I should be studying for mocks, and this is what I ended up doing instead...sigh. I just couldn't resist posting this, though I should mention I'm not entirely sure about this chapter. Somehow I feel I haven't done it justice though I'll leave that up to you guys to decide. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter Six
The sound of splattering oil and bubbling syrup washed over the kitchen in the early morning light.
Khushi was hard at work. Her saree pallu had been tightly wrapped around her and tucked in, while her hair had been tamed into an unruly bun. She stood in the middle of the otherwise empty kitchen, hovering over the stove with a pouch which she was swinging around over a hot pan in a state of extreme agitation. While one hand dexterously and with furious speed created perfect twirls of batter in the hot oil, the other scooped up the bright orange, crisp jalebis to dunk them into sugary syrup. Already beside her, there was a huge platter mounted high with jalebis from which she would occasionally grab one, chewing on it feverishly.
Khushi squeezed the remaining batter out of the pouch and wheeled around to spoon in some more of the mixture, only to realise that the bowl was empty. She stood perfectly still for a moment, rigidly glaring at the bowl, which had the audacity to be empty at a time like this. Then her pose relaxed as she took in a long, shuddering breath which left her feeling even more agitated than she was before.
Her eyes shut immediately as she was caught unawares by the thoughts she had been fighting so long to keep at bay. Her hand snatched up a jalebi and stuffed the whole thing in her mouth as she struggled not to remember, not to think. But her mind was too stubborn to heed her.
Khushi had felt as though she had been sent reeling when she awoke to find herself enclosed in the arms of a sleeping Arnav Singh Raizada. To say that this development had shocked her would have been too mild; Khushi had felt her head spin, her stomach lurch and at a point feel the ground give way beneath her. Fighting with the temptation to succumb to another fainting spell, Khushi had bravely warded off the blackness threatening to overtake her while she nimbly extricated herself from Arnav's embrace and made a mad dash out of the room as though she was on fire. Only to have to tiptoe back in a few minutes later to sneak a change of clothes out so she could take a shower in the guest room bathroom.
Now, as she stood breathing heavily, eyes shut tight and hands clutching the edges of the kitchen counter, Khushi was forced to encounter the thoughts she had been trying so hard to avoid.
Vague flashes of a conversation, if it could be called that, came back to her, blurry and a little clouded. She was not entirely sure how much of it had been a dream, but she was under the hazy impression that Arnav had somehow managed to fall out of bed. Trying gallantly to ignore her heart, which was charging against her ribs in its frantic attempt to leapt out of her chest, Khushi tried to focus logically on what on earth could possibly have happened last night for him to end up with her, fast asleep on the floor.
Holding me.
Khushi mentally swatted that thought away before it could take root. Already her breathing had speeded up to the point that she wondered whether her lungs would be able to handle the strain. Her thoughts took a random turn, away from the half-baked theories her over-exerted mind was supplying her with, when she suddenly considered the consequences of what had happened. What would he do when he woke up to find himself on the floor?
Khushi did not really doubt that. She was sure he would hunt her down immediately, and with that brutish gleam in his eyes, inform her, in no uncertain terms, not to get carried away with senseless hopes and dreams. He would remind her of her middle-class status, of how characterless she was, of how, had it not been a question of his Di's happiness, he would have shredded her world apart, piece by piece. She gulped as his words reopened the half healed wounds of her heart, stinging, making breathing difficult. She gulped hard, trying vainly not to succumb to tears as she tried to mentally arm herself for the inevitable confrontation. But her heart, already battered and broken, refused to listen, and continued to beat painfully in her chest.
She picked up yet another jalebi, biting into it, trying to drown in the flood of sweetness, melting delicately into her mouth. But today even jalebis would not allow her to forget, to erase memories or dreads, as her obstinate thoughts veered back to square one, and to Arnav who was probably still asleep on her mattress on the floor.
Her hand, holding the half-eaten jalebi, dropped to her side as puzzled thoughts pushed their way to the forefront of her mind. What legitimate reason could there be for this situation? Khushi had gone to bed long before he had returned. Suggestions popped up in her head. Maybe he was drunk. But why would he have gone drinking so late at night? Maybe was too sleepy to see where he was going. She shook her own head, dismissing that hopeless idea. Maybe he did fall out of bed...
Khushi did not consider, or rather, refused to let herself consider, forced herself not to consider, the possibility that maybe he had slipped into her bed of his own free will.
She would not let herself think that. At any cost.
Maybe he did fall out of bed. Maybe he didn't realise what he was doing afterwards and just got into the blanket in his sleep.
Tersely nodding her head, she gave her stamp of approval to that story, allowing her heart to slow down a moment. But before she could once again turn to the ramifications of that story, she heard a voice that made her freeze, as the jalebi she had been holding slipped out of her limp hand.
Seizing the chance gratefully, Khushi ducked behind the counter, crouching behind it as she made a whole prolonged fuss over picking up the jalebi. At least it got her out of his direct line of fire, she reasoned with herself, while her hands picked up the sticky pieces off the floor in slow motion. 'Yes?'
'Make me a cup of coffee, will you?'
