Chapter 56: Promise

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Chapter Fifty-Six

Promise

Khushi was stressed. 

Perhaps even more so than when she was giving her medical board exams. 

It had been a few hours since Arnav unsuspectingly left for work, beckoned by Shyam, who on her orders was keeping him at the company until she could get his birthday surprise organized at the penthouse. The entire Raizada clan was sweet (and efficient) that way. Lavanya –the designated party planner of the family– had asked her amidst Holi, almost a month ago now, if she needed any help planning Arnav’s birthday. Khushi thanked her for offering, but after a week of deliberating, decided against it. 

How could she forget the overwhelming feeling that had engulfed her last December, when Arnav threw a surprise party for her birthday? It had been the first time she had seen someone outside of her immediate family go out of their way to make her happy. So, it was only fitting that she did the same for him: a first of sorts, something that wasn’t the norm. 

The only question was, what exactly. Throwing him a grand party like the Raizada’s suggested seemed silly; it was obvious that he had plenty of those growing up. Taking him to a fancy dinner like Vihaan suggested also seemed equally silly. What was the point of going to a ridiculously expensive restaurant when he cooked better than all of them?

And that’s when the idea came: why not cook for him? 

Even a blind man could see how much effort Arnav put in on a regular basis for their dinner –not to mention, his five course Spanish meal last week was un-freaking-believable– so, what better than cooking to show him that she valued him just as much as he did her, if not more?

And so, her plan had been set. She started by taking the day off from the hospital –while pretending, of course, to Arnav that she was ignorant of the occasion– requested the Raizada’s to keep their son occupied until seven o’clock in the evening, and searched practically the entire internet for a recipe that would be easy enough to pull off without much room for error. 

That’s pretty much where things stopped being straightforward.

Perhaps, she should have seen it coming. Afterall, Khushi was aware that she wasn’t a great cook. Despite plenty of forced lessons from her mother while growing up, she didn’t manage to master the culinary arts as well as her family would’ve liked. Her greatest achievement in the kitchen, to date, remains being able to make her rotis round and unburnt, her dal soft and flowing, her sabji spicy and flavorful. That had been enough to gain freedom from those wretched cooking lessons and also fool her into thinking that she could make pizza –the main and only course tonight– from scratch. 

She could not have been more wrong. 

Either the recipe she had printed off was highly misleading or she was grossly incompetent, whatever the case may be, the classic Italian dish was going nowhere according to plan. The dough, despite adding enough water and yeast, was stiff, almost like rubber, and the tomato sauce wasn’t thickening like it was supposed to. 

And to make matters worse, the clock was ticking away at bullet speed. In just a mere hour, Arnav would be home and at the rate things were going, she would be welcoming him with more of a disaster and less of a surprise. 

Maybe I should ask Jeejaji to stall him, Khushi thought to herself, stirring the still watery tomatoes and simultaneously scolding herself for not buying a pre-made sauce. What was the necessity to make everything from scratch? She wasn’t a trained chef like him for crying out loud!

“Khushi?”

This could not be happening.

“What’s going on?”

Sh*t! Sh*t! Sh*t!

Khushi turned on her heels like a deer caught in headlights, all thoughts of pizza vanishing and dread settling in the pit of her stomach. 

Arnav was standing at the entryway, looking as handsome as he did that morning, seemingly baffled. His eyes warily combed through the kitchen –cluttered, messy and nearly not as pristine as he usually left it– before finally settling on her, his gaze travelling slowly (and vividly) from her feet all the way to her forehead. 

Khushi instinctively looked down to see big botches of white flour –remnants of the pizza dough she had been kneading– staining her yoga pants and faded grey t-shirt. She had picked out a lace black saree, not having a red one like he had requested, to wear for evening to match with his suit, but clearly, luck was not on her side today. She probably looked quite hideous, her hair stowed away in a top knot, her face devoid of even mascara. 

 If the situation wasn’t so dire, she would’ve probably laughed out loud at her state.  

“I thought you would be at the hospital,” Arnav said, trying once again to get a word out of her. “Did your shift end early?”

Khushi’s shoulders slumped in disappointment, the reality of the situation clearing her panicked mind. So much for surprising him. 

