Chapter Twelve
A breathless voice called out, 'Your coffee', promptly followed by a scuffling noise.
And then a swish and a click, as the glass door was drawn to with unintentional violence, causing the glass panes to rattle dangerously for a millisecond. Arnav caught himself chuckling without turning back.
He did not feel the fury which usually unfolded within him whenever Khushi had the audacity to ignore him, to run away before he had finished. Because, to be honest, it was not as though he had anything to say. When his lips had formed that word, her name, a few seconds back, it was not so much that he was calling her than he was acknowledging her presence. As though some miraculous extension of his sixth sense informed him with unwavering confidence of her presence before the rest of his faculties could adjust to it.
And it was also the strange satisfaction he derived from saying her name. Again and again. It would ring in his head for ages after he had uttered the word. To him, it was probably the most beautiful sound in the world, a sound he had deprived himself of for so long that he seized every opportunity to revel in it. To revel in the feeling of staking a claim on her whenever he said her name, called out to her as though he had right to.
'Khushi', he said again, slowly and experimentally, enjoying the taste of it as he rolled it around in his mouth before releasing it lightly, a mere whisper which mingled and disappeared in the breeze. One corner of his mouth tilted upwards a little, into a lopsided smile which disappeared momentarily when he realised that he was drowning his plants again.
'What the-' he muttered as he quickly twisted the hose closed, taking a couple of steps back to survey the damage. But even the sight of the water overflowing and spilling profusely over the sides of the pots housing his beloved plants could not distress him today.
Arnav fleetingly wondered whether it was heartless of him to feel so good after single-handedly destroying nearly everything that his life depended on.
As he caught sight of the coffee cup waiting patiently for him though, Arnav could feel his heart swell, uncomfortable in its generous expansiveness, barely contained by his chest, as he was revisited by the sights which had made life worth living once again.
Today, he had seen Khushi Kumari Gupta again. The same feisty, outspoken girl who had entered his life like a storm and turned everything, his principles, his perspective, his ambitions for life upside down, inside out. He had seen the same fire in her eyes that he had seen whenever they had clashed before, whenever she had stood her ground and spoken her mind, given her opinion and battled for its primacy, disregarding the consequences. It had irked him, to the point that he had once made it his personal goal to extinguish that fire which drove this girl, this juvenile, immature girl, to dare to stand up to him, to contradict him. Little did he know that that fire would soon set alight the meaningless, transient world he had barricaded himself in, and would soon be the only source of light in his otherwise dreary existence.
Khushi Kumari Gupta was back. The fight in her was back. The undying spirit which had reached beyond ASR and brought out Arnav was back. Arnav sat on the deckchair that she had occupied last night as he watched the steam from his coffee rise and twirl, dancing gracefully as it blended into the air. Yes, the spirit which had raged and bellowed in protest against everything he stood for was back in its element. Today it had not been the Khushi who had been living in his house the past one month that had stood before him. That Khushi had been nothing more than a shell, an empty hollow shell left vacant, abandoned. She had simply existed in the house, drifting purposelessly from room to room, without being noticed, without noticing. But today...
Arnav felt his smirk get wider as he lifted the cup to his lips, taking a swig. The hot liquid, tart and bittersweet, blazed its way down him, sending tendrils of warmth coursing to every corner of his body. He leaned back against the deckchair as he remembered the sight of Khushi, hair wet and falling in unruly strands about her face, flushed bright red, hand tightly clasped over her heart, chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. The sight had caused his own heart to accelerate, had set his own blood on fire as it tore through his veins. It had taken every bit of self control he had possessed not to caress that face, that flawless face, indulging in its creamy perfection and satiny softness, when he had brushed off those strands of hair.
