Chapter 11

I was literally giggling like an idiot while writing this...I never knew I was capable of writing stuff like this, but devoutly hope I pulled it off...but you should be the judge of that, so please leave your feedback!

Chapter Eleven

Payal had given Khushi a lot to think about.

Long after her sister had left, patting her lightly on the head before she hurried off to the kitchen, Khushi sat meditatively on the bed, absently pulling a comb through her damp hair. Her forehead was creased ever so slightly, as though some thought was annoying her. Her lower lip was almost jutting out in a pout.

Khushi could not understand what she was feeling.

She should by all means have been feeling happy. If not happy, at least, she should be feeling relieved. At least the false accusations which had been hurled at her mercilessly, time and time again, had come to an end. At least she would no longer be incessantly punished for something she was not even guilty for. At least Arnav was trying to make up for it.

Khushi felt a tongue of flame, spiked with irritation, flicker through her. She sat up straighter, her frown becoming more pronounced as her hand paused in the midst of taming her hair. She could not understand it. It would be one thing to feel irritated at Arnav if he hadn't been trying to compensate for all the harm he had done so far. It also would not be too far off the mark to expect herself to be angry at him for not coming round to reality sooner. In fact, she really ought to be feeling furious, spiteful, at him for every minute of torture she had been through the past month. She had had to leave her family behind, a paralysed father and two helpless women manning a household, without having even the chance to prepare herself psychologically for the ordeal. She had been thrust into hardship unlike anything she could have ever imagined, having to swallow up everything he threw at her while pretending, in front of the world, that everything was fine, perfect, all right.

And instead, she was sitting here, with the knowledge that something fundamental had changed last night about her place in this house, in this family, perhaps in his life...feeling distinctly annoyed. And not knowing why.

Maybe, a cheeky little voice ribbed her, a rather familiar little voice which reminded Khushi of someone, it's because he's trying to make up for what he did. Maybe it's because it's not WHY you want him to change for you.

Khushi immediately chided that cheeky little voice, which was developing an annoying habit of saying the last thing she wanted to hear.

Maybe because it's the truth...?

Khushi huffed in exasperation, decided enough was enough, and dropped the comb onto the bed as she got to her feet, twisting her hair into a bun as she prepared to join Jiji to help in the kitchen.

'Stop.'

One single word, and Khushi was petrified. She could have been turned to stone for that matter. The damp locks which had been wound around her fingers fell in disobedient curls against her neck. And it was not the word to blame. It was the voice.

She looked up, timidly, warily, at the door.

And he was standing there, leaning against the doorframe. Leisurely, as though he had all the time in the world. Looking like he had been there, and had been watching her, for a while. He had showered; his hair was gelled back slightly, and he was wearing his casuals: a pale blue jumper with dark grey track pants. But it was not his clothes so much as his posture, the way he was holding himself, that exuded an aura of relaxation, of serenity, tranquillity. Khushi could almost sense it in the air, so different was it from the tense watchfulness which characterised him on other days.

Khushi gulped involuntarily as she remembered the moments she had shared with him last evening.

And felt her face heat up as she remembered the rest of the night.

Languidly, Arnav pushed himself off of the door frame, advancing into the room. Like clockwork, Khushi's limbs started to move backwards, only to hit the foot of the bed, causing her to stumble. Her damp hair swung forward , clinging to the sides of her face and neck as she regained her balance, looking resolutely at the ground, crossly telling her heart off for misbehaving again, willing her brain to stop causing unwanted suggestions to materialise in her mind.

She didn't have to look up to know that he was now standing right in front of her. Every inch of bare skin tingled with awareness at his proximity, overly conscious of his presence. Of the crackle of electricity that seemed to passing between them.

'Khushi'. His voice was soft, soft and warm. Like melting butter. Khushi felt the tiniest spark of her earlier irritation return. She felt resentment settle into her at the sheer hypocrisy of the man in front of her; one minute he would drown out all her protests, all her attempts to defend herself, and next minute, he would speak to her as though she were so delicate she would break if he did not take care to be gentle. Her eyes snapped up to meet his, a fire that he was accustomed to, but had not seen for a while, blazing determinedly in them.

But if she was hoping to startle him, she was disappointed.

There was something about his face today, about his expression, that made words disappear on the way to Khushi's throat. The tautness, the tension, the firmness had been replaced by something she could only describe as- lightness. As effortless. As though his facial muscles had finally relaxed after an era of being set in stone, allowing his expression to revert to what it was originally meant to be.

His eyes had a strange new glow in them, something that was strangely alive and holding out a strange new promise to Khushi, enticing her to look deeper into their swirling depths. The corners of his lips were no longer set in that stern line, but were lifted very, very slightly, a mere shadow of a smile waiting to break out.

Khushi's hand fisted and shot up to her heart of its own accord as she became aware of Arnav's hand lifting towards her. Her lips parted, eyes opened even wider than they already were, while her respiratory system decided to malfunction again.

