Another extremely long update. I've decided to post what I come up with in one go instead of chunks, but if you guys feel it mars the effect, let me know. I'm just scrambling to tie up this FF before exams start, so I can focus on revision without it niggling away at my self control :s

Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to 'varshapan', who was the first to respond to my request for Arnav's mom's letter, so a big THANKS to you!! And another big thanks to everyone else who responded, it means a lot :) Hope you guys like this btw...it turned out to be the toughest thing I've ever had to write :s

*edit* i posted this as 27 instead of 28 by mistake, just in case anyone got confused :p

Chapter Twenty Eight

Neither of them were completely aware of how long them simply sat there, her hands held in his, both looking down.

At the bangles glinting cheerfully on their owner's wrists, glad to finally have been removed from their velvet chambers, breathing new life against warm, cream skin.

At their hands joined together, the tiny, slender white enclosed, almost engulfed, by larger, longer bronze.

Neither of them noticed that the glass door that Khushi had unceremoniously thrust open as she, in a fit of panicked frenzy, had dragged her husband from the poolside into their room, was still open. Neither of them, in the heat and after of what had just happened, an unravelling of souls, of tears, of pain, of deep-rooted, buried feelings, both physical and emotional, noticed the cool breeze that forayed into the room, subversively sneaking in and tingeing the air with a pinching chill.

Arnav was the first to move. The fingers of his left hand wrapped themselves securely around both of Khushi's soft, satiny hands, her warmth permeating through her skin and diffusing through his. His right hand reached into his other pocket, eyes lifting on their own to meet and hold Khushi's faintly perplexed gaze, and pulled out a folded piece of paper, yellowing slightly at the edges, crisp and brittle with age. Gradually becoming more and more aware of the erratic drum beats kicking up a din within his ribcage, Arnav rested their joined hands on his knee, before lacing his fingers through the fingers of her right hand and gently raising it, turning it over and coaxing her palm open.

'This,' he whispered softly, wondering for possibly the tenth time why his voice arbitrarily decided to drop so low whenever he seemed to be speaking to her, as he almost deferentially laid the piece of paper in her hand, 'is a letter Maa wrote for you. Especially for her daughter-in-law's eyes. I've been holding on to it for a while but I think she would be happier if she got to say what she wanted to you herself.'

***

Khushi felt her fingers slowly clasp themselves around the feathery light parchment resting on her palm. She did not know whether she was being fanciful, did not know whether it was the chaotic events of this chaotic day, but she felt a warmth seep through every pore of her skin as soon as she grasped it. The paper seemed to be almost alive, bristling in its excitement, in its restlessness to say everything it wanted to say to her.

She could not lift her eyes. They remained glued to what was in front of her- his warm, coarse but ever so tender hand holding her own smaller one, the olive of his skin contrasting against the pearl of hers, the yellowing piece of paper sitting atop both of them.

Words of his mother. Her mother-in-law.

Joining their hands together.

Khushi felt an oversized lump materialise without warning in her throat and she choked back a massive sob- she had always been an irrepressible, faithful, almost zealous devotee of Devi Maiyya, ever prepared to enshrine Devi Maiyya's omnipotence, the symbolism, the hidden message behind Devi Maiyya's actions- yet, the warmth that she felt descending on her, a warmth that she associated with her family's presence, with Bauji and with Amma watching her from heaven, the sudden uncanny connection that she felt with a woman she had never met before in her life- it was mystifying. A part of her wanted so badly to seek refuge behind the excuse that it was nothing more than a wild stretch of fancy, her imagination running away with her once again as it had on so many occasions before. The other part, however, grudged her desire to hide- it wanted to embrace that peculiar sentiment close and relish in it.

***

A particularly rigorous breeze, like the breath of winter itself, catapulted itself through from the pool. It washed over both of them, biting at skin both exposed and sheltered by clothing, making them both shudder. Khushi, seeming to suddenly come to herself, leapt to her feet and skipped in the direction of the door, sliding it shut against the assault of the elements without.

Arnav got to his feet too, watching the amber-pink clad figure in front of him pause as she made to draw the curtains to. Her hand holding on to his mother's letter.

Never a believer in anything that he could not see, could not touch, could not verify as fact and as real, Arnav was very close to swearing that for a second time in many, many years, he had felt his mother with him. In that very room. Could feel the exuberance, not unlike his sister's, bubbling off of her as he watched her son throw open the doors into his heart wider than they had ever been, the hinges rusted and creaking with disuse. Her happiness as he vowed to keep each promise he made to the object of his own happiness.

Arnav wondered whether he was simply being whimsical. That solution did not please him too much.

But he did not get enough time to turn the reason behind his displeasure over in his head, because at that precise moment, Khushi squealed. His mind, not thoroughly recovered from the frantic, feverish effort of offloading the weights he had lugged along with him for so long, went into overdrive. He found himself dashing to her side.

'Khushi! What happened? Are you hurt?'

'No, no!' Khushi squeaked, with an expression just short of mortal terror on her face as she hopped up and down in place. Arnav felt his heart sink. What on earth could possibly have happened to make her react like this?

He grabbed both her shoulders in an attempt to restrain her, but before he could do anything else, he heard a flick and a whizz right next to his ear, catching a flash of something small and extremely fast through the corner of his eye. Khushi, evidently, saw it too because she screamed and ducked to his side, propelling him along with her as she clutched onto his arm in fright.

'What the-'

'Don't start your 'What the, What the' now! Make it go away!'

Arnav, thoroughly bewildered and hopelessly unable to keep up with the situation, asked, bafflement exuding from every syllable, 'Make what go away?