“There was no shift,” she explained, looking down at her feet, embarrassed. Behind her, the tomato sauce was merrily bubbling away, unaware that it will no longer be devoured. “I didn’t go to the hospital at all today.”

“You had the day off?” he repeated, perplexed. “Why didn’t you tell me–”

Was he acting naïve on purpose?

“Because,” she said. “It’s your birthday and I… I wanted to surprise you.”

He blinked, taken over by genuine surprise. “You… you knew?”

“Of course I knew,” she muttered, sulking now. “And it would’ve been perfect if you didn’t barge in unannounced...” 

“I can leave,” he offered instantly, a smile forming on his soft lips now. “And come back when you’re ready?”

“Don’t try to be cute… there is no point now.”

Arnav suddenly paused and gingerly took a step into the kitchen, sniffing the air. “Something is burning,” he concluded. 

Khushi cursed –a rarity for her– and hurriedly turned back to the stove to find her tomato sauce indeed burning. She lowered the flame, rattled, and threw in a cup of water for added measure, hoping to stop the browning tomatoes from becoming charcoal.

She felt Arnav’s presence sweep up behind her. 

“What are you making?” he asked, curiously peering over her shoulder, standing much too close. 

“It was supposed to be pizza sauce,” Khushi grumbled, her muscles involuntarily freezing up in his presence. She found her body doing that a lot around him lately, getting all tussled up for no apparent reason. It was unnerving.  

“You’re on the right track,” Arnav answered kindly. “It just needs a tweak, that’s all.”

Khushi didn’t believe him. When he cooked, the aroma took up the entire penthouse. But here… the less said, the better. 

“Who am I kidding,” she said, turning off the stove in defeat. She didn’t see the point of continuing this stupid excursion, especially when the surprise factor was gone. “I can’t cook. This is such a disaster.”

Arnav –surprisingly– was in high spirits. Patting her shoulder (and causing her to almost stop breathing in the jitters that followed his touch), he said cheerfully: “It’s the thought that counts Dr. Gupta. Besides, it’s not that bad.”

Khushi looked at her feet, wishing the ground could open and swallow her whole. She hated being incompetent, especially in something so basic. Maybe she should’ve just stuck to Lavanya’s original plan of a surprise party at midnight. At least then, Arnav would’ve had the celebration he deserved.

Perhaps he sensed her thoughts, for he gently held both of her shoulders and spun her around to face him. “What’s wrong?”

She refused to meet his eyes. 

“Khushi?”

Her heart squeezed inexplicably. How did he do that? How could he make her name sound so… enticing? How was she supposed to resist the pull of his husky voice?

“It’s just,” she blurted, hugging her waist for support. “I wanted to make your birthday special. You always do so much for me, you make me feel as though every day is my birthday… I wanted to give you some of that. I wanted you to feel how wonderful, how touching it is to have someone cook for you without expecting anything in return.”

Arnav stretched out his index finger and coaxed her chin up. 

“I like cooking for you Khushi,” he said simply. “It’s purely a selfish pleasure... Don’t blow it out of proportion and feel obligated to cook for me in return.”

“It’s not obligation–”

“My birthday is already special,” he continued. “Because you are in it. I don’t need a surprise to spruce it up, trust me.”

Khushi wasn’t sure if she heard right. He didn’t want anything extra for his birthday? He was content with just… her? 

“So please, don’t be disappointed. I didn’t come home early to watch you brood, half covered in flour.”

“Early?” she repeated, glancing at the clock on the microwave. It read half past six. 

Why did they let him come home early?! 

Khushi was sure she had made it explicitly clear to Shyam that they were to keep Arnav busy until seven. So, what happened?

Arnav dug his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, I wanted to come home early to make something nice… for dinner... you know, for just the two of us.”

Guilt cut deep into her heart. Who was this man?! He wanted to pamper her on his birthday?!

“It’s no big deal,” Arnav assured her, catching the look on her face. “It was nothing extravagant.”

She snorted, highly doubtful. Everything he made was extravagant. 

As Arnav went off to inspect the kitchen, Khushi grabbed her phone from the living room, realizing that she hadn’t checked it since the afternoon, being completely immersed as she was with preparations. 

