Chapter 54: Señorita

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Chapter Fifty-Four

Señorita

Arnav rolled in his bed, savoring the small streaks of sunlight dancing in through the curtains. After a whole week in the hospital, he was finally back home. Nothing, not even luxurious seven-star hotels, could compare with the comfort of one’s own bed. It held a magic of its own.

He knew, judging by how drowsy his eyes felt, that it was still very early in the morning, just a few minutes after sunrise perhaps. And as much as he wished to just drift back into sleep, he couldn’t. Breakfasts didn’t make themselves.  

Khushi –softly humming to herself with her back towards him– was the first thing Arnav saw when he opened his eyes. She was in a saree once again, this time an indigo blue tie-dyed print in soft cotton with a sleeveless white blouse, drying her wet hair with a towel, completely in a world of her own. She appeared so fresh, so innocent, so happy. 

Arnav smiled lazily. 

He had never quite appreciated how perfect she looked. Her slender frame curved in all the right places, her narrow shoulders were always held upright, the hollows of her neck looked so delicate… but more alluring than all that was, perhaps, her face. He liked the way her jaw curved daintily along to her chin, the way her lips curled up into a dazzling smile when she saw him, the way her hazel-brown eyes narrowed when she concentrated, the way her milky cheeks burrowed every time she frowned. 

Images of the hospital lobby forced their way into his mind, reminding him of his goodbye peck on those very same cheeks yesterday. In many ways, Arnav had even surprised himself with that. All he could recollect were the vehement looks being passed their way by a nurse –he still didn’t remember all their names– from the reception desk and then, being overcome with a feeling to set it right. After all, he had been foolish enough to entertain the nurses’ harmless flirting out of sheer boredom; so why should Khushi pay the price for it? If the nurses realized that they never had any competition to begin with, that it always was, and always will be Khushi for him, then maybe they would abandon the cold war.

At least, that’s what he had told himself repeatedly on the way home when he realized that his reckless act may have aggravated the situation, rather than controlling it. And he didn’t even want to think about how Khushi must’ve felt, guarded as she always was with her personal space. 

It was a stupid urge. 

“You’re awake?!”

Arnav turned his attention back to the dresser to see that Khushi was now facing him, looking surprised. 

“Good morning,” he said, his voice groggy. “When did you come back home last night?”

“Very late,” she replied with a sigh. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Arnav yawned, blinking away the last of his drowsiness, and pulled himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard. “You should’ve. I fell asleep waiting for you.”

“Precisely why I didn’t… But why are you up so early? It’s Saturday, go back to sleep.”

“You’re up.”

“I have duties.”

“So do I.”

A line appeared on her forehead, not comprehending. 

“Have to make breakfast for the hardworking doctor,” he explained.

Khushi frowned. “You don’t have to. Now please go back to sleep?” 

“Not a chance. If you can get up at 6 a.m. on a Saturday to go to work, then I can at the very least also get up and make sure your stomach has something other than coffee to churn.”

She looked at him, as though trying to find an iron-clad reason for him not to cook, before giving up and turning back to the mirror, exasperated. 

Good, he thought amused. 

Sunlight was now skipping directly on Khushi’s innocent face, illuminating her supple features and making her look absolutely ethereal against the dim room. 

Arnav watched, captivated, as she shuffled through the drawers –pulling out silver oxidized earrings to match with her saree– attached her signature white-strapped Harry Winston watch and slipped on a yellow sapphire ring on her index finger (also another item she never left the house without). She had a very unique sense of style like that, different from most women he had met. It was a perfect mix of Indian and Western (though he tended to favor her in the former); it was elegant, sophisticated and very neutral. She stuck to pastel colours, airy chiffons, gossamer organza’s and soft linens. It was such a change to see someone so young, so put together. 

“You’re staring.”

Arnav blinked, embarrassed. Khushi was looking at him curiously from the reflection of the mirror, waiting for an answer. 

Except, he had none. What excuse could he possibly have for gawking at her like a fascinated teenager?

“I’m just wondering what’s the occasion today,” he said, smoothly changing the topic. “Since you’re wearing a saree.”

Khushi bit her lip, shy. “Nothing… just felt like it.”

He smiled back, mentally smacking himself for letting his thoughts wander. 