But, unlike the last time, on the eve of Payal and Akash's wedding, when Arnav had been exulting on the sheer effect his touch, his nearness had on her, today he was exulting for a different reason. She was no longer numb. She no longer stood, unfeeling, faded and fatigued. Arnav marvelled at how- pure- unsullied, Khushi's reaction had been. Her hyperactive breathing, her flushing bright red, her stiffening and moving backwards all served to show the extent to which she could feel. And that was a fact about her. Khushi felt things- she felt things in their essence, in their purity, felt them without the obstructions of other vices. She did not feel in extremes, as he used to think; she felt things thoroughly, through and through to the very heart, and whatever she felt mirrored clearly on her face. Like looking through fine crystal.
Then how come you didn't see her honesty there? The cynic which seemed to have taken permanent residence in his head asked him. Arnav's expression transformed instantly, darkness seeping in his features again as he set down the now empty cup.
He wondered whether it was humanly possible to despise himself, his ego and his existence, more than he did at that moment.
***
Khushi stood leaning against the fridge, devouring one jalebi after another. It had taken everything she had not to dive head first into another round of making steaming hot, delectably sweet jalebis to work off her stress, and to drown all her misgivings, worries, anxieties in afterwards. But there was still a huge box of them left over from the previous morning, and Khushi could hardly go about behaving in the way that had earned her the nickname 'Sanka Devi' from her Buaji at her in-laws.
At the thought of the word 'in-laws', Khushi felt something sink and leap in her stomach at the same time, and she stuffed an entire jalebi, cold and not as appetizing as a fresh batch would have been, into her mouth to quell the unease. Deciding she had slacked off enough already, and that she desperately needed a diversion, Khushi ambled towards the stove, lifting a saucepan onto it. But as she lit a matchstick, something else appeared to occur to her, and she drifted off again.
***
'KHUSHI!' Arnav heard himself roar as he dashed into the kitchen in furious speed. He watched, horrified, as the flame of the matchstick inched ever closer to the fragile skin of Khushi's finger as she stared blankly into space; watched it, burnt black and bent, fall in slow motion to the ground while Khushi emitted a yelp of pain, enclosing her finger quickly in her mouth. He watched, as his heart slammed against his ribcage for dear life, as air seemed to disappear, his lungs collapsing in on themselves, her face screw up in pain.
Everything had happened in a matter of a few seconds, but to Arnav, it all stretched out, each detail exhibiting itself slowly, almost mockingly, as he watched in horror, helpless. She was the one who got hurt...but he was the one who felt the pain. He felt something white hot sear through his skin, straight to his heart as he skidded to halt in front of Khushi, grasping her wrist and yanking it towards him.
His voice, hoarse and broken, sounded alien to his own ears.
'Khushi, can't you see what you're doing?! How can anyone be so careless? If you know you can't handle working in the kitchen, there's no need to pretend to be the ideal daughter-in-law...what if the matchstick had fallen on your clothes? What if you got burnt, dammit? What-'
Arnav, delirious with worry, with fear, with anger, abruptly stopped his tirade. Khushi had snatched her hand back, and was quietly examining her forefinger. He could see that the skin on its tip had turned an angry red, and something stung every painfully within him. As though he was the one who had been scorched by naked fire.
'I'm fine', she said quietly, as she picked up the matchbox again.
Her nonchalant attitude served only to infuriate Arnav even more. Here he was having problems breathing at the mere thought of her in pain, and she was acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Anger at her recklessness, at her clumsiness, rose in him like a tidal wave. Nostrils flaring, he grabbed her wrist again, forcibly jerking her around to face him, the matchbox slipping out of her hand and landing with a thud on the floor.
'You are not fine,' he hissed at her through gritted teeth while literally dragging her to the sink, 'You just got burnt!' He nearly ripped the tap off as he twisted the handle aggressively, so that ice cold water spurted out at gushing speed. 'You're hurt!' he thrust her hand under the water, not even noticing that the motion caused droplets of it to splash everywhere, on the sides of the sink, on the wall, on themselves.
He felt Khushi gently, but firmly twist her wrist of his hold, while her other hand calmly reached up for the tap as she turned it off. The sound of the water hissing against the bottom of the sink ebbed away, leaving the two of them in an eerie silence.