Sure enough, there was a missed call from Shyam flashing on her screen, accompanied by a very long text message explaining why he couldn’t stop Arnav from coming home early. However, that was not what caught her attention. There was one more missed call in her notifications.

From her father.

Khushi was stumped. Why on earth did her father call her? Hadn’t he angrily stomped off the evening of her awards, silently vowing never to speak to her (or Arnav) ever again? 

“The dough looks nice,” Arnav called. 

She treaded back to the kitchen to see him peering down at the pizza dough, nodding in approval. Tucking away thoughts of her father, she said: “I didn’t screw that up, then?”

“Nope.”

Arnav shrugged off his blazer and began to loosen the tie she had knotted just that morning. His shoulders had felt so strong underneath her fingers, unyieldingly firm and yet, pliantly soft. She admired his physique that way. Not burly like Ved’s nor scrawny like Vihaan’s. He was in between, standing almost six feet tall, lean, lithe and just a hint of muscle peeking through the curves of his upper arms. He was perfect.

Especially in a suit. In a black suit. 

“Okay,” Arnav said, oblivious to her thoughts. He had drawn up his sleeves, undone the front few buttons of his black shirt and thrown on a crisp white apron. How did he look so glorious in something so domestic? 

“The sauce is missing,” he continued, leaning over the stove to take a liberal waft of the almost burnt sauce she had been working on. “Salt… garlic… oregano… a bit of basil… and maybe some pepper to spice it up.”

Khushi gaped at him. She knew better than to underestimate him at this point, but it was still shocking to see him pick through all the ingredients with just the smell. 

“Well?” Arnav said, looking at her pointedly when she didn’t move. “What are you waiting for? Get me these things.”

“Err– yes,” she answered, taken aback to hear the command in his voice and scrambling to gather the items he requested. 

Cooking with Arnav was quite hard, Khushi found to her dismay. Watching him chop up the ingredients with precision and at blinding speed was so fascinating –and not to mention attractive– that she found herself spending more time ogling at him than listening to his instructions. The only saving grace, however, was that he never lost his patience with her. He would repeat the instructions a second time without any frustration and would occasionally even explain, almost scientifically, when to add each component and why. 

“And there you go,” he said, giving the now very aromatic sauce a final stir. “Pizza sauce is ready.”

Khushi peek into the pot to see that the tomatoes were no longer horrifically brown, but instead were combined well into an appealing, chunky, red-colored paste. 

“You must think I’m such a dud,” she said, shaking her head. “I swear I know how to cook.”

Arnav chuckled, collecting the dirty spoons and dropping them in the sink. He did that a lot; he cleaned up right away, almost as though he was obsessed with a spotless kitchen at all times. 

“I’m not judging you Dr. Gupta,” he said, wiping around the stove now to remove spots of the sauce that had splattered out of the dish. “Do you see me feeling bad that I cannot do sutures?”

“That’s different. Medicine is my profession–”

“–and cooking is mine. I’m honestly very impressed that you managed even this much. Have you ever done groceries before this?”

“Of course I did!” she replied indignantly. “And I can cook. I can make dal and roti, okay?”

He shook his head. “I’m not making fun of you Khushi. I assumed –until now– that you guys had cooks and stuff, growing up. So why on earth would you have to go buy groceries?”

“Oh,” she said, biting her lip sheepishly. He had a point, like always. 

“Why do you always get so defensive? Especially when it’s about your childhood?”

Khushi leaned on the counter, trying to find the simplest explanation. “I just… I don’t like talking about myself.”

“I’ve noticed… what I don’t get is why. Your father, yes, was illogical, but–”

She sighed, having no interest in dragging out this conversation. She knew very well that he would keep pestering her until he fished out the real reason, all in its pathetic glory, so dropping her inhibitions, she said: “I don’t like feeling abnormal.” 

Arnav paused in the middle of cleaning, listening intently. 

“Yes, my father is illogical, but that doesn’t give you or anyone an excuse to alienate me,” she continued frankly. “I don’t want sympathy or a reminder that I grew up out of the norm... I had enough of that in school.”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t think you’re weird Khushi,” he said gently, setting down the washcloth. 

“I know you don’t,” she mumbled, playing with her fingers. “But not everyone is like you.”

