Chapter 9 Hidden Feelings

Arnav woke with a groan, his entire body protesting the awkward angle at which he had fallen asleep. He tried to open his eyes, but the aggressive sunlight piercing through the windows forced them shut again. His head throbbed with a rhythmic, punishing ache—the unmistakable price of a heavy hangover. Slowly, the foggy memories of the previous night began to surface. He had come home drunk. He had made a scene. Shyam and Anjali were undoubtedly furious.

He leaned back against the headrest, rubbing his temples as his mind raced. Then, a sharp realization hit him like a bucket of ice water. Khushi.

Yesterday’s events replayed in vivid, jagged fragments. He had claimed her in front of the entire neighborhood. He was shocked by his own impulsiveness, yet deep down, he knew it was a move he had rehearsed in his soul for years. He hadn't asked for her consent; he hadn't bothered to see if she wanted him. But the way those people had looked at her—the way they were stripping her of her dignity—had snapped his control. His first marriage ritual in the garden had been an instinctual defense, but the second one in the mandir? That had been a choice. He had no regrets about making her his, even if he wasn't ready to admit why.

Applying the sindoor to her maang had been a moment of raw emotion he intended to keep locked away. His "Chutki" was finally his, bound to him by rituals she could no longer break. A small, treacherous part of him was elated, but the larger part of him remained anchored in bitterness. He still carried the weight of her perceived betrayal—the years of silence and her marriage to his brother. He wasn't ready to forgive, but he was no longer willing to let her go.

He looked toward the other side of the bed, surprised to find it empty. Panic flared in his chest. Had something happened between them in his drunken state? Had he crossed a line? His eyes darted toward the poolside, and that’s when he saw her.

Khushi was curled up on the lounger in a way that looked incredibly uncomfortable, her small form tucked into the narrow seat. Even in sleep, her face shifted with tiny, distressed expressions that he found unexpectedly endearing. She was wearing a pale pink saree—not the bridal red he found himself craving to see on her, but she looked beautiful nonetheless. The soft color complemented the glow of her skin. On her wrists, his mother’s bangles caught the light, and above it all sat the sindoor—the red mark of his ownership.

He watched her for a few more seconds, his heart squeezing with an unknown emotion, before retreating to the bathroom to wash away the scent of alcohol and pop an aspirin.

The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut startled Khushi awake. For a moment, she was disoriented, her mind reeling at the unfamiliar surroundings until the weight of the previous day settled back onto her shoulders. She was in Arnav’s room. Her husband’s room.

She glanced at the bed, but it was empty. He was already up.

Her night had been a restless cycle of reliving his hurtful words and worrying about his drunken state. He had looked so uncomfortable in his sleep, but she hadn't dared to touch him after he had warned her away. She had spent the dark hours on the lounger, sadly laughing at the irony of her fate. Her wedding night had been spent on a balcony chair, staring at the white sheets of a bed that felt miles away.

A knock at the main door made her jump. Panic flared—no one could know they hadn't shared the bed. She quickly gathered the duvet from the lounger and tossed it onto the bed to make it look used.

When the door opened, she let out a long sigh of relief. It was Anjali.

"Good morning, Jiji," Khushi chirped, forcing a smile.

"Morning, Devrani sahiba," Anjali replied, her eyes sparkling as she touched Khushi’s cheek. "Is the devil awake yet?"

Khushi nodded toward the bathroom. "He just went inside."

Anjali stepped further into the room and paused, her gaze sweeping over the rumpled bed and the duvet Khushi had just thrown there. Her expression softened with a pity that Khushi couldn't bear. Khushi didn't wait for the questions; she ran to Anjali, hugging her as if she were her only lifeline.

"He didn't... did he? Oh, Khushi, I’m so sorry," Anjali whispered.

"Don't be, Jiji. He's right to be angry..."

"Stop defending him, Khushi!" Anjali pulled back, her voice stern. "What he’s doing isn't right. He needs to let go of the past before he ruins both your lives."

"I beg to differ, Bhabhi," a cold voice interrupted.

Arnav stood at the bathroom door, his hair damp and his expression guarded. "It’s Khushi who spoiled our lives, not me. I’m only giving her what she deserves."

"Arnav, enough," Anjali scolded. "I won't have you speaking to your wife this way. You were shameful last night."

"I was drunk, Bhabhi. I don't remember a thing," Arnav muttered, his eyes flickering toward Khushi. He saw her clutching her pallu, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, and a flash of guilt pierced through his hangover.

"Well, I remember," Anjali snapped. "You didn't even acknowledge her as your wife. I am ashamed of your behavior. Get your act together, Arnav. I want you to treat Khushi with respect."

Arnav looked down, a silent nod his only concession.

"Khushi, go and change," Anjali directed. "You have rituals to perform. You’ll be making the kheer for the family today. And you, Mr. Raizada—you are meeting the jeweler at one o'clock to select a mangalsutra."

"Why do I have to choose? Give her my credit card; she can pick whatever she wants," Arnav replied curtly.

"You will be there," Anjali insisted. "A groom chooses the mangalsutra for his bride. Ankush chose mine, and you will choose Khushi’s."

"Fine," he muttered.

"We will also hold a formal Griha Pravesh today," Anjali continued. "I want this marriage recognized properly by the heavens and this house."

Arnav grumbled about the necessity of a homecoming for someone who already lived there, but Anjali’s word was final. As they dispersed to prepare for the day, the air remained heavy with things unsaid—a marriage born in fire, now trying to survive the cold light of day.