'Don't tie it up', he murmured, huskily, while his eyes bore into hers, making her feel suddenly vulnerable under their penetrating gaze, as though he could see straight into her heart and the havoc he was causing there. She nearly jumped when she felt his fingers graze her skin as he slowly, deliberately, ever so gently brushed the wet locks which were still hugging her skin, forgotten. Feeling light-headed from lack of oxygen, she drew a ragged breath, as short spurts of air flooded into her lungs, while his fingers, feeling rough against her own velvet skin, continued to scorch her where he was touching her, down her cheek, her jaw, her neck, his eyes smouldering into hers as they gazed at her intently, hypnotising her. Then, as though satisfied with his handiwork, he gathered the locks which had bunched up at her shoulder, and flung them lightly so that they now rested against her back.

'I like it down', he explained matter-of-factly, as he ran his fingers through her hair, as though that answered any queries anyone could possibly have about what on earth he thought he was doing to her. Khushi, in the process of hyperventilating, could not come up with a repartee as he took a small step back, tilting his head to the side as he perused her face.

***

The delightful red which burned beneath her skin made her look...delectable. Like peaches and cream.

***

Khushi's fist tightened, her fingernails digging into her flesh, as she tried to rein in her dhak dhak, which was echoing so loudly in her own ears she was convinced he could hear it too. As she squirmed under his gaze, Arnav continued, as though picking up on a conversation they had been having the whole time, 'Don't forget my coffee. Remember the condition?'

Then, as Khushi continued to look at him as though struck by lightning, he added, 'Or else I won't let you get out of bed tomorrow morning', and strolled out of the room.

Khushi felt her legs almost dissolve into liquid, as she collapsed on to the bed and gasped loudly, as though suddenly breaking out into fresh air after being submerged in water. Biting her lower lip, she began to rock backward and forward, trying to soothe her over-excited heart before it high-jumped out of her chest, while sending silent prayers to Devi Maiyya for strength.

***

Khushi would not have realised she was shaking if the cup had not been making so much noise.

She had walked briskly out of the kitchen with a tray in hand, bearing a cup and saucer on it, having instructed herself carefully to simply walk in, place the coffee on a nearby table and walk out. But somehow, her feet had acquisitioned a mind of their own, and had stopped dead in their tracks just outside the glass door leading to the poolside.

Where he stood watering his plants without a care in the world.

Khushi felt frustration well up in her like lava, fuelled all the more by the racket the cup was making, its clattering about on the saucer as her whole being shook with uncontrollable convulsions sounding like a hopeless give-away. She placed the tray on a small table nearby before resting her forehead against the wall, out of sight, trying to restore some calm before she ended up falling to pieces.

The last time she had been this riled up had been during the sangeet night; she had spent the entire evening sparring with him, as he did and said everything possible to wind her up the wrong way. But, as an unwanted voice reminded her, it had all been harmless. She racked her brains for a suitable explanation for his behaviour, wondering for a split second whether she was still asleep and this was a fantastically vivid dream. Watching her hand quiver, though, she had to admit reluctantly that this was no dream.

But, in that case, logic defied her entirely. She could understand why expecting her to sleep on the bed and making space for her clothes among his would be gestures of apology, of repentance. As much as they shattered her peace of mind, those gestures she could understand. So how exactly would...that incident in the guestroom- fit repentance? What could she possibly ascribe that to?

Khushi's dhak dhak pounded against her chest, as she pressed herself completely to the wall for support. Her head was swimming as memories came soaring back to her. The look in his eyes today- those eyes which had looked dead, dead and deadly, which would spew endless venom less than forty eight hours ago- now had a look which was almost...playful. Almost (her stomach lurching) mischievous. Like he was secretly amused. Smug and thoroughly pleased with himself.

It was the same look he had had in his eyes as he had played with her nerves on sangeet night. The same look he had had after he had kissed her on the cheek.

Khushi almost slapped herself as remembrance popped up uninvited. She did not want to remember that, that or anything else which had followed. It hurt too much. It was too difficult, too murky, to understand. To write down in black and white, in absolutes that she could adhere to.

Or perhaps because you refuse to understand...?

She wondered how she was supposed to walk to the poolside now, when her legs seemed to have admitted defeat arbitrarily and refused to hold her up. Not with the fresh memory of- the day of the mehndi- playing and replaying in her head. Not with the memory of last night still hovering about there, where the pool, the plants, the night sky had borne witness to an inexplicable phenomenon.

Stifling a moan of displeasure, Khushi decided to just get it over with. She picked up the tray with one hand, and slid the glass door open with the other, all the while holding her breath as though expecting someone to pounce on her as soon as she stepped in.

When nothing like that happened, Khushi released her breath carefully, looking around before locating him, hard at work with his plants.

Now's your chance. Just quietly put the tray down and make a run for it.

But before she could put her ingenious plan into action, he murmured, without turning around, 'Khushi.'

Khushi hoped avidly that if she was going to have a heart attack, she might as well have it when they were closer to the hospital. She tried, as much as she could, to ignore the fact that he sounded like he was smiling when he said her name. As though he was luxuriating in the feel of her name upon his lips.

She wanted to smack herself for such unwelcome, fanciful notions.

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-doe-eyes-2012-02-26 18:47:33