“Do you know why people like cliques?”

She remembered reading about it in psychology. “It makes them confident.”

“Yes, but why?” 

Khushi came up blank. 

“Because they don’t like themselves when they are alone. It’s easier to hide away in a group, pretending that is their identity, than facing their own in the mirror. They cannot become like you, neither can they accept you, so they banish you. It’s pitiful, really.”

She couldn’t believe him. “You’re just saying that–”

“No, I’m not just saying that… I know because I used to be one of them.”

She had guessed that much already, that he was one of the “cool” kids in college. 

“I enjoyed being with my close-knit group of friends,” he explained, matter-of-factly. “We were all too pampered and well-off to have any real problems. It wasn’t intentional, of course… we didn’t form a group to torment others who were less privileged, but I’m sure it must’ve looked like that to others. And the real reason we even gravitated towards each other was simply because we didn’t fit in anywhere else. We weren’t class toppers, we didn’t really see eye to eye with our parents, we weren’t disciplined enough to take sports seriously… so tell me, who really is abnormal here?”

Wow.

“So then, what made you change?”

“You grow out of it. My parents shipped me off to boarding school, scared that I was getting nowhere and there, I became the social outcast for not being smart enough… it’s a stupid loop. The less you get entangled in it, the better. So, the way Isee it, you are very lucky Khushi. You learned how to be with yourself before any of us did, and that’s why, today, you are successful.”

Khushi felt her heart flutter. He always knew what to say… as if he understood her messed up muddle of a mind better than she, herself. Was it possible to love him anymore than she already did?

“So, are you ready for the next step?” Arnav asked brightly. 

She smiled. “Sure.”

Arnav brought out the pizza dough and set it on the kitchen island. 

“You kneaded it well,” he complimented, showing her how much the dough had risen. “Now we just have to flatten it.”

Khushi was relieved. Here, at last, was one thing she knew how to do and not screw up. 

“Let me,” she said, grabbing the rolling pin from his hand. 

He didn’t object. Instead, he leaned back and watched, his eyes twinkling. 

Khushi took a fist-full of dough –airing on the side of caution and keeping the pizza small– and began to slowly roll it out, remembering for a split second all the times her mother used to stand beside her just like he was now, giving her tips on how to make the roti thin and round. 

“No,” Arnav murmured, straightening up. 

She paused. “Err– what did I do wrong?”

Arnav –to her great surprise– stepped behind her and placed his hands atop of hers on the two ends of the rolling pin. He was careful to leave an inch of space in between them, cautious not to touch her anywhere other than the top of her hands. Except, Khushi could feel him, nonetheless. She could feel him as well as if he was standing right up against her, giving her a hug from behind. 

“You see here, how it’s uneven?” he said, pointing to the left side of the dough.  

His breath tickled her exposed neck, causing an inaudible shiver to run through her. 

“So spread it out,” he advised, gently directing –with her hands still trapped underneath his– the rolling pin to smoothen out the unequal parts. 

Khushi simply nodded, looking at the dough, but not seeing anything other than his slender fingers, vaguely wondering why she never noticed how alluring they were before. As he continued to even out the dough, his steady breaths brushing over her shoulder, Khushi couldn’t help but recollect the kiss he had given her last week on the balcony. 

It had been so sudden, so unexpected… she didn’t think he would ever want to kiss her. She had learned over and over again not to expect anything from him, and yet, that night when she realized he only kissed her at the hospital to send a message to the nurses, she couldn’t help but wish things were different. That he wouldn’t constantly need a push from his family or her colleagues to own up to his right over her. 

He had proved all of her concerns wrong in one second.

And it didn’t stop there. All throughout the past week, there had been many such odd moments when he would suddenly stare at her as though in a trance, as though seeing her for the first time. There were also moments like these, when he would willing come close to her, whether intentionally or not, she couldn’t quite yet tell. It was obvious that his feelings for her were changing, that he was slowly erasing the boundaries he had drawn in between them. 

“Done,” Arnav whispered. 

She couldn’t get herself to answer, not wanting to leave his embrace.  

Arnav –finally!– seemed to realize their precarious position, for he awkwardly retracted his arms and took a step back, waiting for her to speak. 

