Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you everyone for your kind words and patience. I present the next chapter to you.

January, 2007

The sunlight was weak that particular day and the January chill had begun to be felt by the city folks of Kanpur. That afternoon, Shyam Manohar Jha arrived home from school to find his parents sitting in the drawing room with frown on their faces. He dropped his schoolbag on the chair and headed to the dining table where his food was already laid out, covered by a steel plate.

“She is one mad woman,” he began to pay attention to the conversation that had his parents so involved that they didn’t even ask him to change his uniform first and wash his hands before eating.

“Who brings home an orphan after all these years and calls it duty? Has she lost all sense? How is she going to raise a girl at this age?” His mother was saying.

His father's response was more restrained, but laced with bitterness.

“No, not mad. Calculated. That girl is her brother’s blood. If she has indeed adopted her formally, everything she owns will naturally pass to the child. She has done this to rob us off everything we could have gotten.”

A silence followed and Shyam wondered who was the girl in question.

“That house and the shop..how much is it worth?” asked his mother.

“It is worth plenty! Property prices are on the rise! And that sweet shop is right in the middle of the market. It is going to be worth lakhs of rupees in the near future” his father was saying.

“It is definitely a well-laid out plan by Madhumati, it seems” replied his mother.

“And the girl is barely thirteen! Who is going to take responsibility of that? Girls this age are nothing but a liability and it is only going to get worse” his father muttered.

But his mother then turned her eyes towards him. There was a new edge to her voice now as she looked at her son.

“Our Shyamu is not too old for her! I have seen the girl. She is frail but fair. Not too bad looking! Maybe, in the future, we can still secure everything” His mother was saying.

“Shyamu! Do you want to make a new friend?”

The direct question had Shyam straightening his back.

“You told me not to be friends with girls” he answered.

“Yes! But this girl is different. You go and meet her. Become her friend. She is new here and does not know anyone else” His mother said.

“All my schoolfriends are going to find out and laugh at me” Shyam replied.

“Don’t bother about your friends. You don’t have to tell them” his mother said while his father shook his head.

“That is not going to work! He is too foolish and too rowdy to be her friend. That girl barely speaks. I have seen her” he said.

“I can become her friend” Shyam answered confidently, feeling challenged.

“Good!” replied his mother and Shyam looked at the photograph hanging on one of the walls of the house. In the photograph, his mother stood beside Madhumati Gupta and his father stood beside Madhumati Gupta’s husband. The two men were cousins and their houses separated only a few feet away from each other. He addressed the couple as Kaka and Kaki as they were his uncle and aunt by relation and they were fond of him since they had no children of their own.

But now there was someone. And Shyam Manohar Jha was curious. A girl from an orphanage. He wondered what she could be like.

He found that out the next day when he went to visit the house.

The old radio was playing even older songs on the Sunday morning and Madhumati Kaki was making aloo parathas.

“Shyamu! I was thinking you might come! I have made extra parathas. You need to eat a lot and stay healthy for your Board exams” Madhumati Kaki greeted him. Behind her, he could see the girl wearing a red frock and helping in the kitchen.

“Khushi! Come meet Shyamu!” she said fondly to the girl and Shyam watched as the girl stepped forward, looking awkward and timid.

Shyam stood up, as he watched the pale, slender girl with thick braids swaying on both her shoulders.

And he snickered. She looked too small to be almost thirteen as his father had commented.

Frail definitely! There was no way his parents were bothered about this girl. She did not look like she could cause much trouble to anyone.

“Those braids look funny on you” he said with a wide grin and noticed the anger flare in her eyes. But it vanished quickly too.

“Now, don’t start bothering her already, Shyamu! You must be her friend. She needs some! Isn’t that right, Khushi?” Madhumati said, her voice still affectionate. The girl shook her head, refusing. And it pricked him. Who was she to say she did not want to be friends with him?

“Alright! At least say namaste to him” Madhumati tried again.

“Namaste, Shyamji” she finally spoke. He didn’t know about anything else but Shyam Manohar Jha realised the girl had a sweet voice.