'That dragonfly! I hate them, I hate them!' She bounced with each word, eyes shut tight as though one look at it would turn her to stone.

'Dragonfly?' Arnav repeated disbelievingly, watching with one automatically quirked eyebrow his wife clinging to his arm for dear life, while attempting to shield herself behind him, 'Seriously?'

'What! Of course, seriously! Make it go away, please, please!'

Something, something very much like a glowing, hot ball of molten glass coagulating and expanding and smouldering began to ascend slowly through him, his blood beginning to rush, warm, through his veins, as the absurdity, the heart-melting absurdity, of the situation sank through to him. Here was his wife, her feet barely landing on the ground as she bounded up and down in fright because of something as harmless as a dragonfly, nearly cutting off the blood circulation in his arm as she squeezed it hard with both her tiny little hands, pleading with him for something so trivial when he was prepared to bring the world down to her feet.

He grinned. These moments, the normal ones, the not so normal ones, the quirks of life- the sudden burst of colours, of hues, of brightness which had flooded his grey, drab, dreary existence- he was looking forward to them, looking forward to the engraving of each and every moment impeccably, meticulously, on the previously blank slabs of his life. Looking forward to the crazy antics of his lovably crazy wife.

It was also slightly odd, surprising even, that he had the presence of mind to think all that while Khushi was basically clutching him to herself, which of course was not doing his personal dhak dhak any good. He could hear it pounding loudly against his eardrums.

'Khushi, stop jumping,' the composure and the slight trace of firmness he injected into his voice belied his raging blood pressure, while successfully bringing Khushi to a standstill. But she still refused to open her eyes, biting her lip so hard Arnav was suddenly afraid she would draw blood. Listening intently, he zeroed into the series of sharp flicks and clicks denoting the dragonfly's location in the room.

'Where are you going?' she whimpered in panic, as he made to move towards the window, where he could spot a flash of bronze of zipping haphazardly, flitting straight into the glass repeatedly as though hoping for an opening through which it could escape. Trying hard to ignore the uproarious rhythm his heart picked up at her words, Arnav answered, 'To get rid of it of course. Not that it needs any encouragement- I think all that screaming you're doing has made it rethink its decision of coming in here in the first place.

Khushi quickly relinquished her hold, her eyes snapping open in time to catch the mischievous grin he threw in her direction before staging a whole extravagant performance of sauntering leisurely over to the glass door, sliding it open an inch, waiting with an almost bored look on his face for the dragonfly to realise that it could now leave, and then sliding it shut again. Once done with that, he turned on Khushi, arms folded, eyebrow hitched upward expectantly, as though waiting for the applause.

Khushi on the other hand had flushed an almost angry red in embarrassment, clearly having overcome her terror long enough to realise what a scene she had just made, and in front of whom. Her lower lip had already jutted out into that adorable pout that he loved so much.

'Thank you,' she muttered sullenly as he strode back towards her. He failed miserably to suppress his smirk.

'You're welcome,' he replied, smugly. Apparently, Khushi caught onto the smugness in his tone, because having averted eyes from him so far, she jerked them back to look him straight in the face, an angry glint flashing in them. It was the same challenging fight, the same fiery spirit, that had singed its way through all the walls he had propped about himself. A tongue of flame leaped in delight from the ball of fire burning inside him.

'Don't look so happy about it!' she warned, flushing even more crimson.

'Hmm,' Arnav responded, unfolding his arms and sticking them casually into his now-empty pockets. He felt a slight smile tug his lips as he watched his mother's bangles wink at him from Khushi's wrist as she stood with both her hands on her hips, her letter clutched in one fist, 'I didn't know you were scared of dragonflies.'

'Well, they are worth being scared of!' Khushi huffed, as she in turn crossed her arms in defiance.

'Really? I never thought so,' Arnav observed conversationally, half his mind wondering at how unpredictably the atmosphere and its matching set of emotions could switch when he was with Khushi, 'It only came out because of the rain, you know...and then, you did leave the door open.'

Khushi's mouth dropped open for a moment before she caught herself and looked accusingly in his direction. Thinking better of retorting though, she latched onto his former argument.

'Well, they are scary! Have you seen them? They are like little pieces of rock flying through the air! Even the noise they make,' she shuddered, 'like they're drilling through something. It's like if they get close to you, they'll drill through you! And then the way they move- one minute they're there, next minute they're somewhere else, next minute they're right in front of your eye! It's unnatural!'

'Hmm,' Arnav hummed contemplatively again, gazing into the earnest little face of his wife, aglow in excitement, 'So they're like you, in a way.'

This time Khushi didn't bother when her mouth gaped open. 'What?' she almost shrieked, 'Like me?'

'Yes,' Arnav couldn't keep the smile out of his voice, which threatened to turn into a chuckle as he looked fondly at his visibly affronted wife, 'You're like a dragonfly too- I don't mean that you sound like you're drilling something, or that you look like pieces of rock- I meant the way they move. One minute they're here, next minute there, next minute gone...'

Khushi mouthed wordlessly at him, obviously speechless.

'That's how I feel, anyway,' Arnav continued, enjoying the flabbergasted expression on Khushi's face. He could get used to this, he thought to himself, 'Because one minute you'll be next to me, next minute you'll have run off so fast I wouldn't even know, and before you know it, you're somewhere else entirely. I have to tell you, I really have my work cut out for me, staying on my toes all the time to keep up with you-'

'Hmph!' was all Khushi could manage before she stomped her way out of the room, her face flaming bright red.