Khushi took a deep breath. “Now what?” she asked, not trusting herself to face him.

“Now we put it all together,” he answered in a surprisingly steady voice. 

It was after they spread the sauce, added the toppings –slices of mozzarella and basil leaves, for Arnav insisted that nothing in Italian cuisine could beat the authenticity of a margherita pizza– and turned on the oven that Khushi realized she never asked Arnav if he even liked pizza. 

“Of course, I like it,” he answered promptly. They were sitting on the bar stools at the kitchen island, waiting for the pizza to bake. “But you need to eat it in Naples to really understand what the true taste is.”

“I’m assuming you went there as well?”

He nodded. “It was Lavanya’s demand for her eighteenth birthday. We did a family trip to Italy, mainly because Maa didn’t trust her to send her alone.”

Khushi laughed. “Where in Italy did you go?”

“Rome obviously… had a quick stopover in Naples before hitting the Amalfi coast. And then, we went to Venice.”

“Do you like traveling for the cuisine or for of the culture?” she asked, already knowing his answer.

He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Is it bad if I say cuisine?”

“Typical Mr. Chef.”

“So what, you travel for the culture?”

“It’s fascinating,” she agreed, thinking back to her family vacations abroad. They weren’t many, thanks to her father’s hectic schedule in which they were always the last priority. “But I haven’t been to many places to really know the difference.”

“Why not? Do you not like travelling?”

“I like it,” she answered, recalling her last trip –to London– just before her mother’s accident. “But I think I haven’t found the right person to go with… Vihaan can get boring quite fast.”

Before he could answer, however, the timer on the oven went off. Khushi excitedly jumped down from her stool and opened the oven door to see that the pizza had puffed up magnificently, while the cheese bubbled mouthwateringly on top. 

“Oh my god!” she squealed, unable to believe that it came out so perfectly. “It looks so good!!”

“Do you want to admire it like this or would you prefer me to take it out?” teased Arnav. He had slipped on oven mitts and was waiting for her to move out of the way. 

Khushi grinned and stepped aside, letting him reach in and pull out the tray. 

“Not yet,” he warned, when she reached for a knife to cut it into slices.  

“Why not?”

“We have to garnish it, silly.”

She impatiently tapped her feet as Arnav proceeded to add fresh basil and red chili flakes, before final cutting the pizza into four even pieces. 

“Cheers,” he said, slipping two of them onto a plate and handing it to her. 

“Should we go to the balcony?” Khushi asked. She had bought candles to set up on the balcony like he had done last week, but arranging them now, when he was present, didn’t make much sense. 

Arnav thought for just a second. “Wait,” he said, dashing to a shelf beside the sink and drawing out a long, white candle.

“There,” he said, lighting it up and placing it on the kitchen island. “It’s perfect.”

Khushi giggled. It was nothing like a ‘perfect’ candlelight dinner. The fluorescent kitchen lights were blazing down on them, the sink was brimming with dirty dishes and she was doused profusely in flour… and yet, even with all these oddities, it was still the very best candlelight dinner they had ever had. 

Like all of Arnav’s cooking, the pizza also turned out delicious. Khushi was glad they skipped adding veggies, for the mozzarella cheese and basil leaves didn’t need any amendments whatsoever. They ate to their hearts content, talking about Venice, Arnav’s favorite city in Italy apparently, falling easily into their usual banter.  

It was as they slouched on their stools, completely sated and too lazy to clean-up, that he spoke again.

“Honestly,” he told her, his voice soft and earnest. “I don’t think I have ever tasted better pizza than this.”

She had no doubt that he was exaggerating. “Not even in Naples?”

“Nope, not even in Naples,” he said with a lopsided smile. “Which makes this the best gift I have ever received on my birthday. Thank you Kh–”

Khushi sat up with a scoff. “Who said this is your gift?”

He didn’t follow. “What–”

Too late, she had already slid down the stool. “Wait here,” she told him, before running off to their bedroom and recovering a blue-colored file –tactfully hidden deep inside her clothes– from the cupboard. A minute late, she was standing in front of him again, holding it out. 

“This is your gift,” she said meaningfully. “Happy birthday Arnav.”

He was skeptical. “Um… thank you? But what exactly is it?”