“You should call me Shyam” he said, walking up to her. She turned and looked at Madhumati Kaki who had gone back to the parathas.

“You are elder than me! A lot” she said.

“No, I am not!” He retorted.

“Buaji just said you are going to appear for Board exams” she replied.

“Which class are you in?” He asked.

“I was in eighth standard! Buaji said I can continue the same class here. You are in 10th?” she said, her voice still hesitant.

“12th” he replied.

“Oh! I should call you Bhaiya. You are too elder” she said.

“I am not your Bhaiya. You can call me Shyamji” He said, feeling annoyed. If he was going to be friends with her, he cannot have her calling her Bhaiya.

“Okay” she said and began walking away.

“Khushiji!” He shouted and she turned back.

“That is what I will call you” He said and she did not answer, heading straight to the kitchen.

Shyam watched from the table as she followed his Kaki around. He was intrigued by her. It would be interesting to have her company, he thought.

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January 2009 (Two years later)

.

Coming home almost year later, lanes of the neighbourhood looked smaller than Shyam Manohar Jha remembered. Or perhaps it was just that his perspective after shifting to Allahabad for his law degree. Clutching a plastic bag in his hand, he walked towards Madhumati Kaki’s house with measured and unhurried steps. Inside the bag was a rather costly shawl, its beige threads woven with light blue borders—a gift for his Kaki, bought after much bargaining at a stall near Civil Lines. As he entered the courtyard in front of the house, he noticed her watering the Tulsi plant.

When she noticed him, her face broke into a smile. .

“Arey Shyamu! You came just like that? Without even sending word? How are you?” her voice rose with glee.

He bent down to touch her feet as he spoke, “Bas, I thought I would surprise you, Kaki. The train was late, and by the time I reached home, it was already afternoon. I had lunch with Amma and Babuji. Had some rest and then thought why not have the evening tea with Kaki” He said.

“You thought well, Shyamu! The tea is already on the stove. Come inside” Two of them walked inside and he settled into a chair.

“Seems like you are not eating well there! You look almost as thin as Khushi” Madhumati commented, saying out loud the name that was already spinning in his head. At the lunch table, his mother had expressed bitterly that Madhumati doted upon the adopted daughter too much and it was likely that she may leave everything in her name even before she dies of old age. His father had not said anything to that.

“Shyamu, if we are not careful, you will never inherit that house and shop! Is that what you want? These past years, it doesn’t seem like you have become her friend. So, try harder this time, okay?” Instead of agreeing, Shyam Manohar Jha had felt annoyed at his parents. Why must he try so hard to befriend her? Hadn’t he tried a lot before he left the city for higher education? The girl barely opened up! At best, he had a cordial relationship with her. It was apparent that she was not interested in friendship, just as she had said when she had met him the first time. Besides, Shyam Manohar Jha was now too busy charming Madhuri in his college. She was pretty and had a rich father. If things work out there, he can easily let this run-down house and shop let go. He was interested in frying the bigger fish, after all. However, he hadn’t said anything to his father and only nodded. He was here for a month. He can pretend until then.

He took a yawn and looked around the house.

“You know about hostel food, Kaki” He answered.

“Poor you! You must eat at least one meal with us as long as you are here” she said.

“Ji Kaki” He laughed.

“Khushi! Bitiya, bring some tea and snacks for Shyamu” Madhumati called out.

“This is for you, Kaki” He extended the bag towards Madhumati whose face lit up.

“What was the need for this, Babua?” she said and began inspecting the shawl. Shyam leaned back, looking towards the kitchen door.

And Khushi walked in with a tray in her hands. He sat up without meaning to, struck by surprise and awe.

It was not the same girl who had folded her hands in front of him just two years back. She seemed like a young woman now. Dressed in a plain sea-green salwar-kameez, her hair tied back neatly, no longer in pigtails. There was beauty in her face and a grace in the way she moved. He looked at her slender wrists, holding the steel plate in her hands. There were two steel tumblers in plate and a bowl of mathris.