Arnav chuckled. 'See what I mean?' he called out after her rapidly retreating figure.

***

"Hamare Chote ki bahu ke naam,

Waise to hum ye kangan aapko khud hi pehnane waale hain.

Par aapko ek raaz ki baat bataani hai, isiliye likh rahe hain. Dhyaan rakhiyega. Aur savdhaan rahiyega.

Hamare chote ki naak pe bahut saara gussa rehta hai. Aur dil mein...dil mein bahut saara pyaar.

Gussa bardasht karna. Aur pyar'pyar sood samet lautana".

Khushi re-read those words again and again and again. Drinking them in, letting them flow through her. Imbued in those words, she lay back, staring at the ceiling (the starless ceiling, something reminded her), and pondered at the curious blend of emotions she was feeling. It was all too much, far too much to stomach. And Khushi, unable to keep the assailing tides beating against the crumbling dam of control, had finally admitted that she could hold out no longer and had barricaded herself in her usual hideout. Now, tucked in once again in the comfort of the bed in the guestroom, Khushi had let the floodgate open, and had stood waiting as the gushing stream fluted down, several mingling voices speaking a language of their own as they descended to greet her.

Khushi raised the letter again, allowing her eyes, already moist with tears, to trail over the words once again. She had never felt this way before in her entire life- the unshakeable conviction of knowing someone, knowing someone well, even though she knew that she had never met them ever before.

Then why did she feel as though someone was laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, or caressing her face, or stroking her hair affectionately as she heard a familiar voice whisper?

Waise to hum ye kangan aapko khud hi pehnane waale hain'

She felt the tears slide down once again from the corners of her eyes, felt them leave a trail of wetness as they curved their way around her cheeks, beneath her earlobes, before finally sinking into her hair, sprawled against the pillow her head lay against. She realised that the curious twinge that was knotting itself inside her was regret. Regret that the writer of those words had been unable to fulfil their promise. Almost disappointment that the bangles she now wore had not been bequeathed to her by the woman whose imprint lay on them still.

It was strange. The mangalsutra that she wore around her neck had been another symbol of the marriage she had been forced into, and it had taken her a long, long time to get used to the unnatural weight. It had felt, uncomfortably, unpleasantly, as though something had been weighing her down, pulling her closer and closer into the earth until it would gape open and swallow her whole. It was a weight she had felt apprehensive, fearful, in bearing, as though it wasn't for her to bear, as though she was trespassing on rights that did not belong to her. And now...not only was she not shrinking away from the small black beads nestling about her neck, so light they could have been globules of air, but the heavy, intricately carved gold bracelets now adorning her previously unadorned wrists felt as natural against her skin as though she had been wearing them for a lifetime.

It was with a sudden jolt that it occurred to Khushi that it was the same sort of sentiment that she attached to her mother's anklets- they were an irrefutable part of who she was. Reminding her constantly of her mother's warm, loving presence in her life. Except now, as the bracelets twinkled affectionately at her, Khushi felt the little pebble that had wedged itself resolutely inside her throat expand as she registered another warm, loving presence in her life, as gentle and as affectionate as her mother's. It was with an unusual certainty that Khushi acknowledged how those heavy kangan weighed next to nothing on her arms. Curiously as though she had a right over them.

Par aapko ek raaz ki baat bataani hai, isiliye likh rahe hain. Dhyaan rakhiyega. Aur savdhaan rahiyega'

A laughing voice. A teasing voice, whispering confidentially, belying the warning it bore. Reminding Khushi of Di. Another little factor in Khushi's life that had turned out to be more mutable than she had given it credit for. All these days, Khushi had striven to call her sister-in-law Anjaliji. She had called Nani, Nani, called Mamaji, Mamaji, Mamiji, Mamiji, long before she had been married into the family. The only change of address which had come about as a direct consequence of her wedding had been with Di. And she could not call her that. Whenever Di reminded her, reprimanded her, corrected her when she called her Anjaliji with that sweet little smile and that same laughing voice and sparkling eyes Khushi pictured the writer of the letter having, it had lashed against her bruises. How could she stake a claim on the person she had been accused of wanting to destroy? How could she forget that that marriage had been nothing worse than fake, and that forewarning herself each time to say 'Anjaliji' had been a reminder of that fact, a stern reminder not to be fooled by the illusion of married life?

And today, all the effort that had gone into schooling her reflexes had evaporated- and the word 'Di' had slipped out so naturally she could as easily have been speaking about Jiji. Di, who had grown to mean no less to her than her Jiji.

Hamare chote ki naak pe bahut saara gussa rehta hai'

Khushi agreed with that fervently. It was a warning she wished someone had thought to give her before she had met him. His anger could rage worse than any thunderstorm on earth, could make her cower in fright, could make her blood freeze and her heart stop. His anger could make her question the point of her own existence, could make her want to curl up and disappear and never return again.

It did not occur to her, however, that she did not appear to mind having met him in the first place.

Aur dil mein...dil mein bahut saara pyaar.

That was what had stopped Khushi short. That was what had brought her, and the frantic trains of her thoughts, to a complete stop. In the ensuing silence that pervaded her senses, Khushi allowed the words to float, to float and take form as they drifted about, like pieces in a puzzle searching for their place. Except Khushi was not altogether sure whether they were pieces from the same puzzle, whether there was any surety that they would settle into place.

