Chapter 6 She doesnt exsist for me or...?

She Doesn’t Exist for Me... Or?

Khushi remained transfixed, the air in the kitchen still vibrating with the ghost of his presence. She had spent years imagining this reunion, picturing herself hiding in her room to avoid the sting of his gaze. But witnessing him at such an intimate distance was difficult in a way she hadn't prepared for. She never dreamed he would stand so close, let alone lean in as if to kiss her. Oh my god, she thought, her pulse erratic. Did he really try? The realization made a feverish blush creep from the hollow of her neck up to her cheeks. The encounter she had feared would be a nightmare had turned, for a fleeting second, utterly romantic.

She knew now she hadn't been hallucinating; the brush of his chest against her back had been real. When she had turned and looked into his eyes, they had dropped to her lips with undeniable hunger. She, too, had been unable to stop her gaze from falling to his mouth. But the moment she whispered his name, the spell shattered. It was as if their shared history crashed into jagged pieces. The eyes that had been admiring her seconds before flooded with a red rage. His lips, once parted in desire, thinned into a line of pure disgust. The control that had slipped away for a heartbeat returned like a sudden, violent tornado, transforming a romantic moment into something horrific.

Khushi closed her eyes, leaning against the counter. She knew he hated himself for that moment of weakness, but she cherished it. She loved knowing he was still affected by her, that he could still lose his footing. Yet, she hated the way he had recoiled, looking at her with such loathing before storming out. She didn't realize her eyes had become glassy until the first sob escaped. Shaking, she picked up her knife and returned to the counter, her hands trembling.

Arnav almost collided with Anjali in the hallway. Seeing her, the dark clouds on his face parted instantly. He gathered her in his arms, spinning her around in a burst of genuine affection.

"Oh my god, Arnav! Put me down!" she laughed, breathless and choking at once.

"No way, Bhabhi! I’m seeing you after a lifetime—let me hold you." Arnav sighed into her shoulder, closing his eyes to block out the image of Khushi in the kitchen. "I missed you so much." He kissed her hair before finally setting her back on her feet.

"Chachu!" a small, soft voice interrupted them.

"Hey, my little princess!" Arnav knelt immediately to Kittu’s level. She leaped into his arms, hugging him with all her might. Arnav squeezed her back, peppering her face with kisses. "My princess has grown so big... and so beautiful, too?"

Kittu blushed furiously, leaning in to shyly kiss Arnav’s cheek. Arnav’s eyes widened at the sweet gesture, and he glanced at Anjali, who was laughing at the display.

"Control your niece, Arnav; she’s completely spoiled now. She doesn’t spare any good-looking boy. She even tries to kiss the neighbor's son!"

"Princess, you’re becoming dangerous," Arnav teased, catching her tiny hand. "Do you see this little finger? You’re supposed to wrap boys around this finger and make them dance to your tune before you ever give away a precious kiss."

"But Chachu, my littill finger isz too small to app them around it," she pouted, her rosy lips jutting out.

Arnav nuzzled her belly, making her shriek with fits of laughter. "Oh, it’s more than enough, darling. Trust me."

Kittu quickly locked her pinky with his. "Now I have aaped you! Can I kisssh you, Chahoo?"

Arnav smiled warmly. "I will always be wrapped around this finger, sweetheart. You can make me do whatever you want."

"Pomissh?"

"Pakka promise," Arnav said, lifting her. "Now, let’s go to Chachu’s room and see what treasures I brought for my princess."

"You’re spoiling her even more, Arnav," Anjali pouted playfully.

"If I can spoil her mother, I’ll spoil the daughter twice as much."

"Did you... meet Khushi?" Anjali asked, her voice dropping into a hopeful note.

Arnav stilled. His mind drifted back to the kitchen, the scent of her skin, and that missed kiss. Jesus, what was I doing? He didn't answer.

"Let me call her... Khu—"

"No, Bhabhi. I don't want to see her. You know that."

"Can’t you just let go, Arnav? It’s been three years. She was your best friend. You can’t behave like she doesn’t exist."

"I can," Arnav snapped, his voice turning cold. "Because she doesn't exist for me anymore. I have no intention of acknowledging her presence."

"Chachi!" Kittu chirped, pointing toward the kitchen door.

Both turned to see Khushi standing there, her face a mask of agony. She had heard everything. Her pained expression reflected a heart being torn inside out. Before they could speak, she turned away to hide her tears and vanished back into the kitchen.

"Chachi?" Kittu called out again, but the doorway was empty.

Anjali glared at Arnav, folding her arms. "This is not right. You cannot hurt her like this. She already lives in a hell of her own making every day. Don’t make it worse."

"She deserves it," Arnav muttered. He carried Kittu into his room, leaving a huffing Anjali behind in the foyer.

In the kitchen, Khushi broke down. “I can because she doesn't exist for me... I have no intention of acknowledging her existence.” His words were like physical stabs. They killed the tiny sprout of hope she had gathered in the kitchen. She didn't even realize she was clutching her knife with a death grip until a stinging sensation flared in her palm. She dropped the blade and rushed to the sink. The emotional hurt Arnav had inflicted was so profound that she barely felt the physical pain of the cut. She washed the wound, applied antiseptic with robotic movements, and bandaged it. Then, like a "living corpse," she went back to her chores.

Why does it still hurt to see her in pain? Why does it hurt me to hurt her? Arnav sat on his bed, unable to find an answer. He had seen the tears in her eyes before she turned away. He hated that he noticed. He hated that he cared.

He placed Kittu in the center of his bed and began unpacking. Half the suitcase was toys—a frilly dress for Kittu, a gift for Anjali, and the Rolex watch intended for his brother, which he stared at for a long moment. He set Dadi’s gift aside before helping Kittu fix her Barbie beauty parlor.

"Umm... Arnav?"

"Yes, Bhabs?"

"Didn't you bring... anything for Khushi?"

Arnav’s hands stopped moving. He looked up at Anjali, his jaw set. "Why would I bring anything for her? Give me one good reason."

Anjali sighed, defeated. "Never mind." She turned and walked out of the room.

Arnav let out a long, ragged breath. His gaze drifted to a small box he had hidden away with Dadi's things. Inside was a specific perfume—the scent she used to wear during their high school days. It wasn't expensive, but it was one of the many things burned into his memory. Even now, after all his talk of her not existing, he had carried a piece of her across the ocean.