Her eyes were focused on the plate, on carrying it forward without spilling it. But, Shyam could only stare at her.

She had grown. So much!

“Namaste, Khushiji” He spoke, voice thick and she looked up. Almond shaped eyes, long eye lashes and hazel colour. As if all of that was not enough, she seemed to be glowing, her spotless skin shining.

“Namaste, Shyamji” she replied, looking down, at the tea-tumbler that she placed in front of you.

“Our Khushiji has grown a lot, Kaki! Almost unrecognizable,” he said aloud, recovering his voice.

Madhumati chuckled, taking her tea tumbler from Khushi.

“Oh barely! She is still a child. In high school this year! But yes, a little taller than since you saw her last” Madhumati replied.

“High School? That must be difficult for you, Khushiji” he remarked, making her shake her head.

“It is okay!” she answered.

“Our Khushi is very hard working, Shyamu! She excels in studies. Although, you can still help her with Maths, right, Khushi? Didn’t you say that was a little difficult?”

“I mean only if you are free in the evenings, Shyamu. She won’t ask, but it would be good to have someone to revise with” Madhumati continued.

Shyam noticed the way Khushi’s eyes flared.

“I will manage, Buaji” she replied.

“You don’t have to Khushiji! What am I here for? It would be a shame if I cannot spare some time out for Kaki and you” he replied.

She looked at him again, eyes assessing. He held her gaze, appreciating her perfect face. Even Madhuri did not have a face like that. She would be easily dulled in front of this luminous face. He needed to spend more time with Khushi. Maybe what his parents were suggesting was not that bad.

“I can come here every day at six in the evening. Is that okay, Kaki? We can chat a little and I can see what Khushiji is studying?” He slid his gaze to Madhumati who was trying to wipe her glasses with corner of her saree.

“You don’t have to, Shyamji! You are here for your holidays” Khushi’s sweet voice intervened again.

“What do I say, Shyamu? You two decide that. I am going to go and see what should be the dinner tonight! Thank you for the shawl” She said.

“I really don’t..” Khushi began again as Madhumati walked away towards the kitchen with both the steel tumblers and the steel plate.

“I insist, Khushiji! It would be nice to spend some time with you” he said.

At that, Khushi fell silent seemingly not sure what to say. He was delighted, even amused by the hesitation she was clearly harbouring.

“Okay” she said.

“Great! I will come at six tomorrow” He said and she nodded. He watched as she headed to her room. Her thin waist and her hips…he found himself unable to look away, feeling a stir of desire. But Madhumati Kaki was right. She was still in high school. He must wait. For now, he can spend time with Madhuri, enjoy her company. And when the time is right, he will charm Khushiji too.

With that decision in place, he began to come over to the house every evening until the entire month. He enjoyed Khushi’s timidness in his presence. He would notice how she behaved all normal with her Buaji until he walked in. Then, he demeanour would shift, more subdued. He liked that he brought that change in her. Maybe she too liked his presence, he told himself.

Things were going well, until one evening he walked into the house and overheard the conversation between his Khushiji and Madhumati Kaki. The duo were sitting in the hall where he normally sat down to teach Khushi, immersed in talking.

“Today is Arnav’s birthday” Khushi was saying.

Arnav who?

There was a pause. Shyam could almost hear the smile in Madhumati’s voice as she replied,

“Wherever he is, I am sure he is happy and well, bitiya! Some bonds never break. Even when people are far away, they stay connected to your heart. So is Arnav connected to yours!”

Khushiji remained quiet for a second before saying. “I still think about him. Every day! And, sometimes I wonder if he remembers me at all”

Shyam felt a bitter taste rise in his mouth upon hearing that. Who is this other man she is talking about?

“Aree,” Buaji chuckled. “How can he forget his best friend, huh? From everything that you have told me about him, there is no way he can forget you, bitiya. In fact, no one can forget you! Didn’t I find you after all these years? If fate brought you to me, fate can take you to him as well. And he is going to remember you” Madhumati answered, running a loving hand on Khushiji's head.