But the issue here was- Khushi could not doubt those words. She could not deny them. Everything he had been saying to her, everything that impugned everything else he had said to her that would echo for hours in her head as she fought to sleep- that, she could doubt. Everything that her heart clamoured to tell her while her mind coldly informed it of its previous dearth of judgment- that, she could doubt. But this letter'

This was someone who ought to know. This was someone who would know. There was an uncanny conviction, an inflexible assurance in those words- Khushi could feel it in her gut, did not know how, but she did- they were not a claim, they were fact.

His mother, after all, would hardly be mistaken when it came to her son.

Just like her mother, watching her from the heavens, guarding her with her father by her side, ever present. Watching her every move, hearing her every thought, familiar with her every sentiment. Just as she was sure, whether he believed it or not, that his mother was also up there somewhere, watching him.

Khushi could feel the love that Maa had for her son pouring out of the letters traced by her hand. Could feel the dreams she must have dreamt for her son's future as she wrote that letter, smiling at the prospect.

Aur dil mein...dil mein bahut saara pyaar'

All my anger, all my wrath, all my hate...you broke through all of it Khushi, and here I am, hopelessly, helplessly in love with you! ... I can't hurt you anymore, Khushi, because when you're hurt it rips me apart! And sooner or later you will see...you'll have to see...that it's true. That I can't- survive- without you. Until then...this pain, this guilt, this regret, your suspicions, your distrust...I'll bear it all silently, as punishment for every horrendous thing I have done to you...I know I deserve so much more but I can't let you go...

Khushi was exhausted- exhausted from the effort of trying to reel back thoughts which she had feared would only reopen old wounds but now she was no longer sure. She was tired of holding onto reins that were slipping out of her hold every passing minute, chafing against the skin of her hands. So she just let go. She set her thoughts free, and they galloped forward at deafening speed, overcoming the weak barriers of warning, of insecurity, everything else receding into a blur, taking Khushi along with them, feeling refreshing wind wash over her, through her hair, whistling in her ears. As she gathered speed, she felt herself break lose, not knowing what from, but hurtling towards infinity, towards freedom, towards something she knew with unquestionable certainty would bring her exactly where she wanted to be. Feeling perspective, its edges sharpened to degrees it had never seen before, appear before her with a flourish. And then...there was the thrill, the exhilaration, feelings she had been acquainted with before but had now been magnified to a pitch greater than ever before, ripping through her, as she saw things she had refused to see...

She believed him.

Because how could she not? How could she not after she had seen the exposed vulnerability in his eyes...today, last night after bringing the skies of heaven down for her, yesterday morning when her finger got burnt in the kitchen, that evening when he had sobbed himself to sleep on her lap, sobbed for himself and for her? A vulnerability that had been hidden under an armour of steel, of cruelty and coldness and apathy, an armour that he had discarded completely? How could she not believe after seeing those tears, tears that flowed freely, tears he did not attempt to check, attempt to hide? How could she not believe after she had felt the pain he had felt, hearing it in the tremor of his voice, seen it burning like a furnace in his eyes- eyes which had abandoned all pretence, had pushed back the drapes which had kept her away and now gripped her each time to lure her into their deepness?

He loved her.

She believed him. Believed that he meant it.

dil mein bahut saara pyaar'

She could find no other explanation for the things he did, for the things he said, transcending boundaries of what she had thought him capable of. Those stars on the ceiling- there was no reason, no obligation on earth that could have pushed him to spend hours, as Hari Prakashji had informed her in excruciating detail, unaware of the storm kicking up around Khushi's heart, recreating the night sky that Khushi sought solace in on that ceiling, with his own hands, refusing to call in professional help, refusing to even let Hari Prakashji join in with his efforts, refusing to settle for just any old string of fairy-lights, just because...

This way you won't be in the dark and you'll feel closer to my in-laws...

She felt a gasp catch painfully in her throat, her eyes watery once more. In- laws, he had said. He'd called her parents, her parents seated alongside the stars overlooking her world, his in-laws. Staking a claim on them just as he staked a claim on her. Bringing her closer to them, dispelling the darkness that she had pitched herself into.

She had accused him once of not knowing what it was like to be happy in someone else's joy, a loved one's joy . Today she knew she was wrong. A dozen tiny, sharp pins of remorse perforated her aching heart as she remembered her own words and realised how wrong she had been. The peace in his voice when he had pulled her under the canopy of stars that were to chase away her fear and her loneliness, the small smile with which he had shielded her from the torrent of rain while exposing himself to its onslaught, that look, that drugged, burning look with which he had arrested all her attempts to move while he warded off the evil eye with her kajal, the gladness, the unmistakeable gladness that sparked in his eyes every time their gazes locked with each other...all so crystal clear, so stark and plain and bare all of a sudden, the curtains that she had struggled to keep closed to fend off the rioting winds finally blown aside...he knew, he knew exactly what deriving happiness from someone else's happiness was, and he was now deriving his joy from hers.

Khushi felt something large heave decisively in her stomach, like triggering off a landslide. Her heart sang out to her as restlessness grasped her tightly. She felt the urgent need to run. To twirl and sing.

She knew now that it was not just  regret, the urgent need to repent, that had made him act the way he had been acting all this time. There was another, more compelling, more overpowering reason, a reason, that crashed bodily into her and rinsed out the shabby excuses she had been making as she refused to consider possibilities, a reason that somehow made sense of all those things he would do and say that had baffled her before...

Dhak dhak. Dhak dhak. Dhak dhak.

But then, that did not mean... that the wounds he had meted out to her so cold-bloodedly would just heal and disappear. He had hurt her, and that was a fact.

And yet the way she used to see those bruises- reproachfully, miserably, warily- seemed to have changed altogether.