Arnav stared at Khushi, who had now uprooted a kitchen towel from somewhere and was drying herself. There was a stillness in her movements, a quietness that made his heart quake in fear.
'Khushi...' his own voice sounded hushed as he watched her dabbing at the wet patches left on the countertops.
'I've been hurt before, Arnavji. Compared to that, this is nothing. I'm fine.'
Arnav would have welcomed an entire hailstorm of sticks and stones, because he was sure the pain they would inflict would hurt far less than her words did. They bounced off of the walls of his skull, reverberating through his mind as he screwed up his face against the din that had erupted in his head. Instead of trying to quieten it though, Arnav stoically embraced it. He laid himself bare for the whips of his crimes to descend on him, ever part of him, drawing a horrible satisfaction from the smarting pain they left behind. The cuts upon his self which had barely begun to heal were ripped apart, and he dwelled on the stinging, sharp stinging like raw wounds exposed to salty, sea air.
He deserved this.
Through the haze of what he suspected were tears that had accumulated in his eyes but refused to shed themselves, Arnav tried to pinpoint Khushi. She was back at the stove, stirring something judging by the rotating motions of her arm. She was wearing green today. Pale green. It suddenly occurred to Arnav that ever since he had allowed himself to look at her, observe her, again, he had only seen her wearing light, almost pastel colours. She no longer dressed in the loud yellows, reds, blues and oranges that made her stand out like a thousand watt light bulb in the dark. He squinted harder as the fog lifted a little. He could not see any earrings either, the jhumkas that would swing from side to side as she herself bounced up and down, hardly ever standing still for too long. He remembered that when he had lunged for her wrist, there had been only one bracelet there, not the array of colourful glass bangles she usually wore, which added to the music her voice, her laugh used to make.
Bangles...
A disjointed fragment of something long past poked irritably at Arnav, but he was too engrossed in other matters to listen. He noted that she had tied up her hair, secured into a neat bun at the back of her head with a large clip. It was not a careless, messy bun as the one she had been wearing her hair in yesterday, with stray locks of hair falling out from here and there, giving her dishevelled appearance an added flair. But the faultless severity of the bun her hair was in today did something to Arnav.
It seemed to puncture a hole into him, causing all the pent up emotion, all the soreness to the self-deploring, to leak out like the air from a burst car tire.
She had done that out of sheer defiance. Of him.
Arnav felt a smirk creep up to his face as he stalked closer to her. She did not turn around, but he could see her stiffen visibly. She was not immune to him either; she did not need her eyes to know when he was close to her. Her hand paused, holding a long ladle in a pot full of what he supposed was kheer, in mid rotation.
She could hardly have been prepared for what he did next.
In one swift movement, his hand shot out and unclipped her hair, causing it to tumble down in a mass of coffee-dark silk. Khushi gasped audibly, wheeling around in shock while his other hand grazed her side as it turned off the knob of the stove. He knew his wife was disaster-prone, and he was not going to take any chances.
***
Khushi's jaw dropped open as she looked at him, holding her hairclip in the air as though it were a trophy, a triumphant smirk adorning his features. If Khushi had not felt reckless fury grip her in that moment, she might not have been able to deny what that smirk was doing to her dhak dhak, as her acidity returned ten times stronger than before.
'What are you doing?' she ground out between clenched teeth, attempting to snatch the hairclip out of his hand. He merely lifted it out of her reach, arrogance etched on every part of his face. Khushi felt the urge to punch him in the face; it was a temptation that had presented itself to her several times in the past, but had not been very prevalent lately.
'Give it back!' she huffed, almost stamping her feet in frustration.
'No', he shook his head slowly from side to side, his eyes, with that amused glint in them, never leaving hers. While Khushi continued to gape at him disbelievingly, he murmured, provocation written all over his words, 'I thought I told you I liked your hair down.'
Mad rage boiled within Khushi. How dare he expect me to go about doing what HE wants? A voice screamed. But the cheeky little voice had to make its own contribution too. But don't you want to do what he wants too?