“Then why did he not come to see me, Buaji? I still think why did he not..”

“Life is strange, Khushi! Haven’t I told you that so many times? I am sure you two will meet again in future. Who knows? Maybe you go to Delhi for your college? Who knows you might find him there?” Buaji was smiling, trying to cheer Khushiji. Shyam's face recoiled at that.

“Delhi is too big! I don’t think I will find him there” Khushi replied, opening one of her books. But it was the trace of longing in her voice that made Shyam's gut twist too.

“Well,” Buaji said with renewed enthusiasm, “let us see what tomorrow brings. For now, be ready. Shyamu must be on his way for your lesson”

At that, Shyam found himself leaning closer. The lesson! The time they spent together. Surely, Khushiji appreciated it—even if she was too shy to say so. Even if this..Arnav boy was on her mind.

But her next words crushed that assumption entirely.

“He told me he is leaving in two days,” Khushiji said. “And honestly, I am glad. I do not like being tutored by him.”

There was a pause. Shyam’s heart beat faster—not from embarrassment, but a strange, simmering rage.

“Is he too strict?” Buaji asked gently.

Khushiji seemed to be hesitating. Then, in a whisper that still somehow cut through the evening air like a blade, she said, “No. He is just… weird. And too elder than me. I do not feel comfortable around him.”

Shyam’s breath caught. Uncomfortable?

“Oh, but he says such good things about you, ” Buaji offered, her voice tinged with surprise.

“I cannot wait to study on my own,” Khushiji muttered. “With peace.”

A dry taste coated Shyam's mouth at the insult and the dismissal. He was nothing compared to the boy who lived only in memory? Some Arnav—whose name she had spoken with the kind of fondness she had not shown him so far!

He stepped back into the shadows, his jaw clenched tight, a muscle ticking furiously in his cheek. So this was how she truly felt. So hesitant, so uncomfortable—and all for what? Some figment from an orphanage? A friend from a wretched life she has been rescued from?

His fists curled. Arnav. Whoever he was, Shyam Manohar Jha detested him already.

And Khushiji… sweet, silly Khushiji, blinded by sentiment, loyal to a ghost.

Well, he would change that. Soon.

He would become the one she thought about. The one she turned to. He would make sure of it. With that vow burning in his chest, Shyam Manohar Jha forced a smile on his face, cleared his throat and stepped into the room.

“What is happening, Kaki,” he said cheerfully, as if he had heard nothing at all.

Madhumati looked up from her knitting with a welcoming smile. “Ah, Shyamu! You are here. Come, come, sit. I was just telling Khushi bitiya that you must be on your way.”

Khushiji, who had been seated on the floor near the low table with a textbook open before her, startled slightly. She looked up quickly—too quickly—and then down again. Her expression was neutral, almost studiedly so, but he did not miss the flicker of discomfort in her eyes.

“Namaste, Shyamji,” she murmured, her voice polite but devoid of warmth.

His smile deepened.

“Let us not study too hard today! Since I am leaving in two days, all of us can spend this evening doing something fun! What do you say, Kaki? Should I get ice-cream for all of us?”

“Not for me, Shyamu! You know my teeth hurt! Khushi, would you like some?” Madhumati looked at Khushiji who also shook her head.

“Maybe some other day, then!” Madhumati said.

“I finished the problems you told me to solve” Khushiji said, her voice flat and Madhumati left the two alone as the subject turned to studies.

“This is perfect, Khushiji” he replied, with far too much enthusiasm. “I think our lessons together have been very helpful for you.”

“They have been fine,” she replied without meeting his gaze.

“Only fine?” he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Khushiji looked up at that, and their eyes met for the first time that evening. Her hazel eyes were direct, unflinching, and for a moment, something in him faltered. But only for a moment.

“I am used to studying on my own,” she said plainly. “So I will be fine after you leave.”

He tilted his head slightly, still smiling, but something sharp curled beneath his ribs.

“Well,” he said, settling back in his seat, “we shall make the most of today then.”