Fifteen minutes later, Arnav excitedly limped into the kitchen, ready to once again get lost in the bliss of cooking. He had missed it terribly during his stay in the hospital, which despite being quiet didn’t match up to the therapeutic calm of crafting food. 

By the time Khushi finished getting ready and came out to the dining area, a stack of pancakes drizzled with blueberry sauce, was waiting for her. 

“It smells so good,” she informed him, pulling out a chair at the table and flopping down enthusiastically. “You have no idea how much I missed this!”

“You did?” he asked, sitting across from her. He knew she liked his cooking, but he didn’t realize it was something she looked forward to.

She nodded, scarfing down the pancakes at bullet speed. “You’ve spoilt me,” she mumbled, her mouth full. 

“Slow down, the pancakes aren’t running anywhere.”

She swallowed, looking very guilty. “Sorry… but I’m getting late.”

Arnav glanced at the wall clock behind her. “It’s only seven-thirty–”

“Yeah,” she agreed, taking another large bite. “But I have to leave the hospital early, so–”

“Why do you have to leave early?”  

Khushi paused, as though thinking through something very quick. “I mean, I don’t want to come home late like yesterday again. I’ll feel terrible keeping you waiting like that!”

Arnav sighed. “Khushi, it’s fine–”

She shook her head, demolishing the last of her pancakes. “Yes, yes… you are all perfect and sweet and understanding, but still.”

He didn’t answer. Perfect was not a word he normally associated with himself. 

“Okay, I have to run,” Khushi muttered, standing up. It had to be the quickest breakfast in human history. 

“But you didn’t finish your coffee,” he protested. 

“Sorry Arnav,” she said, collecting her handbag. “I’ll see you in the evening.”

She had almost made it out of the dining room, when she took a step back and said, “By the way–”

“Yes, yes,” Arnav groaned. “I won’t exert myself, will take plenty of rest and you’re on my speed dial in case something does happen. Happy?”

Khushi grinned. “Very. Bye Arnav.”

And she was gone, much to his great disappointment. 

Fortunately, the rest of the day, despite Khushi’s absence, passed by relatively decently. Arnav flew through his pending office work with ease and by early afternoon, was once again in the kitchen, preparing for dinner. He had been thinking about it for two days now. Her win at the hospital awards deserved a grand party, but he knew, she would trade that in for a quiet evening any day. So, instead of a loud gala, he planned an elaborate dinner atop their balcony. 

The time read half past seven by the time Arnav finished his preparations and was waiting eagerly in the living room for Khushi’s arrival. She had been oddly silent all day, taking longer than usual to reply to his texts and that too, in just a few chosen words. The obvious answer, of course, was that she was busy at the hospital, but being used to her continuous presence, Arnav couldn’t help but worry. 

When there was still no news of her by eight-thirty, he called the hospital front desk. 

“Dr. Gupta left two hours ago,” the receptionist –a foreign voice– said. “Do you want to leave a message?” 

Two hours ago?

Thanking the receptionist, Arnav grimly disconnected the call. Just as he began pacing the room, trying to think calmly about what to do, the lock on the front door turned and in came Khushi herself. 

He let out a breath of relief and ran –well as fast as he could on crutches– to the entrance hall. 

“Where were you?!” he fired, even before she had a chance to take off her sandals. 

She looked up, surprised. “Hey.”

“Why weren’t you replying to any of my calls or messages?” he continued, his worry turning into anger.

Khushi bit her lip. “Sorry, I was busy–”

“Busy with what? The hospital said you left two hours ago!”

She appeared a little nervous now. “You called the hospital?” 

“I was worried!” he defended. “You weren’t picking up your phone and I wanted to make sure!”

“Make sure?”

Her puzzled expression was enough for Arnav to come spinning back to reality. Why was he so panicked? This was not the first time she was coming home late, and she was certainly more than capable of handling herself outside of the sanctuary of the hospital… so then, why did he stop seeing reason for a mere two hours?

“Arnav?” Khushi called. 

He shook his head. “I… I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Khushi dropped her bag beside the door and walked inside, stopping a foot from him.  

“Sorry,” she repeated, this time in sincerity. “My phone was on silent… I forgot that you would be worried.”

Arnav exhaled. “It’s okay, just… message me next time.”

She nodded, relieved, and looked around him towards the kitchen. “What’s for dinner by the time? I could smell it from the elevators.”

