Chapter 3 They Meet Again

Chapter Three: They Meet Again

Khushi stood frozen as the news rippled through the house. The youngest Raizada son was arriving. Arnav. Her Arnav.

The reality was a cruel joke played by fate. The boy who had been her entire world as a child, the one she had searched for in the faces of every stranger at St. Stephen’s, was now her brother-in-law. When they had clashed in London, she hadn't known his last name was Raizada. She only knew the fire in his eyes and the arrogance in his stride.

She remembered their childhood with a bittersweet ache. She was the driver’s daughter; he was the prince of the mansion. Her father, Shashi, had been the loyal driver for Arnav’s father, Aarav, for twenty-five years. Aarav and Avantika Raizada had treated Khushi like their own daughter, especially after her mother passed away. But Shashi was a man of fierce pride. He had seen the way the two children clung to each other—how Arnav would cry when Khushi had to return to the servant’s quarters, and how a young Arnav once vowed to marry her just so she’d never have to leave.

To save them both from the "vulture-like" gossip of society and the label of a gold-digger, Shashi had torn Khushi away when she was six. He had hidden her away in schools where the Raizadas couldn't find her. But he couldn't hide her heart.

London: Three Days Earlier

Arnav’s eyes snapped open, and he immediately hissed in pain. "Aah!"

"Please, Mr. Raizada, try to relax," a nurse whispered, steadying his shoulder.

Arnav flinched at the unfamiliar touch, his mind a hazy fog. "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital, son," a familiar voice called out. It was Dr. Khanna, a family friend. "You've been in a coma for seventy-two hours following a severe car accident."

The memories rushed back like a physical blow: Khushi’s tears in the hallway, his own cruel words, the blinding rage as he drove his car into the London outskirts until a tree ended his journey.

"My brother... Ankush," Arnav rasped, his voice cracking. "I need to call him."

The doctor’s expression shifted, a heavy silence falling over the room. Slowly, he broke the news. Ankush was dead. A sudden, tragic mishap on his wedding night.

Arnav went numb. The Rolex watches he had bought as wedding gifts felt like lead weights in his luggage. He tried to surge out of bed, ignoring the cast on his arm and the bandages on his head. "I have to go! My brother... Bhaiyya!" He screamed until his lungs burned, eventually collapsing back into the darkness of unconsciousness.

Mumbai: Present Day

The wrought-iron gates of the Raizada Mansion groaned open. Arnav stepped out of the car, leaning heavily on his crutches. His head was still bandaged, his left arm in a sling, and every step was a battle against the medication clouding his brain.

He expected grief. He expected the silence of a house in mourning. But as he crossed the threshold, a strange sensation washed over him—a familiar prickle at the back of his neck.

Khushi?

"No," he growled under his breath, closing his eyes. "Not here. Not now." Why was he feeling her presence in his family home? He blamed her for his accident; if she hadn't provoked him, he would have been at his brother’s side.

"Chotey!" Anjali, his eldest sister-in-law, came running through the foyer. She threw her arms around him, sobbing into his chest until her strength gave out and she fainted in his arms.

Later, after the household had settled and Anjali had regained consciousness, the air in the living room grew sharp.

"This is all because of that girl," Sumitra Devi, Arnav’s grandmother, hissed. "She is manhus—a curse upon this house."

"Enough, Dadi!" Anjali defended, her voice weak but firm. "It was fate. It has nothing to do with her. Arnav, you know her, don't you? You know our Chutki wouldn't hurt a soul."

Arnav’s heart stopped. "Chutki?"

The room seemed to tilt. His childhood friend? The girl he had searched for for fifteen years? "You mean... Ankush married my Chutki?"

A surge of protective fury and desperate longing warred within him. He didn't care about his injuries. He didn't care about Dadi’s scowl. He grabbed his crutch and limped toward the stairs, his knuckles white.

He reached the door of his brother’s room. It felt like a tomb. He pushed it open without knocking.

A woman sat on the floor by the recliner, her back to him. Her long, dark hair spilled over the white fabric of her mourning saree. She looked so small, so broken.

"Chutki..." he breathed.

The woman stiffened. She didn't turn, but her shoulders trembled.

"Won't you look at me?" Arnav asked, his voice cracking.

He moved closer, his hand reaching out to catch her bare wrist. He hated the sight of her in white. He hated that she was here as a widow.

With a violent jerk, she pulled her hand away and spun around, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Arnav’s jaw dropped. The world stopped spinning.

The girl from the London party—the one who had rejected him, the one he had cursed, the one who had occupied his every angry thought for the last week—was standing before him in the ruins of his brother’s life.

"Khu... Khushi?" he whispered, his heart thudding so hard against his ribs it felt like it might break.

The "Tease" from London and the "Chutki" of his heart were the same person. And he had just become the man he promised he’d never be: her brother-in-law.