And as Khushiji resumed her reading, oblivious to the storm he hid behind the calm of his voice, Shyam watched her. Every movement. Every expression. Every word she spoke.

He had made his vow. And he never backed away from what he wanted. Not ever. He needed to get her to like him.

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March 2010 (More than a year later)

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Shyam sat between his parents, long legs stretched out, his gaze fixed distantly on the sun-flecked courtyard beyond the door. His mother adjusted the end of her sari and clicked her tongue.

“The doctors at the city hospital have said what we feared. Stage two, possibly three. It is cancer. And it is spreading.”

Shyam turned his face slightly toward her. “What course of treatment have they suggested?”

His father cleared his throat. “Chemotherapy! That is the first line of treatment, they said. But it is not a simple affair. It was told that costs run into lakhs, and there is no guarantee of success. Even Madhumati knows it. We told the doctors to begin begin with medications for now. Chemo... only if absolutely necessary.”

His mother gave a hollow laugh and leaned forward with sharp disdain. “And would you believe, that girl Khushi! She was saying they could sell the sweet shop to fund the treatment?”

Shyam blinked slowly. “Sell the shop?”

“Hmm,” His mother sneered, eyes narrowing. “Khushi Mastarni thinks she runs that house. Proposing sales, speaking of treatments in Delhi, even planning college in Delhi—as if she is the head of the family now.”

She paused, watching him from the corner of her eye. “She has great plans, our Khushi Mastarni. None of which, it seems, include you, Shyamu!”

Her words sliced through the air like a blade wrapped in silk, deceptively soft but undeniably pointed.

Shyam’s lips curled in a faint, unreadable smile. “She is in her final year of school. She is too naive to be thinking about hospital bills and city travel. Besides, that is not her responsibility to carry.”

“She behaves as though it is,” His mother snapped. “As though she knows everything. Speaks to Madhumati like she is her equal. Deciding what is to be done, where they should go, what should be sold. And you sit here saying nothing.”

Shyam exhaled slowly and leaned back. There was no anger in his face, only a quiet deliberation. “I will take care of everything,” he said at last. “Including Khushiji.”

His mother turned toward him sharply. “What does that mean?”

He looked up at her, his expression calm but resolute. “It means, Amma, that it is time you speak to Madhumati Kaki. Put forward a marriage proposal. I will marry Khushiji. That is how we lay the groundwork—now, while things are uncertain. It is the right time.”

His words hung in the air with the weight of a declaration, final and immovable.

There was a silence—brief, thick, and then...

His father murmured, “It will settle things. You are right. She is of age, and if Madhumati is unwell…”

His mother’s eyes narrowed in calculating thought. “Hmm. Yes… perhaps this is the time. Before that girl flies off to Delhi chasing her wild ideas!”

Shyam nodded once. He did not say more. But inside him, the old vow stirred once again, stronger now. Khushi had plans that did not include him? That would change. Very soon.

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One week Later

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There was silence in the room save for the sound of the ceiling fan. The silence broke when Madhumati Gupta spoke.

“Sarla, this offer…it is thoughtful. But Khushi is too young. She has her whole life ahead of her. I cannot tie her down like this because of my cancer. She is already going through a lot”.

Shyam sat beside his mother who was sitting closer to the bed where Madhumati Kaki lay propped up on a pillow, her once round frame thinner, the lines on her face etched deeper by weeks of illness. Her breathing was steady, though each word she spoke seemed to require more effort than the last.

His mother let out a sigh, shaking her head with a touch of theatrical sorrow. “That is why it is even more important, Madhumati. You know what the world is like. If something—God forbid—happens to you, who will look after Khushi bitiya? People will talk. They always do. But if a marriage alliance is fixed, if her future is secure, then no one will raise a finger. You can rest easy.”

Madhumati turned her head on the pillow, her eyes looking blank for a second. “I understand your concern, Sarla. But this is not a decision I can take alone. I will have to speak to Khushi first.”