“In a good way I hope?”

“Better than good. I’m pretty sure everyone in the building wants to come up for a taste.”

He stepped aside, waving his arm theatrically towards the balcony. “Well, unfortunately for them, tonight is reserved just for you Dr. Gupta…. Come on in.” 

Khushi giggled –the most innocent, naïve giggle he ever heard– and followed his directions. Arnav was just a step behind, watching her with amusement.

“Outside?” she asked, stopping in front of the glass doors –on which he had purposefully drawn the curtains to keep the surprise– that led out onto the terrace.

He nodded with a grin. 

Khushi slid the door open and gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief. When she didn’t move for a whole minute, he gently tugged her shoulders, encouraging her to go on. She wordlessly obeyed, stepping out into the balcony and taking in the sight in front of her. 

To be quite truthful, Arnav didn’t have to do much to decorate the space. His mother had already arranged it beautifully with a pearly white lounge sofa set against a foliage of plants, including fully blooming lavender trees that cloaked the entire terrace in their musky scent. She had even added a rustic wooden table for two in a corner, beside what was undoubtedly one of the best views of Delhi’s skyline. All he had to do was weave candles through the space, giving the entire balcony a soft, orangish glow. 

Khushi looked at him in awe. “You did all this?”

“It’s not every day you win best resident of the year, is it?” he asked rhetorically. 

Her eyes travelled down to his crisp white button-up shirt and dark jeans, before looking at her own saree, looking somehow just as pristine as it did in the morning. 

“I’m so not prepared for this,” she muttered. “Let me go change.”

Arnav took a step closer to her and reached for the black band holding back her silky hair in a low ponytail, pulling it out in one swift move. 

“There,” he said, watching her hair flare out. “You look perfect.”

Khushi blinked, the tops of her cheeks turning rosy. He had never seen this side of her, the one where she was shy, accepted compliments with a blush and talked to him as though absolutely floored. And surprisingly… he liked it. He liked it more than he would ever admit. 

“You’re supposed to rest,” she murmured, turning back to look at the glowing balcony. “This must have–”

“Please don’t beat yourself up with guilt and dampen the evening. I had loads of fun getting this ready.”

Khushi was about to argue, but he swiftly limped to the glass-top table and pulled out a chair for her to sit. 

She had no choice but to oblige. 

“I hope you’re hungry?” Arnav asked.  

“For your cooking?” she reaffirmed. “Always.”

He beamed. “I’ll bring out the first two courses then.”

Khushi instantly stood up. “Let me help.”

“No, it’s fine–”

“You are literally on walking support. Please don’t make me feel worse!”

Arnav grumbled incoherently, but agreed all the same, wishing he had a waiter on hand for these mundane tasks. Maybe next time he planned something so elaborate, he really should hire one for the evening. 

“Don’t peek,” he warned, when he led her to the kitchen where all the dishes were laid out and a breakfast trolley was waiting. 

“I won’t,” she promised. “Which ones should I bring?”

“All of them. I’ll come back for the main course, it’s getting warmed up in the oven.”

Khushi gazed at all the covered items on the counter, perplexed. “Were you in the kitchen all day?”

Arnav ignored that and simply started transferring the dishes to the trolley. When they collected everything they needed, they were back in the balcony, Khushi seated at the table, waiting nervously for the ‘big reveal’. 

“So señorita,” he announced cheerfully, uncovering a plate of halved colorful mini peppers in the center of the table. “For hors d’oeuvre, we have garbanzo-stuffed peppers–”

He then set down two bowls of soup on either side on the table. “–and for appetizer, we have mango gazpacho.”

Khushi, trying to keep a plain expression, waited until he was seated before speaking. “Señorita?”

“Well, today’s menu is inspired by Spanish cuisine.” 

“I see,” she said, taking a careful look at the dishes once again. “Have you actually been to Spain?”

“Yes, but that was a long time ago… now are you going to taste them and give me a review or not?”

Khushi bit her lip sheepishly, before picking up one of the peppers and slowly popping it in her mouth, chewing with trepidation. Within seconds, however, the unease vanished, and her eyes lit up in wonderment. 

“Wow,” she whispered, swallowing. “That was…”

“Non-poisonous?”

She pouted, partly embarrassed. “Sorry… I never had Spanish food before. Can you really blame me for being a little scared?”