It felt, strangely, as though something had gently drawn her through a looking glass, as though it was nothing but a film of water, and Khushi had stumbled through her own reflection to the other side. Now, as she turned about, she found herself still standing in front of a mirror, but the view had changed. She no longer saw the reflection of her world- she saw her world as it was. She saw it through the eyes of someone peeping through the window that the mirror opened into it. Not a manifestation of her life, but her life itself. So clearly.

She finally knew why he hurt her. Why, even before the whole fiasco with Shyam Manohar Jha had happened, he never left an opportunity to strike her where it hurt the most.

It was the same reason she used to use up the whole stock of rations in Buaji's house churning out jalebis. The same reason she coaxed herself into believing that she had acidity, the same reason she came up with colourful names for a man she told herself she could not stand, the same reason she convinced herself that he was out to get her using black magic...

A refusal to believe. A complete, point-blank refusal to believe that someone, someone whose ideals and priorities in life were diametrically opposed to hers, someone whose realm was so staunchly separated from hers, could affect her so much.

Could matter so much.

Just as she, unknowingly, affected him. Mattered to him.

The thoughts sat awkwardly in the little waiting-room in the stations of Khushi's mind. They were like foreigners travelling to a new land, where they did not understand the language, the customs, the ways. And yet they were there, and sooner or later they would learn to fit in.

I can't hurt you anymore, Khushi, because when you're hurt it rips me apart!

She believed it. Believed that he meant every word, every syllable. She could see it. She had seen it, the blind fear, the uninhibited panic in his eyes before when he had feared she was hurt...that night when he had caught her on the street buying channa and shouted at the top of his lungs, shouted words she had doubted before but could not possibly doubt now...

What if I'd lost you?

Dhak dhak. Dhak dhak. Dhak dhak.

He'd chased after an ambulance thinking she was in it, not stopping to wait, to think, abandoning that methodical coolness, that stony detachment. He had screamed himself hoarse at her when that match burnt her finger, as though he had been the one scorched, not she. The unrestrained terror as he caught her up today, his voice raised in anger...Anger that was not anger. Anger that was fear. Anger that was pain.

She believed it. She could see it. Because she had felt it too.

Khushi felt an aftershock of the spasms that had rocked through her the minute she had seen the gash against his flesh, the blood...the sheer thought of the pain it must have caused him, ripping through his skin, and it had strangled her heart, her windpipe constricting, as though the glass had slashed against her, repeatedly...

The same pain that she had felt she had recognised in his eyes. And she had remembered that terror, that same terror disguised under wrath and venom, every other time when she had been close to getting hurt...in the mandir when he had bandaged her finger, or when he had found her curled up, tired and cold and frightened in the crumbling guesthouse, or when that broken piece of her bangle had lodged into her flesh...

Gussa bardasht karna'

She had stomached his anger each time'anger which, it turned out, had not been directed at her, but at himself, tearing him each time it tore her. She was not saying that he was right. She was not saying that all the pain he had subjected her to was right. She could not forget, could not forget those moments of unparalleled torture, uncontrollable tears, unbridled pain that she had had to endure'

But he had been hurt by them too. She could see it now. Just as the thought of hurting him caused her pain. And he was atoning for them. Taking each and every one of her misgivings, each and every one of her grievances, and warping it around, patching it up, so immaculately that any attempt to protest would be a feeble one. And then there were those other moments of anger which had flared between them, when she had, curiously, not felt threatened, had come away more confused than injured'like when she had claimed to abhor those bangles that she adored, just to hear him admit that he had bought them for her'the way the two of them had sparred by the poolside then'and then when she had called him Laad Governor and he had called her a halvai' harmless, pointless arguments that managed to bring them together each time they tried to part ways'how moments fraught with tension could be suddenly switched to something else, whether it was because of a sneeze, or thunder, or a dragonfly...

...hopelessly, helplessly in love with you'

He loved her'he loved her' he loved her'he loved her'

Khushi sat upright, quick as a flash, one hand tightly fisted above her racing, pounding heart, thudding intermittently, singing a new song, a new rhythm that Khushi had never heard before, or merely did not recognise. A strange exhilaration possessed all her senses, strumming on the cords of her being, taut with an alien excitement, the butterflies in her stomach spiralling around and about at blinding speeds, enfolding her in a raging whirlpool of flurrying colour.

But that brought with it a truckload of new questions, new uncertainties. Because her heart had flown far, far ahead, catapulting out towards the closed door at the end of the now brightly lit corridor, without waiting for her mind to catch up. Her trains of thought scrambled all over the crisscrossing tracks trying to keep up, trying to decode why her heart was plummeting forth while leaving her standing, quite clueless, behind.

He loved her...now what? Now what?

Avenues and alleyways that Khushi had never tread along consciously before suddenly opened up in front of her, blossoming into sight. Roads that led to...

Khushi felt her breathing come in quick short spurts, could feel her dhak dhak spiral madly, could feel her acidity get ten times worse. A new brand of hope shimmered and took form just within her horizon, reaching out one hand with a promise that was just within her arm's reach...a promise that she could not completely grip but it aggravated the fidgeting, fluttering butterflies flooding her stomach, a promise that a part of her wanted so badly to snatch but the other part, confused, hesitant, held it back.

Now what? Her thoughts had been thrust into mayhem- there had been times when faint suggestions, vague indications, had given her a moment's disquiet, a moment's nervous anticipation, an unlabelled joy, which she had simply chosen to overlook, postpone thinking about or ascribed to hyperacidity, but she had never, never before had to face the possibilities, the plain-as-day possibilities, the unquestionable, unalterable possibilities, that faced her at this moment. And she did not know what to do. What to think.

