her throat. "I love him, Di. I’ve only ever loved him. In my heart, it was always him I was marrying, even when someone else stood at the altar."

"I know, sweetheart. One day, he’ll understand."

**

Arnav stepped out of his car, clutching his bag with a white-knuckled grip. He was in a foul mood; he hated coming back to this house. He never wanted to see her again. The pain she had caused was a jagged stone in his chest, one he had learned to live with but could never remove. To him, she was a gold-digger who had traded their childhood promises for his brother’s status. He felt like a fool for ever waiting for her.

But that Arnav was dead. He was now smart, successful, and ready to take over the family’s overseas business. Love was a weakness, a bullshit emotion that made men foolish, and Arnav Singh Raizada was no one’s fool. He had vowed to achieve the unachievable, and no woman—especially not her—would stop him.

**

He unlocked the front door. The house was quiet. He called for Anjali, but there was no answer. He walked toward the kitchen, pausing when he heard a soft, melodic humming. He peeped in and saw her. His heart leaped, betraying his resolve. She was in white—pale, makeup-less, and thinner than he remembered. Her hair was in a messy bun, and her saree was tucked at her waist, revealing a sliver of her navel. Even in that "disgusting" widow’s garb, she looked like a fallen angel. His eyes lingered on her midriff, and he saw her stiffen. She sensed him. They always did.

The hair on the nape of Khushi’s neck stood up. She didn't dare turn. He came to stand directly behind her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from him. She gripped her knife until her knuckles turned white, imagining his chest brushing against her back. She thought she was hallucinating again; her mind often played these cruel tricks when he was near.

She saw his hand reach into her peripheral vision. She began to tremble, her breath hitching as he leaned in, his warmth ghosting over her skin. He reached past her and took two pieces of the carrots she had been chopping. Suddenly, the heat vanished as he stepped back. Khushi turned instantly, her gaze locking with his. He was dangerously close. Her knife clattered to the floor as she gripped the counter for support.

"Arrrnaav..." she stammered, her eyes darting to his parted lips.

For a split second, Arnav was lost in the dream. He was inches from kissing her. Then, reality snapped back like a whip. His eyes flooded with rage, his chest heaving as he realized what he was doing. What the hell was wrong with him? He was about to kiss his brother’s widow?

He took two violent steps back, crushing the carrots in his fist before throwing the orange fragments across the kitchen. Khushi watched him, her expression a mix of heartbreak and confusion, as he stormed out of the room in a silent, thunderous anger.