He didn’t. Lavanya also used to give him the same skeptical look whenever he tried out something new.

“Fret not Dr. Gupta,” he assured her. “I know exactly what kind of food you like.”

“Which is…?” she asked, reaching for another pepper. 

“You like to play it safe.”

Khushi ate slowly, mulling that over. “I take risks.” 

“Not like I do.”

“Enlighten me then, oh great Chef. How do you take risks?”

Arnav rolled his eyes at the unnecessary sarcasm. “If you were in a foreign city, would you be able to go out for a walk without looking at a map and be excited about where you might end up?”

Khushi scoffed. “Please, that says nothing–”

“But it does Dr. Genius. The type of food you like says a lot about your personality. Just like the type of clothes you wear.”

She instinctively adjusted the pallu of her saree. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Nothing at all,” he said simply. “You like being perfect. Perfectly put together, perfectly poised, perfectly smart… and you can’t be perfect if you don’t know what’s coming next. So, you play it safe.”

“Basically,” she said, sulking now. “I’m boring and predictable?”

Arnav chuckled and pushed her bowl of soup forward.  “You’re not boring, you’re sorted Khushi… and that’s admirable if you ask me.”

She relaxed, the smile returning to her face. 

“I may have enjoyed wandering Spain without a map once upon a time, but I know better now.”

“You think so?” she asked, picking up a spoon and sampling the soup. “Wait– is this even soup? It’s cold.” 

Arnav laughed. “Yes, it’s soup. It’s usually very hot in Spain, so the locals adjusted their food accordingly… imagine drinking this on a blistering hot afternoon atop a colorful terrace in Madrid.”

She swallowed another spoonful. “I see what you mean, but it’s… different.” 

“Are you one of those critics who beats around the bush?”

Khushi raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to be?” 

“Not in the slightest. I always appreciate your honesty.”

“In that case,” she said, pausing dramatically. “I would say it’s is well-done. The sweetness of the mango is juxtaposed very nicely with the citrus flavors.”

“Juxtaposed?” he repeated, surprised.  She almost sounded like a food critic. “Very nice.”

She laughed. “The English lessons pay off once in a while.”

“Clearly,” he muttered, remembering the time she had called him riant. Thankfully, she had forgotten about it quickly after, perhaps realizing that coming up with nicknames wasn’t her forte. 

Arnav waited until she finished most of the mango gazpacho, and a salad of mixed greens with an avocado dressing before asking about the main course, perhaps the crown jewel of his cooking today. 

“Err– how many courses are there exactly?” Khushi inquired skeptically, when he stood up to fetch the items from the oven. “My stomach can only handle so much you know.”

He chuckled in answer and went inside, lugging the trolley with their finished plates. He knew she would be sated pretty quickly –petite as she was– and had adjusted the main course accordingly. Few minutes later, he was sitting across from her once again, the table covered with a number of small plates, each containing bite-sized items. 

“Tell me seriously,” she asked, scanning the table. “Were you in the kitchen all day?”

“Nope, all of this was super easy to make,” he answered truthfully. “Spanish cuisine is simple in that way.”

“But what exactly is all this?”

“Tapas.”

Khushi stared at him, blank. 

“Tapas,” he explained realizing a second too late that she wasn’t familiar with the terms. “Are small dishes people usually eat while bar hopping. Since I knew you would be full very quickly –you need to seriously increase your appetite Khushi– and I couldn’t decide which one item to make for the main course, I thought we could eat a combination of them. And yes, they are all veggie.”

“My appetite is fine–”

“Not the point,” he cut-in. “Why don’t you try them, and I will tell you what’s in each after you’ve juxtaposed all the flavors?”

She grinned and eagerly reached for the first plate: aioli sautéed eggplant, mashed and garnished with herbs atop circular pieces of bread.

“It tastes like eggplant,” she concluded uncertainly, chewing. “Except, eggplant is not supposed to taste this good, so I’m very doubtful.”

“Correct,” he said, reaching for one of the pieces. “It is eggplant… grilled and mashed with a few chosen spices and served on a crostini.”

Khushi was amazed. “Did you come up with the recipe all by yourself?” 

He smiled, savoring the eggplant; it had turned out much better than he had anticipated. “This one, I did. Some of the others, I just modified existing recipes. The Spanish eat a lot of meat you see, so I had to find a vegetarian alternative for you.”