Automatically, instinctively, Khushi's eyes snapped to the letter she clutched in her hands. A certain line, as though carved into stone, stood out more clearly than anything else:

Aur pyar'pyar sood samet lautana...

***

'Jiji.'

'Hm?'

Silence.

'What?' Payal nudged Khushi on the back of her shoulder with the end of her hairbrush. They were both in the dining-room, which at the moment was empty. Everyone, still rather full from the late lunch they had had, had opted to have dinner a bit later. Snatches of conversation drifted towards them from the living-room.

Khushi was seated sideways in one the chairs, her back to Payal, who was standing behind her and busily running a brush through her sister's luxuriously long, silky hair, just as she had used to sometimes, before they had both gotten married. It was a calming exercise for both of them; it reminded them that marriage had not severed their ties with their mayka, a reminder that some things, such as the bond they shared with each other, would never change. It was one of the tiny, inconsequential ways Payal showed her affection for her younger, lovable little Khushi, one reason why she randomly asked whether Khushi would like to have her hair done. And Khushi had agreed instantaneously. Because from these same moments, Khushi drew comfort, the comfort of familiarity that had been sorely lacking while Jiji had been away. She revelled in the familiar feel of her sister's fingers combing through her hair as she laid her brush on the table, and began to expertly braid it. It was one of those mundane things that she and Jiji did together, a silent manifestation of their relationship and its love.

'Khushi!' Payal said again, this time prodding Khushi with her finger, 'What?'

Payal couldn't see that Khushi was too busy chewing her lower lip, her fists clasping and unclasping on her lap, as she debated fiercely whether she wanted to go ahead with the question she wanted to ask.

'Um- actually-,' she started without an inkling of what she would say next, stalling wildly.

'Actually?' Payal prodded, exasperation creeping into her voice, 'Khushi, say what you want to say!'

Khushi closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She might as well get it over with. And this was Jiji- is wasn't as though Jiji was not used to her asking random questions...

'Jiji, how do you know if you're in love?'

Khushi felt her Jiji's hands still as she made to loop the last strands of her hair over each other. She closed her eyes tightly, her fingernails digging into the flesh of her palm as she fought the urge to clamp one tightly to restrain her overactive heartbeat, waiting to gauge Jiji's reaction.

'What?' Payal replied, laughingly, 'You want to know- how to know if you're in love?'

Khushi breathed a small sigh of relief. At least she was taking it as something that could be laughed about. At least she was not bombarding her with questions about her marriage and whether she was happy and how and why everything had happened so fast all over again...Khushi was not sure when, what with the new, unknown emotions she was harbouring within her, she might let her guard slip and say something to Jiji about the actual circumstances of her marriage, her motive for going along with it in the first place. Back then, everything she had chosen to bear had been in the name of saving Jiji's rishta. Now however...Khushi sternly told herself to get a grip before letting her thoughts run off again.

Payal tied up the end of her braid before coming round to sit in front Khushi. She had a naughty glint in her eye, a smile on her face.

'So,' she said, as she folded her arms and surveyed her sister fondly, 'Why do you suddenly want to know that? I thought you already knew? I mean, what with Jethji so openly showing his affection for you in front of the whole family like that...'

Khushi felt herself burn scarlet. Of course- that kiss on the cheek, and then the way he had picked her up from the hospital and driven straight home, had not even returned to work afterwards, storm or no storm, must have convinced anyone with any doubt about their relationship that they were indeed a happily married couple. The phrase 'happily married couple' caused her to blush even harder, until she was almost convinced that Jiji would catch steam billowing from her ears.

And then there was the way he openly stared at her, gazed at her, had picked up a habit of turning up wherever she was in the house, ever since that day that Jiji had returned, no matter who happened to be in the room with them...

But she was glad. She was glad that that was the meaning Jiji had read into the whole thing. It meant she would not have to keep lying through her teeth to convince her that her marriage had been a...Khushi flinched inwardly. Suddenly the word 'lie' seemed far too strong, far too crude.

She shook off the feeling and pouted at Jiji instead.

'Oh come on Jiji! I'm asking about how a person, any person, can tell whether they're in love or not! How do you know? It's not like an alarm bell starts ringing in your ear all of a sudden or people start singing and dancing in the street like they do in the movies or you start imagining the person day and night wherever you go...' she prattled away anything that was coming to her head, hoping her nonsense would distract Jiji further. She did not want to be pushed into considering exactly why she was asking that question, the deadly earnestness that she was hoping to hide behind her frivolous words, her burning curiosity, need, to know, 'So I was just wondering, is there any kind of test by which you can tell? Like you know- you can tell by pressing one grain of rice if the whole pot is done?'

Payal looked indulgently into the glowing, inquisitive face staring intently at her, waiting for an answer. This was the Khushi that she had been searching for, the Khushi who had seemed rather too subdued, rather too quiet, rather too- not herself, since she had come back. Now she released a deep breath, smiling at her younger sister.

'Well, Madam Parmeswari, I thought you would now that better than me,' she ribbed her, tongue-in-cheek, 'after spending most of the morning and almost all afternoon with your husband I thought you would-'

'Jiji, if you don't want to answer, fine,' Khushi huffed, pursing her lips tightly in the hope that it would mar some of the messages the blood gushing into her cheeks was sending off, 'I'll go and ask Jeeju.'

That promptly stopped Payal short and she shot Khushi a reproachful look at made her giggle.

'What?' Khushi asked this time, trying to keep a grin from materialising on her face.