Just then, the curtain rustled, and Khushiji stepped into the room. Shyam turned to look at her face. Still beautiful despite the anguish that was spread on it. Anguish and restrained anger!

“Here are your medicines, Buaji” she said quietly, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment before she turned to her aunt. “And you are right, Buaji. This is my decision. One that I do not want to even hear of, let alone make it” Her voice, though calm, carried a quiet steel.

“I will be starting college in a few months. I have to take Buaji’s treatment forward. Marriage is not even something I can begin to think about right now.” She turned her gaze squarely on him. “And more importantly, I am not even eighteen yet. You know that, Shyamji.”

There was a beat of silence. His father, who had been sitting quietly in a chair bristled visibly.

“No one is asking you to get married tomorrow,” he said sharply. “It is only a proposal. A sign of our goodwill and concern. for Madhumati and you".

But Shyam lifted a hand, silencing his father before he could say more. His eyes remained on Khushiji who seemed to not agree with the words of his father.

“Khushiji is right,” he said softly. “Even if all we wanted was to offer help in this difficult time, it is not the moment to discuss this”

He turned to Madhumati, his tone gentler. “We will do what you and Khushiji decide, Kaki. Nothing else. All of this can wait.”

Then he looked back at Khushiji, and his voice carried that practiced warmth, the mask slipping back into place. “For now, I will take Kaki to a good private doctor in the city. I know someone who will help. You should focus on your studies, Khushiji. Your board exams are in a month? Let me know if you need help with the lessons again”

Khushiji held his gaze for a moment, wary but composed.

“Thank you, Shyamji” she said simply, her voice guarded.

Then, without waiting for more, she turned and left the room. Inside, the quiet returned. Shyam sat still, his smile faint and unreadable, while his mother folded her arms, her brows furrowed. Madhumati let out a soft breath and closed her eyes.

.

Six Months Later

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From a corner in the gallery, Shyam watched Khushiji sitting up curled on the steel bench of the hospital. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest and her shoulders trembling in silence. He felt bad to see her in such a situation. She needed him at this moment, after hearing those dreadful words from the doctor.

“We are sorry but she has a few months left, at most. At this point of time, we can simply manage her pain. Beyond that… we can only wait.”

He watched the tears slide down those soft cheeks and he felt the urge to reach there and wipe them away while feeling the soft skin. When he heard a sob break from her, he moved.

“Khushiji” He sat beside her, not too close, not too far. For a moment, he did not speak again. He merely watched her cry. And guided by the voice in his head, he placed his hand lightly on her back.

He noticed how she stiffened at the touch. Her spine straightened slightly as she turned to look at him, eyes red-rimmed and wary.

But He only smiled—a careful, composed smile. “Everything will be alright,” he said, in the same tone someone might use to console a child after a bad dream. “I am always around to take care of you, Khushiji.”

Her lips quivered, and a sob escaped her before she could suppress it. Her hands covered her face, and her entire body shook with the weight of her helplessness. Shyam leaned in and drew her gently into his arms. He couldn’t tell if she was too exhausted to resist or if she was finally seeking his support but she let him, her tears soaking into the fabric of his kurta as she cried on his shoulder.

He held her, softly, soothingly, ignoring the way his heart was pumping now. Her soft body was too close to his and he could smell her faint fragrance hidden underneath the hospital smell.

When her sobs ebbed into hiccups and silence, he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes.

“I know you are not very fond of me, Khushiji” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her damp cheek. “But I have always tried to be a good friend. A good companion.”

His eyes flicked toward the ward door. “You should really consider the proposal my mother mentioned. At a time like this… maybe some good news would make Kaki’s final months lighter. Happier.”

She did not answer. Her gaze drifted downward, lips parted slightly as though words were forming but none came.

He watched her closely, measuring her silence. He took it as a sign—a hopeful sign.

“You think about it, Khushiji. I will be going home now,” he said, rising to his feet. “Doctors said they will discharge Kaki tomorrow. And Amma told me that the cooler in Kaki’s room is not working. So, I will go home and get it fixed. You have been here for two days now. Do you need anything from home?”