“So basically, you made” –she did a quick count of the tapas– “Ten new recipes in one day?!”

And perhaps even more if his leg wasn’t holding him back. 

“Why the shock?” he asked coolly. “Before I was a full-time cripple and not to mention my father’s glorious heir, I was a chef, remember?”

“I know that! But this is… a multiple-course meal, I mean–”

“One of these days,” he interrupted. “I will make you a twelve-course meal. Then, your amazement will be justified.”

“No,” she disagreed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table. “It’s your talent that needs to be justified.”

“Justified how?”

“By doing this full time.”

Arnav’s shoulders drooped. “Not again–”

“I’m serious, why are you so against following your passion? You clearly belong here–”

“Nothing has changed since the last time we had this conversation really,” he said seriously. “I enjoy cooking, and I enjoy it even more when I’m doing it for you, but that doesn’t change the fact that I still have responsibilities towards my family.”

Khushi grimaced. “Vihaan was right about you.”

Arnav had no clue where that came from. “What?”

“Vihaan thinks,” she refined. “That in your quest to fulfill your responsibilities, you have forgotten how to follow your heart.”

That was an odd statement, Arnav thought. Especially for someone like Vihaan who followed his duty as Alok’s son more than anything else. Was this what the two of them discussed during their brunch yesterday? 

“And how exactly did you and Vihaan come to deliberate my choices?” Arnav asked her. 

Khushi leaned back in her chair. “It’s a long story. But that reminds me– Vihaan is shifting to London.”

Huh? 

She had said it so casually, as if her brother was moving to a new house within the same city as opposed to a whole new country… How was she not unnerved?! 

“Start over,” Arnav said finally when Khushi didn’t offer much more clarification. “Why is Vihaan moving to London? When did you find out about this? And are you okay with this last-minute decision? I mean he is next in line–”

“Slow down!” she interrupted. “One question at a time.”

He clasped his hands, waiting. 

“Vihaan is done with my father, hence the decision to do something on his own away from my father’s influence. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was pretty set on it. It’s not a spur of the moment decision, it was long coming apparently, since even before my mother’s accident. And yes, I’m perfectly okay with it because it’s the first decision he has taken for himself. So, as his sister and also a long-time prisoner of my father’s, I support him completely.”

Arnav slumped back in his chair, trying his best to wrap his head around the new revelation. He had never put Vihaan as someone who would take such a bold and daring step, but perhaps, it shouldn’t be surprising. He was, after all, Khushi’sbrother. 

“I guess it makes sense,” Arnav affirmed after a few minutes. “As long as your father is around, Vihaan will be expected to behave like his puppet.”

“Exactly.”

“So, when he is leaving?”

“In three weeks.”

“Very soon then. How did your father take the news?” Arnav asked, curious. “It must’ve been a terrible week for him… First seeing you on stage, getting awarded for the very thing he had been stubbornly against and now seeing Vihaan, ditching the very thing he had tried desperately to enforce.”

Khushi shrugged her shoulders, nonchalant. “Well, he has no body to blame but himself for it. Anyway, what my father does is no longer my concern. I’m just happy for Vihaan.”

Arnav didn’t press too much. 

Although he knew Khushi no longer feared her father, he had a shrewd suspicion that she was far from not caring at all. With a childhood that turbulent, she was bound to have many unresolved issues eating her on the inside. But the question was, how was he supposed to help if she refused to even acknowledge it?

Perhaps, she needed some more time. After all, it’s only been a few months since she gained freedom from Alok’s regime. Maybe in due time, she would understand that apathy is not the same as acceptance. 

“So, are you going to try the other tapas or not?” Arnav asked lightly, picking up a plate of coliflor rebozada –the Spanish version of fried cauliflower– and handing it to her. 

“You know I will,” she answered, stretching her arm out to take the plate and –unexpectedly– brushing her fingers against his. A wave of current crawled up his arm in response forcing Arnav to pause, confused and unsure of what happened. And Khushi clearly seemed to have felt it too, for she was staring back at him, deep in thought. 

Arnav withdrew his arm, disconcerted. This was not the first time he felt her touch; in fact, they held hands plenty of times before in an attempt to convince their families of their marriage. So then… what changed? The last time he felt such Goosebumps was when–

Khushi cleared her throat. “You were saying,” she urged softly, inviting him to continue the conversation. 