Khushi felt her body involuntarily cease all movement. That was the last thing she would expect him to say, and it sent her into panic as she refused to allow the tiny bubble of hope floating around her hyperactive heart. It took supreme effort for her to straighten up, and all the willpower she possessed to get her limbs to move in a straight line towards the dustbin. Only she knew the superhuman strength she had to employ to grab hold of her thoughts tightly as they attempted to shift backwards into the dark recesses of the past, or forwards into the bleak alleys of the future. She did not want to think about what he was saying, or process them; they entailed too many implications, the thought of which she suspected would not leave her standing. Trying hard to keep her voice even, she managed to respond 'I'll ask Hari Prakashji to make it for you.'
She did not turn around to look at him. The storm she was sure would come eventually would be hard enough; if she had to face him she was not sure she could take it.
'Why can't you make it?'
Something in her told her that that statement ought to surprise her, but she felt no surprise. Her defence mechanism, honed to perfection by now, had kicked in. Khushi felt a sob rise in her throat and swallowed quickly, painfully. Turning slightly to keep her face hidden, she answered in almost a whisper, fearing her voice would crack 'Because you said anything made by me is no better than poison'.
***
Arnav felt as though she had just slapped him across the face.
In fact, he wished she had slapped him across the face, because he was certain it would hurt a lot less than her quiet, subdued voice and the words it had uttered just had. He stared at her back, turned against him as she stood motionless at the other end of the kitchen, and could not believe that he had been aroused just moments before from a night of fitful sleep after many, many days, with a feeling of perfect bliss nestling in his heart.
The black, gaping hope he had ripped into his life appeared before him once more, threatening to suck him in.
Vivid, lurid images flashed across his mind, blinding him. Memories of him flinging a glass dish across a room on her first day as his wife, watching her frightened eyes widen while he continued to look back at her with blood, fuelled with anger, pounding in his head. Telling her, in a voice so icy its mere memory made a chill run down his spine, that he would much rather die starving than eat anything made by her. That it was no better than poison.
Arnav had known that what he had now set out to do would not be easy. He was prepared for the pain, welcomed it almost, because he knew he deserved every minute of grief he would experience in the challenge he had set himself. But he could never have imagined, never be prepared, for the sheer magnitude of hurt that he was beckoning with open arms. His own words swam back eerily from his past, each landing like the lash of a whip against him, leaving behind raw pain. Fresh wounds on the heart, on the soul. He was being forced, dragged by the demons of his own ruthlessness, to stare into his own reflection, to watch the beast he had become and to loathe it.
But Arnav could not give up. This pain was nothing compared to the pain he felt every moment, every second he imagined being away from her. His entire life hung on her smile. His entire being depended on her existence in his life. He could not let her go- he could not watch her walk out of his life and continue to breathe in the vacuum she would leave behind her. He was not prepared to walk straight into the flames of his own doom by sending away his angel, his own personal ray of sunshine, captured and bottled and entitled to him and him alone.
He would make up for each of his harsh words no matter how long it took. For himself. For her.
He walked further into the kitchen, stopping just short of the counter, his breathing laboured from shifting his lead-like legs, weighed down by the burden of his regret.
'I was lying'.
Khushi's head snapped back to look at him in surprise. Involuntarily. Arnav could tell that she had not planned on looking at him- her eyes suddenly lost their light as they turned opaque, unreadable, while her lips pursed together. Her features, her beautiful features, became set in stone.
Arnav could almost see a wall descend behind those eyes that used to say so much, to protect her from the dangers of hoping, of dreaming, of desiring... of believing. He felt his own resolve tauten within him, with determination like never before to dismantle, painstakingly, that wall, brick by brick, until he could reach her. Just as she had penetrated the impenetrable iron fortress he had propped up to protect himself from the same pain he had managed to inflict on her.
He took another step forward and watched Khushi stiffen visibly. He heard himself sigh- the noise sounded sad and faraway to his own ears.
'Sometimes', he whispered, looking straight into her eyes, which betrayed nothing, as he spoke, 'I end up saying the exact opposite of what I mean'.
But words were not enough, his inner voice piped up. So he decided on action.
And without warning, he grabbed a cup half full of tea that Khushi had made for herself, resting next to the plate of jalebis, and downed it in one go. Khushi squealed and dashed forward, grabbing the cup out of his hands before squeaking, 'What are you doing? That had sugar in it!'
Arnav watched, with a strange feeling in his stomach, Khushi's expression change from being somewhat disoriented to concerned to downright anxious. It was a warm feeling, that grew slowly within him, stretching its reach into every corner of his being, dispelling the bitter cold that had been threatening to seep back into his life. As she opened her mouth to say something, clearly panic-stricken, he leaned forward, close enough to smell the jasmine scent of her damp hair that he was so besotted to, and whispered, 'Sometimes, it's ok to let a little sweetness into your life'.
And then he straightened and sauntered out of the kitchen. Just before he reached the door though, he turned around and said conversationally, 'But don't add any sugar to my coffee, just in case'.
With one last look at Khushi's dumbfounded expression as she clutched the kitchen counter with one hand and the now empty teacup with another, he turned to leave for the breakfast table. But just before passing out the door he did something he hadn't done in a long time.
He smirked.
Leaving behind a stunned Khushi who was convinced her dhak dhak was loud enough for the entire house to hear.
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Edited by -doe-eyes- - 13 years ago
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