She shook her head and reached into her dupatta for the house keys.

But he waved his hand. “I have the spare key. You keep this. I will go and get everything in order”

She nodded, not quite looking at him, and he offered her a brief smile before turning and walking away. At the house, He opened the door with the key he had long kept without asking. He stepped inside and locked the door behind him. Then he got to working on the old, rusted cooler. A lot will have to be changed in this house once he comes to own it. Along with Khushiji! He wondered whether her lack of outright refusal meant that she was considering his proposal. She will have to. It was only a matter of time. Because there was no other alternative. Women in this society will always need to depend on a man to live a dignified life. A life he could easily offer her.

Shyam was still lost in his thoughts when the doorbell rang.

He frowned. Who was visiting in the middle of the afternoon?

He walked to the door, hands still a little greasy and pulled it open.

A tall, well-dressed man of almost his own age stood on the other side, the sun catching the sleek lines of his grey blazer. His hair was neatly parted, and his eyes—brown eyes—rested on him with cautious interest.

“Does Khushi live here?” the man asked, his voice polite but edged with urgency. The voice gave it away. The man seemed tall but he was definitely younger than him. But more than this man's age, Shyam was mystified by the question.

He looked at him in one swift glance, appraising him some more.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Arnav Singh Raizada,” the man replied. “I am looking for a girl named Khushi. She must be about sixteen now. She used to be in an orphanage in Lucknow. She was adopted by Madhumati Gupta and they moved here in 2008”

Arnav! The name struck like a sharp bell in Shyam’s mind, but his expression remained carefully blank. Isn’t it the same boy Khushi had mentioned in front of her Buaji? He remembered it far too well. He looked at the man up and down again. Wearing an expensive blazer over his T-shirt and Jeans.

Arnav Singh Raizada. Apparently adopted into richness! Shyam fought the sneer that was struggling to appear on his face.

“No one by that name lives here” He answered. The look on Arnav Singh Raizada’s face was worth it. It fell immediately.

“But this is the address I was given at the orphanage” He said, looking around and then back at Shyam.

Shyam shrugged.

“I have been living here with my family for years. There is no one here by that name! In fact, as much as I know, there is no Khushi in this neighbourhood either. I grew up here! I would know if there was.”

Arnav Singh Raizada seemed to be having a hard time processing the news. His shoulders slumped and confusion flickered in his eyes.

“Why are you trying to find this girl?” Shyam asked.

Arnav Singh Raizada exhaled. Then he looked Shyam directly in the eye.

“I promised her once that I would come find her. I am trying to keep my promise”

Shyam tried not to roll his eyes at the words.

“I hope you find her someday then” He replied flippantly. Because it was not happening today. Not on his watch!

He watched Arnav Singh Raizada kick a pebble and turn away. Then he turned back, took out a white card from his pocked and extended it towards him.

“If you ever hear of someone named Khushi—or Madhumati Gupta—can you let me know?”

Shyam watched the card and smiled.

“Of course!” He said as he took the card from Arnav.

“Can I know your name?” Arnav asked, looking at him.

“Shyam Manohar Jha,” he said with an easy smile. “Advocate.”

Arnav nodded, and stood at the door for a few more seconds before turning away. Shyam watched him disappear slowly, his figure growing smaller with each step away from the house, down the narrow lane. And just like that, Shyam Manohar Jha knew that he was going to win at this. No matter when and how but he has Khushiji all to himself now.

.

Present Time

.

Shyam stood leaning against a parked car, one hand tucked lazily into his pocket while he waited patiently, mulling over the memories at the same time. So many opportunities gained and lost in these years that had gone by. He recalled how he had Khushiji under his grip, tightly wrapped with no room to squirm out. Sweet eyes, lowered lashes, quiet silences! And he had believed it all. Believed that she had accepted her place beside him. That she had accepted him. But, she had only been biding her time. And then she had slipped out from his hands like grains of sand. He should have known better. Should have known that sweet little face was full of lies. She had run away. But how far? He has found her here in Delhi. Working, earning some money and pretending that she is not afraid of him and his wrath?