Arnav reluctantly stowed away his thoughts for they were meant to be debated in solitude, not with a watchful audience. 

“Try it,” he said casually, nodding to the plate in her hands. 

Khushi took a bite and once again, her eyes lit-up in wonder just like a child’s in a candy store. Arnav watched her in amusement, waiting for her to attempt breaking down the taste, thinking maybe this would be her favorite.

He was wrong, of course.

Khushi couldn’t pick a favorite. She tasted each new plate with the same excitement as the first, taking her time to absorb the flavors and guess what went into it, before finally being awed when he revealed the actual ingredients. The cycle repeated when she moved onto the next item. 

When they had finally finished all of the tapas, a good two hours later, she was leaning back against her chair, looking up into the clear night sky. He had asked her to pick her top three (since having one was out of question) and despite thinking for nearly five minutes, she still hadn’t decided. 

“Okay,” Arnav said. “Clearly this is too much pressure. Why don’t we just accept that all of them are good and move on to dessert?”

Khushi gasped in horror. “There is dessert?”

“What kind of a restaurant do you think this is?” he retorted. “Of course there is dessert. The last course in this five-course meal.”

“I think my stomach will physically burst if I eat–”

“Relax Dr. Gupta. Doesn’t your stomach expand like the rest of ours? They teach you that much in medicine, don’t they?”

“I’m too full to scowl, but I’m sure you get the point.”

He snickered. “Dessert is also small, relax.”

Khushi straightened up in her chair, rubbing her palms together in enthusiasm. “Great, bring it then.”

“Close your eyes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is it so small that it’s hidden in your pocket?”

He nodded drily towards the last plate on the trolley, covered with a classic silver cloche. 

“Oh!” 

Arnav waited until Khushi closed her eyes and shielded them with her hands as an added measure, before pulling off the cloche. On the tray were two chocolate éclair cupcakes –one with a candle in the center– topped liberally with thick vanilla icing. 

“Okay,” he murmured, lighting the candle with matchstick from his pocket and placing the cupcake in front of her. 

Khushi eagerly opened her eyes, a dazzling smile spreading up her face at the sight in front of her. “For me?”

“No, for the neighbors.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“I would have loved to bake a proper cake,” he explained. “But I suddenly remembered that I owed you cupcakes from your Nainital trip.”

“That’s right,” she said, recollecting. “How did you remember?”

“Almonds,” he answered wittily. “Maa says they are good for memory.”

She laughed, much too happy to come up with a fitting reply. 

“Go on then,” he encouraged. “Make a wish.”

Khushi closed her eyes, taking only a second or two for her wish, before gently blowing out the candle. 

“Should I cut it?” she asked, doubtfully looking around for a knife. 

Arnav reached forward for her cupcake, pulling out the candle and peeling off the wax paper encasing the bottom half. “

“No silly,” he said, leaning over the table to hold the cupcake to her lips. “You eat it.”

Khushi coyly took a bite, her eyes closing to fully savor the caramel toffee taste. The first time Arnav had made these cupcakes were during his brief stint at cooking school as an experiment. Surprisingly, the whole class had been so impressed with the taste, that the cupcakes quickly became a staple of his kitchen. However, none of those compliments could compare with the satisfaction of watching her devour them now. 

And perhaps, there will be no praise higher than hers.  

“How do you do it?” she asked, taking another bite of the cupcake, this time, hitting the semi-solid chocolate core. 

“Magic,” he replied, unabashedly smug. Perhaps he would be so for the rest of the week. 

“I have to take these to Vihaan,” she told him, munching on another bite. “Why aren’t you eating yours?”

Arnav, for some reason, already felt as though he had dessert. So, he simply took his cupcake and placed it on her plate. 

“You sure?” she asked, guilty. 

“If you are worried about the calories–”

She scoffed. “Who cares about those when you’ve made them with so much love.”

Arnav’s heart swelled. The last time he had made these very same cupcakes was on the occasion of Myra’s birthday. She, despite being happy with the surprise, had insisted on splitting only one, worried about the sugar and the extra minutes it would take in the gym to burn it off. He had been just a tad bit disappointed, but agreed all the same, understanding that for a woman, weight was a sensitive issue. 

But here was Khushi, who cared about nothing but the fact that he made them. 