Khushi had a brief flashback of her twirling and un-twirling her hair as she stood indecisively in front of a mirror, debating whether to leave it down or not. Then the irritation which had plagued her since morning got the better of her, and she had resolutely pulled every single strand into a tight little knot, held in place with the biggest hairclip she could find.
But that doesn't mean you weren't considering leaving it down.
Khushi, unable to decide who was testing her temper more, the voice in her head or Arnav, made another lunge for the clip, but Arnav dodged her effortlessly as he took a step back, his smirk getting decidedly wider. Trying to overlook the palpitations which the sight of that evoked, Khushi muttered, annoyed, 'Rakshas Laad Governor!'
The words rose up through the air to the kitchen ceiling before descending quietly, slicing tangibly into the sudden silence between them. Khushi stood frozen, the small of her back pressed against the counter while her mouth formed a little 'O' of surprise at her own actions: she hadn't uttered those words for a very long time...and yet they slipped off her tongue so glibly, as though they had been waiting for this moment the whole time.
Not knowing what to expect, she raised her eyes to look at Arnav, half-expecting to see the manic fury which had possessed him moments before.
Instead, the playful look in Arnav's eyes grew distinctly more pronounced, as he gazed down at her with an expression somewhere between smugness and mischief. She felt herself blush and inwardly cursed her inability to control her expressions, which always ended up giving her away.
'What did you say, Khushi?' Arnav asked softly, so softly that it felt like a feather-light caress against her skin.
'N-nothing,' Khushi's eyes found a large tomato resting on the opposite counter and she stared at it as though she would have to recreate an exact replica of it soon, painfully aware of the diminishing distance between them.
'Didn't sound like nothing,' he drawled, with barely a foot left between them. Khushi was frowning in concentration, as though expecting the tomato to do a trick she could not afford to miss. Small sparks of current rippled through the air, tense with anticipation.
Silence.
'Tell you what', Arnav whispered conversationally, suddenly putting out both his arms, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin as he trapped her between the counter and himself, 'Let's have a little game'.
Irritation bubbled like molten rock in the pit of Khushi's stomach, and she couldn't stop herself from retorting bitingly, 'Haven't you played enough little games with me already?'
She felt him still, his body going suddenly rigid, for a fraction of a second before it relaxed again. She continued to look resolutely over his shoulder at the exceptionally large tomato.
'Why, Khushi? Are you afraid to lose?'
***
That was it. Arnav knew his Khushi very well. And Khushi would never back down from a challenge.
***
'What game?' she asked, her voice expressionless.
Arnav suppressed a chuckle.
'You won't have to repeat what you said...if you go...right now...to put ointment on your finger, and bandage it.'
Khushi looked at Arnav for a long moment. He looked straight back. And somewhere during their staring session, the look in Arnav's eyes transformed, seamlessly, inconspicuously, from mischief to heartbreaking earnestness. Khushi felt her breath catch in her throat.
Dhak dhak. Dhak dhak. Dhak dhak.
A random gust of cool wind invaded the kitchen from nowhere, sweeping over her, easing her tight stretched nerves.
'Or do you want to repeat what you said?' Arnav inquired suddenly, mock thoughtfulness reorganising his features.
Khushi felt the butterflies in her stomach perform a series of dizzying cartwheels at the prospect. Her mind, in its state of disarray, was in no position to come up with an explanation for her reaction, nor an argument to back it up. Instead, she slowly edged away from him, nudging his arm aside and lightly ran to the kitchen door.
'And, Khushi?'
She felt herself stop completely, as though his voice was some kind of remote control that knew exactly how to regulate her movements, as though something invisible had just shot through the air and had captured her limbs. She glanced over her shoulder slightly, still turned away from him.
He was brandishing her hairclip. 'I'm not giving this back.'
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MorallyGrey @WildestDreams
+ 32
1 years ago
Amazing chapter! You are doing justice to both characters👏🏼