He pushed off the car slowly, standing tall, his fingers curling into a tight fist by his side.

“You can never run far enough, Khushiji. Not from me.” He said. The time for softness has passed. He had tried the gentler route—the concerned well-wisher, the man who said he would wait, the one who promised companionship. But what had that earned him? Disdain, manipulation and rejection! She did not appreciate the kindness he had offered her by taking her under his shelter. This world was cruel to women who did not have a man of their own. That is what he had offered her. A home and a man to love. But, she couldn’t care less. And now she was here in Delhi.

He was not here to drag her back—not yet. For now, it was enough to let her know he was still around. Watching. Waiting. Enough to let her sleep every night with the dread of him. And perhaps, perhaps, a bit of regret. The date for the court case was set and he would have seen her anyway back in Kanpur. But, he needed to meet her here once, to remind her that he can reach her here too. Even if she worked in the Raizada company!

As he thought that, the sound of car-engine pulled him from his thoughts. A black sedan was pulling into the parking lot.

His brows lifted. This did not seem like the office cab she often availed. His eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted as he caught glimpse of the man behind the steering wheel.

"Well, well…" he murmured to himself, a familiar thrill coursing through his gut.

He watched as the door of the car opened and beloved Khushiji stepped out first. Her face was drawn, her shoulders slightly hunched from the long day, her eyes distracted as she took out her phone.

"I will call Payal and ask..." Her sentence cut off as she noticed him and the phone slipped from her hands. She reamined frozen in her spot, her gaze locked towards the staircase, towards him.

He straightened a little more, a pleased gleam in his eyes. That reaction—ah, how it relished him. All those walls she had put up in her workplace, all that forced defiance the last time she had seen him, it seemed to have vaporized.

"Good to see some things do not change," he whispered under his breath, taking a step forward so that light was hitting his face clearly. Let her see his face properly and know that he was indeed here.

But, he couldn’t focus on Khushiji for too long. His gaze shifted beyond her, towards the man who was now stepping out of the driver's side. Taller than Shyam Manohar Jha remembered. But still dressed just as sharply.

Arnav Singh Raizada. Rich, polished, and confident. But that made no difference to Shyam Manohar Jha.

“Khushi..what happened?” Arnav Singh Raizada looked at his Khushiji who was still standing rooted to her spot.

Shyam stepped further into the open and watched as Arnav Singh Raizada’s gaze slid onto him. He saw it, that first flicker of recognition, the halt in the stride.

He smiled devilishly.

"I see that you finally found Khushiji, Mr. Arnav Singh Raizada," He said, his tone light but laced with venomous triumph.

The effect was instant. Arnav’s entire frame stiffened, his gaze narrowing while Khushiji flinched at the sound of his voice.

There was silence for a beat and the air between the three of them grew taut.

Arnav’s gaze locked onto his.

"Shyam Manohar Jha," he said his name in a cold voice.

Shyam tilted his head, feigning pleasant surprise. There was insurmountable amount of surprise on Khushiji’s face as Arnav Singh Raizada spoke his name. She looked at Arnav first and then at him.

Shyam ignored that reaction and spoke to Arnav, "Glad to see you remember me too."

Arnav Singh Raizada took a slow step forward towards him. Shyam watched carefully, taking note of his tightening jaw.

“You lied to me that day” He said, voice barely containing the rage he must be feeling.

“Guilty as charged, Mr. Raizada” he said, smiling connivingly at him and then at Khushiji. He was enjoying the look of growing astonishment on Khushiji’s face.

“I guess neither of you told each other about me” He said, amused.

“Let me do the honours! Khushiji and I know each other very deeply, Mr. Raizada. And Khushiji? I know him too. Several years back, he came looking for you.”

He watched as Khushiji looked even more rattled while Arnav’s face was stone. Shyam Manohar Jha’s insides churned with more thrill. This was a moment he had not expected to go so well. He was pleased with himself.

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