“Read it.”

Arnav tentatively accepted the file, looking as though he was being given homework for a birthday present. She watched –both eager and apprehensive– as he began reading the first page, his eyes slowly widening with every passing word. He hadn’t even reached the end of the document, before letting out a gasp and looking at her flummoxed. 

“This... this says,” he stammered, unable to find words. 

She waited, grinning ear to ear.

“This says I’m buying a restaurant.”

“Correct.”

He stared at her ludicrously. 

To be quite honest, Khushi had been toying with the idea of getting him a restaurant since Holi, when she had spotted him handling the kitchen at Shantivaan with utmost ease. It was so obvious that cooking brought him joy like no other. So then, why was he toiling away at his father’s company? What was the point in upholding ‘family responsibilities’, if he couldn’t uphold the most primal responsibility every person had, the one they owed to their own self? 

And so, Khushi had decided. Just like how he had once forced her to resume her internship, she would force him to chase his dream. And it seemed, even fate had willed the same. Vihaan, by pure luck, mentioned that a good friend of his was planning to sell his restaurant during brunch on the day of Arnav’s discharge. Khushi immediately took him up on the offer and had gone for a preliminary meeting last Saturday (lying to Arnav that she had been with Ved when she came home late that evening). 

She had liked the restaurant, all things considered. It wasn’t too big or lavish, but it was located within the core of the city and had the potential to turn into a fair business if the presently dull menu was reinvented. Of course, the final call would be Arnav’s, for he would be the one owning and running it. So, she had made Vihaan draft up an agreement and presented it to Arnav now, hoping that he would agree and go with her tomorrow to take a look. If he had no qualms with the place, they could sign off on the deal and take ownership by the end of the month. 

However, it seemed, in her excitement, Khushi had grossly miscalculated Arnav’s reaction. Far from being ecstatic, he was looking at her in disquiet, unmoving, like a grim ice sculpture. 

Khushi sighed. “Arnav?” 

He blinked, finding his voice. “Are you… are you out of your mind?”

“No.”

“Then what makes you think me starting a restaurant is a good thing?”

“Because,” she said pointedly. “You deserve this. Just because you failed that one time doesn’t mean you suck at being a chef. Life always gives you a second chance– you told me that, remember?”

“But I don’t want a second chance!” he snapped. “I’m happy with this Khushi, why is that so hard for you to understand?”

She crossed her arms. “Are you really?”

“Excuse me?”

“When you go to sleep at night, do you not have a twinge of regret that your talent has been wasted? Do you not wish that things had turned out differently?”

He bit his lip, his expression softening. 

“I know because I have been through it,” she continued. “And you helped me out of it. You gave me the one thing I desperately wanted to have but couldn’t… today, it’s my turn.”

Arnav rubbed his forehead, thinking. “I… I appreciate your sentiment… but I… I have no right to take money from my father’s company to invest in this. So please, try and understand: I don’t have the time, energy or funds to start a restaurant again.”

“What kind of a gift do you think this is,” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “If you are going to have to pay for it?”

He glanced at the file in his hands. “We have to buy this place Khushi, and the owner is demanding a hefty amount–”

“Turn to the last page,” she ordered. 

He sighed but obliged all the same. “I don’t want to pay for this in installments eith–”

Arnav broke off upon seeing the cheque tucked neatly at the end of the file. With fumbling fingers, he detached it, reading and re-reading the numbers scribbled in. After several minutes, he croaked:

“How?”

“Does it matter?” she asked, shrugging her shoulders in nonchalance. 

He stood up, his face very grave. “I know how much you make Khushi, there is no way you have this kind of savings– what did you do? Did you ask your father or Vi–”

“Of course not,” she snapped. She had foolishly hoped that he wouldn’t ask for these particular details, but it was clear, looking into his muddy brown eyes, that he wasn’t going to accept the money unless he knew its source. 

“I didn’t ask my father or brother,” she clarified. “I… I sold my wedding jewelry.”

Silence followed her confession. Arnav went back to staring at the cheque, refusing to meet her eyes. She knew he was searching for a way to turn it all down without hurting her feelings. 