Isn’t that what every chef in the end wanted? To have someone devour their creations, to eat to their heart’s content, to feel and appreciate all the affection that went into making it?  

That’s why he enjoyed cooking for her, even on the days he came home exhausted. It was so, so, so gratifying. 

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” Khushi asked, long after the cupcakes were done. 

They were now standing at the edge of the balcony, leaning on the railing and looking down onto the mostly empty streets. 

“It is,” Arnav agreed.

They said nothing more. Even with all the new changes to their relationship, this was still what he valued the most about their time together: the liberty to stay quiet. 

The hour hand on his watch was almost touching twelve, when Arnav finally remembered that he never asked her where she had disappeared to after her shift at the hospital today. 

“So how come you were late in coming home today?” he asked. 

Khushi didn’t reply. 

“Is it a secret?”

“Will you leave it if I said yes?”

“Probably… but I would be very curious.”

She smiled. “Curiosity kills the cat.”

“I’m willing to take the risk.”

Khushi hesitated just briefly. “I was with Ved.”

That was news. 

“The two of you patched up?”

“Well, he isn’t ignoring me or treating me like a criminal,” she said slowly. “That’s something.”

Perhaps it was too soon to expect an all-out reconciliation, Arnav thought. After all it had only been two days since his rather insightful talk with Ved. 

“And what about the nurses?” he asked, unable to help himself. 

Khushi looked at him, puzzled. “What about the nurses?”

“Are they still giving you a tough time?”

Khushi pursued her lips, scrutinizing him for a whole minute. “Why are you suddenly interested in that?”

“I’m always interested,” he said evenly. “I mean… isn’t it only a matter of time before they figured out we are married?”

“Oh… so, is that what you wanted to speed up by kissing me yesterday?” 

Was it so obvious?

“No,” he lied unconvincingly. “Why makes you think that?”

She snorted. “Because I know you. Every time something bothers me, you need to jump in and make it alright.”

“That’s not true.”

“Case in point: my internship, my untimely promotion, standing-up to my father, firing Dayal–”

“Okay! I get the point.”

She crossed her arms. “See? I do know you... And mission accomplished by the way: the whole hospital thinks we are deeply in love. If I got a penny every time someone came up to me and said congratulations, the hospital need not have paid me a salary today.” 

Arnav felt odd to hear that. Was that a tinge of disappointment in her voice? Why were her words biting? And more than that, why was he feeling guilty about? It was just an innocent, harmless kiss. 

“So what,” he asked, turning to face her now. “I should’ve just left without doing anything? And let the nurses continue to torment you?”

She kept her eyes forward, staring at the tall buildings in the far distance. “No… I’m saying there was no need to pretend. The nurses are harmless, they would’ve eventually gotten over it… You didn’t have to kiss me for that.”

And Arnav understood. 

It was have-to versus want-to. She didn’t need him to feel obligated, to pretend in front of the world. She wanted what was real, what was his choice. 

Except, didn’t he choose already?

Arnav thought back to the hospital lobby yesterday. If he didn’t notice the nurse, would he still have kissed her good-bye? Probably. They had grown so close, so attached… why did one little peck on the cheek have to be calculated and fabricated? Didn’t he have the privilege to kiss her on the cheek as a show of affection?

“Khushi,” Arnav called, a resolve forming in his mind.

She didn’t move. 

He took a step closer, her right shoulder now grazing his chest. Confused about the sudden proximity, she looked at him. 

“Wha–”

He didn’t let her finish. Leaning in, he kissed her once again on her soft cheek. 

“This time,” he murmured, stepping back. “I wanted to. Congratulations once again, Dr. Gupta. I hope my tapas lived up to your award.”

Khushi went red in the face, looking even more taken aback than she did yesterday.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” he said, grinning –quite pleased with himself– and limping back inside, unable to put off doing the dishes any longer.

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A/N: Firstly, I'm very, very, very sorry for the delayed update. I got unexpectedly hit with a tsunami of things last week and was running on a tight schedule at work... THANK YOU for being so concerned, patient, and understanding! I really appreciate it ❤️

I hope I made up for my absence with this update (it’s 17 pages on word!!). Our two birds are falling deeper and deeper for each other 😉

Please like & comment! 

Will be back on Friday (will try my hardest not to disappear) with Chapter 55 

Love,

Archi