Payal continued to look disapproving. Khushi, on impulse, surprising herself through her own spontaneously playful act, the type of thing she would have done on any other normal day a month ago, shot both her arms out- and started pulling Payal's cheeks.

'Ow! Khushi!' she swatted at her arms.

'Come on, Jiji, this stern look doesn't suit you at all...what if Jeeju comes in and sees you looking like that? He'll get scared, na? So you should always keep smiling because you look the prettiest when you smile,' and with the Khushi started trying to push up the corners of her Jiji's mouth.

Payal couldn't help it and started to giggle along with her, pushing off Khushi's hands before lunging for her and pinching her cheeks in turn.

'Ouch!' Khushi squealed, her hands shooting up to her face, before flashing a doleful look at Payal. In unison, they both burst out laughing.

Khushi luxuriated in that sensation. The laughter that rang out naturally, without effort, with abandon, over something so silly, so absurd, it tickled her even more. With every peal she felt herself get lighter, felt the cobwebs that had settled into the clefts that used to be filled with that sound, disused and derelict, being shaken out. She relished in it- in the way her face heated up from the effort of laughing, the way she fell short of breath, the way her stomach started to hurt and her ribs felt as though they would break as she struggled to suppress her senseless, pointless, contagious laughter that had caught her Jiji in its clutches too.

This was the first time in so very long that Khushi had laughed this hard, this effortlessly, this genuinely, this spontaneously.

When the hysteria finally subsided, and both of them, breathless, managed to calm down somewhat, Khushi managed to broach the subject again. 'No, but seriously Jiji...how do people know if they're in love?'

'Khushi, remember you told me yourself how you'd know- the stars would shine brighter, flowers would be all over the place, there would be the sound of celebration everywhere...remember?'

Khushi felt her heartbeat pick up a little faster. Oh yes, she remembered all right. She remembered very clearly and remembered also the wild dream that she had managed to have in this very house, in the middle of the day, with her eyes wide open. Twirling as fairy lights twinkled about her and a shower of gorgeous scented petals tumbled over her, twirling in glee, all the while watched by a smiling-

She stopped herself short.

'But Jiji,' Khushi protested reasonably, her tone countering the agitation that was threatening to tip her over, 'you know that that's not really possible, unless of course you're falling in love in a Bollywood film! I mean, walking down the street on a normal day do you suddenly see stars popping up in the middle of the day or flowers raining from the sky? And I'm sure, what with all these people in Delhi that every minute someone or the other standing in a street falls in love, or realises they are in love. I just want to know how they know. Because-' she hesitated, and then ploughed on, 'because you were in love with Jeeju and I had no idea...'

Payal's expression softened and one hand reached out to cup Khushi's earnest little face. 'Khushi, you're not blaming yourself again for something, are you? Look, please don't...I mean I wouldn't be married to your Jeeju if it wasn't for you and Jethji...'

The more sinister implications of that fact, of which Payal was wholly unaware, threatened to cloud Khushi's purpose and she hurried on, 'Uffo, Jiji, no! It's not like that at all...I was just curious...how did you know Jeeju was the one?'

Payal seemed to deliberate for a moment before answering, 'I don't know...you just...know...' catching the look of disappointment on Khushi's face though, she sat up briskly, suddenly serious, suddenly concerned, and asked, 'Why? Is something the matter with you and Jethji? Are you not happy with him?'

Khushi rushed to reassure her before stopping to think, 'No, Jiji, it's nothing like that...don't get carried away. You know me...I was just wondering, that's all. So many people these days think they're in love and before you know it they've found someone else. Look at Salman- first Aishwariya and then Katrina...'

Payal scrutinised Khushi for a long minute before she leant back in her chair, apparently convinced. Khushi wondered for a fraction of a second what she had seen in her expression to appease her.

Because for the first time in so many days she did not have to fight to keep it impassive. Did not have to force a smile on her face. Did not have to try to look cheerful when she was anything but cheerful.

She didn't get to think too closely into that though, because at that moment, Payal mused out loud, her tone thoughtful, 'I suppose...you know you love someone...I mean really love someone...when they don't just become a habit. Because habits can be broken, habits can be forgotten, over time. Like that Abhisekh...I wouldn't say I ever loved him. But I got into the habit of thinking of him as my future husband, someone I would grow to love...but now that I look back, I don't feel anything- no regret, no sorrow, that that shaadi didn't happen. In fact, I'm glad that it didn't, because then I would not have met your Jeeju. No...I think when you fall in love with someone, that person becomes a necessity...that person becomes necessary for you to live, for you survive. That's what it feels like, anyway.'

I can't- survive- without you. Until then...this pain, this guilt, this regret, your suspicions, your distrust...I'll bear it all silently, as punishment for every horrendous thing I have done to you...I know I deserve so much more but I can't let you go...

...I also know that I can't breathe when you are away, I can't sleep when I think you might leave me...

...What if I'd lost you...?!

The sudden, sharp pain as the memory of the glass shard that had slit his palm caught her unawares made her gasp. Khushi could not breathe.

***

Arnav had not seen Khushi since the dragonfly incident, although he had a fairly good idea of where she was most likely to be. After all, the guestroom was one such place in the house that people did not frequent too often, a place where she could be quite sure of being left alone. And he knew that she needed to be alone right now, to process everything- everything that had been happening between them since the moment she had woken up to find herself curled up in his arms on her mattress on the floor. He could imagine exactly how she must have felt, watching life change so rapidly around her, leaving her dizzy and disoriented, lost. Because he felt much the same way when, a couple of evenings ago, he had discovered the kind of lie he had been living.