“It’s fine,” Khushi said seriously. “It’s just jewelry, and frankly, I never liked them much to begin with anyway… They were all my father’s choice.”

“That’s not the point,” he replied in a low voice. “It’s your wedding jewelry, you can’t possibly expect me to take–”

She didn’t let him finish. “Do you know why brides are sent to the in-laws house with so much money and gold?”

He shook his head in negative. 

“It’s her insurance. In case her husband cannot support her, she doesn’t need to depend on someone else…. Which means, this jewelry is mine and I can choose to spend it on whatever I see fit.”

“Which is definitely not this restaurant–”

“You cannot decide for me.”

Arnav paused, exasperated. 

“Think about it,” Khushi pleaded, hoping his silence was a good thing. “This time, you will be the sole owner. You can run it however, whichever way you like it… The restaurant already has a management team in place, so you don’t need to handle everything on your own either. You can become as much or as little involved as you like. And the best part? You don’t have to quit working for your father… you can take care of Raizada Industries during the weekdays and check in with restaurant during the weekends. What more do you need?”

He was quiet.  

“You told me that your restaurant before was bound to fail because you didn’t have direction or discipline… what if I told you that you failed because you didn’t have the support you needed?”

Arnav didn’t refute. 

“This time, things will be different… this time, you won’t be obligated to anyone, you won’t have to answer to failing numbers or disappointed partners or–”

“No,” he objected, pointedly. “This time, I’m answerable to you.”

Khushi realized with a jolt, at last, why he was so adamantly against opening another restaurant. His disappointments in life had all led him to believe that he had no right to question the norm, that what he was expected to do was far more worthwhile than what he wanted to do. So, instead of accepting this restaurant as a steppingstone to pursuing his dreams, he was seeing it as just another responsibility he owed, this time to her. 

Where was she even supposed to begin to explain that he was one hundred and twenty percent wrong? 

She wasn’t an ‘investor’ in this restaurant like how Lavanya’s husband, Akash, had once been. She wasn’t even a ‘partner’ like his schooltime friend for that matter. And she sure as hell, wasn’t his father either. She was more than all that, because, she was nothing but him. 

“No Arnav,” she said, clearing her throat. “You are not answerable to me because what is mine, is yours. You and I are the same.” 

The strangest of emotions overtook Arnav as he grasped what she was trying to tell him. Without any warning, he threw his arms around her and pulled her into a hug so tight, so warm, so full of joy that she didn’t even know where he ended, and where she began. 

He buried his head in the hollow of her neck, hanging onto her as though she would disappear, his breathing deep and heavy. Khushi hugged him back without restraint, her heart out of control and her mind numbed with his musky scent. She couldn’t resist tucking her chin and nestling her head against his, feeling an invisible bubble envelope around them, secluding them from the rest of the world.

They stood like that for several minutes, neither wanting to break away, both holding onto the reality that it was just the two of them that mattered, each of them for the other, two people, yes, but really only one soul. 

Finally, at last, Arnav reluctantly lifted his head and let his arms drop back to his side. 

“I…” he said, running his hands through his disheveled hair. 

Khushi shook her head. He didn’t have to explain himself; his embrace said everything she needed to hear. 

“So, do you accept?” she asked. “Will you take the restaurant?”

Arnav exhaled. “I suppose… I mean…” –his eyes bore into hers– “How do I even thank you?”

She crossed her arms, pleased. “I know a way.”

“Anything you want.”

“You can thank me by making the restaurant a success… by never feeling you are caged ever again.”

Arnav paused, his eyes melting under the brazen kitchen lights. He –unpredictably– clasped her right hand and brought it to rest against the center of his chest, where his heart lay. 

“I promise Khushi,” he murmured. “I promise we’ll soar high.”

Her heart took off, yet again. 

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A/N: Apologies (again) for being half a day late! As many of you guessed, Khushi knew it was Arnav's birthday and since her surprise for him was very important to the plot, I took my time to write it instead of rushing through. I hope the wait was justified 🤗🤗🤗

Thank you again for the wonderful comments to the last chapter, it is always a pleasure to read your thoughts and discuss what the characters are going through.

Next chapter will be up on very late Saturday night or Sunday morning (Eastern time, of course!).

Please like & comment ❤️

Archi