That knowledge, however, that Khushi needed some time to let everything he had confessed wholeheartedly imprint themselves as fact in her heart and soul, did not make it any easier for him not to go after her. He had had to summon every bit of his self control not to follow her out of the room after she had stormed off earlier, not to go looking for her in the guestroom, and now, seated in the living-room with his Blackberry and trying to answer his pending emails, fight not to follow the tune of her musical laughter into the dining-room.

It was not the first time he had heard her laugh over the past few days. But it was the first time he had heard her laugh so effortlessly, with such abandon. Hearing her laugh so hard and so easily for the first time in what felt like ages, he felt suddenly more peaceful. His nerves, which had been worked up to a frenzy from the conversation he had just had with his Di, found some little respite. Calmer now, he slowly retrieved the words they had shared in Di's room from his bustling memory bank, to examine them critically, objectively.

'Di, Khushi was saying that the doctor-'

'Of course Chote, Khushi would have to be the one saying it, because nowadays you don't seem to be able to listen to anyone else.'

'Di.' Stern, dictatorial.

'Chote.' Mock-disapproving, strained from trying to stifle laughter.

And her Chote had cracked a rare smile- a rare smile that was becoming more and more common these days. Di smiled beatifically up at him, not saying a thing. After a few moments, Arnav had raised an eyebrow questioningly. Di shook her head.

'Nothing. I'm just- so glad- to see you so happy after so long! Devi Maiyya knows, you deserve it, and it's been a long time coming...and we have Khushi to thank for it. That girl has made the impossible happen.'

Arnav did not say anything. But he was mentally nodding his head vigorously in fervent agreement. Yes, they did have Khushi to thank for it. Because, he realised, he was genuinely happy. Not merely just content or satisfied or pleased. But happy. To be with her. To be with his family that he had unwittingly kept away from himself. To be with his mother again. Happy. And just short of being overjoyed.

Di continued, suddenly more solemn, 'I was worried you know...very worried at a point. Khushi never says...she would never say if she were unhappy. And ever since she got married into the family she never said or did anything that would make you think she wasn't happy here. She would always be laughing and joking and being as sweet as she always is. But there was something a little different- a little jaded. Like a light that had been dimmed. She always looked so weary, and sometimes, when she was alone, she would just look sad, and a little lost. And then you were spending more and more time at work...'

Arnav stomached that with difficulty. It was a fresh reminder of his own folly, and regret renewed into weightier blows. He had to admire Khushi's tenacity; it was- awe-inspiring. While he had succumbed to his foul moods and ruthless anger, she had continued to live as though nothing had happened, to convince his family that everything was fine and dandy. He had lacked that kind of strength, the strength that came from the truth, from being right, and had ended up hiding, while she held her head up, putting on a brave face for the sake of those she loved.

But even through that misery, Arnav had to admit- just by doing that Khushi had made him fall in love with her even more than he already was.

Di's sigh of relief brought him out of his thoughts. 'But now, I'm happy. She must have been missing her family a lot- what with Shashiji's recovery and Payal coming back, she seems to be so much happier, brighter, a lot more like her old self...and you too, Chote. I've never seen you this relaxed, this- playful- since so very long ago. I feel I can finally breathe freely again...'

They had relapsed into a companionable silence for a while. Arnav occupied himself by flipping through Di's medical files.

'Di, I was saying...' he started again after a suitable pause, 'Khushi told me that the doctor advised bringing- uh- bringing Jeejaji along for the check-ups-'

'Yes, she did say that,' Di acquiesced, nodding, 'but I don't really need him to come along you know. No need to worry him when I can manage on my own. And then Khushi's there; you can count on it that she'd never leave me alone on any trip to the doctor's.'

Arnav knew that was true, but he pressed on, 'Yes, but Jeejaji has a duty to be with you at a time like this.'

'Chote, I'm only a month pregnant! Don't overreact, nothing's going to happen.'

'Di, I'm not overreacting. I just think that- anyway, have you told him about the check-up? He must at least want to know whether you're ok...or have you not told him that you went to see the doctor at all?'

'Chote, don't get so worked up over something so little. I've tried calling him, but his phone is switched off. He must be busy.'

'Switched off? He hasn't called you since he left and now his phone is switched off? Aren't you worried?'

Di answered, eerily unruffled, 'Chote, he is a grown man...he can look after himself. And he's been gone for days on end like this before. You know how he is, how his job is. And besides, if anything bad had happened, I'm sure we would have heard of it by now.'

Arnav felt that same disbelief, that haunting disbelief that he had felt as he gazed incredulously at his thoroughly relaxed sister, his uncharacteristically calm sister, grip him once more. Khushi was right. Something was most definitely wrong here.

Because it was not as though she had grown vague altogether. She was alert enough to note the nuances of change in Khushi, before and after, alert enough to note the changes in him; but she had failed, failed altogether, to note the change in her husband. Or even grasp the fact that that husband had currently gone missing.

Arnav jerked himself back into the present and began sifting urgently through his e-mails to find out if Aman or the private investigators had found anything new. With the knowledge at the back of his mind that the sooner he let Khushi know about the steps he had taken to keep Shyam away, the better.

I'm not sure about this...but isn't a fic supposed to be moved to the fanfic forum after crossing 15 pages?? :s 

Anyway...please, please comment and/or like? Please? :) 

I reserve all right over this work of fiction and request that readers do not copy/reproduce/modify it elsewhere and/or claim credit :)

-doe-eyes-2012-04-13 11:30:44