A Series of Most Fortunate EventsPt11 p115,Note121 - Page 59

we definitely understand your time constraints. Please take care. And take your time to update. We shall be patiently waiting for your next update.

supderb updt

luv it

thanks for pm

mesmerizing...just a word is enough

Amazing update what a propsal

I read this again and throughly enjoyed it again!!!!

👏👏awesome...brilliant...superb👏👏

Very nicely written. You have described the feelings really well. I have read all the chapters today. Please pm me when you update next.

A/n: First of all, thank you to everyone who reassured me about the previous chapter- I was hopelessly nervous about the song and dance part, and your comments were incredibly encouraging! Thank you for your wonderful support!

2) As the title implies, this story comprises only of fortunate events (for everyone except Shyam of course). So whatever happens here happens for the best, and I advise you do not fret too much reading about Shyam- I can assure you he's doomed to failure :P This is a story about luck, so maybe when I finish it, I'll make a timeline of all the little lucky events which came together to let this story work out this way

3) I had the worst case of writer's bloc EVER trying to write this, and almost broke down crying over it. Then my best friend advised me to just write what came to me and not change anything. That might account for the incredible length of this part, plus all the flashbacks coz I was nostalgic again

4) Again the product of my insomnia, so if you think I ought to change it or edit it, please let me know :)

*Part 9*

*A tale of when the right things happen at the right time*

***

'Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired'- poet Robert Frost

***

Her lungs had seized up almost instantaneously, snagging in insubstantial, ragged puffs of air, even as a strangled, shocked gasp was torn from her lips.

Her heart fluttered and chirruped erratically, swooping desperately in every which direction as it hunted for escape from the cage of her ribs.

The skin at her nape, at the whorls of her ear, where his humid breath had ghosted, infused with the scrumptious, decadent scent of peppermint and warm honey, tingled and burned with painful pleasure, even as tiny sparks of current combusted beneath her skin.

His words, in that low, guttural growl, would not stop resonating in her head, like the echoed peal of tower-bells tolling in harmony.

Marry me.

It had not been a question. Nor a request.

It had been a demand.

And Khushi, cresting the peak of rapture that was the closest she had ever been to flying, mindlessly obeying that insatiable clench of longing almost suffocating her from within, could vaguely feel her lips parting at their seams, a breathy, ready acquiescence already composed-

-when a boisterous, heart-quaking beat trumpeted out of nowhere, shattering the enchantment with as much ceremony as delicate china hurled indelicately at the floor. It made her start violently, eyelashes flittering as fast as the wings of honeybees, her mind suddenly floundering to cope with the overload of sights and sounds galloping towards her awareness, sensations that had for several blissful, dream-conjured moments retired to some foreign landscape beyond the horizon of her mind.

Tangled nerves now re-acquainted themselves with several jumbled observations at once- the rapid-fire crescendo that had startled her, the enthused beat of the next song, a toe-tapping number she was sure she knew by heart but for the life of her could not recall, the people spilling on to the dance-floor in energetic accompaniment to the music, a disorienting confusion of moving bodies and discordant, bone-jarring noise.

Shaking her head as though to rid herself of the daze, Khushi raised baffled eyes to the one person she had been aware of, attuned to, part of, as she searched for answers.

'Wha-?'

***

Arnav had to bite down on an oath before it leapt off the springboard of his tongue, instead clamping his back-teeth together until they were grinding together.

He was going to have NK's head for his ridiculously appalling timing.

But even as he struggled to restrain the frustration rocketing within him, flitting forward like a platoon of wasps aiming for the kill, he did not miss the way the pit of his stomach plummeted with disappointment, his insides twisting about as a part of him lamented the loss of a perfect moment- one of the most beautiful, enchanting, life-changing, pivotal moments of his life.

This, he thought part-ruefully, part-irately, had to be the most anti-climatic moment in the history of mankind.

Sailing through airy space with Khushi in his arms, the sweet ministrations of heartfelt melody stirring his soul and unravelling his innermost desire, scripting his agenda in bold, unmistakeable terms across his mind's eye as he soared high enough to touch heaven and back...

Only to have his proposal for marriage shot to hell because of one those cacophonous, nerve-grating excuses for music that reminded him spectacularly of his aversion to Indian cinema, embellished with mindless lyrics that were about as witty as a nursery rhyme.

And often sounded like one too.

It was almost like wheeling in every conceivable direction above and below the clouds, only to wake up and discover it had been a dream.

Granted, he had more or less blurted his yearning in the heat of the moment, in possibly the most impulsive, brash move he had made all day (and he knew he must have scored a world record for that in just this evening), but still...

He had meant it.

So much that it almost hurt. So much that his body could almost not withstand the crippling longing.

So much that the conviction of what he wanted burned through his marrow, blistering him from within.

He could feel Khushi give herself a small shake, slowly drawing away enough to raise adorably flustered eyes to meet his, as though automatically expecting him to have an answer to the perplexity she must have been feeling.

'Wha-', she began, but by then Arnav's mind had already been made.

Without further ado, and a quick 'Come with me,' he grabbed hold of her dainty fingers, trying to ignore how the simple contact with their silken smoothness jostled his heart offbeat, and towed her with single-minded purpose away from the clucking and cooing bevy, towards some place that offered more privacy, some secluded corner of the house where they could continue this- discussion- in peace. Uninterrupted.

And he had just the place in mind.

***

"...a happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of."- from the play 'Hamlet', by William Shakespeare

***

The sound of the door swinging shut behind him tore through the muffled, almost muggy silence of the bedroom, unnaturally loud and bordering ominous.

And yet, Shyam did not bat an eyelid.

He might not even have noticed.

With an uncanny fluidness of movement, Shyam slithered across the carpeted floor, not bothering to turn the lights on. His shadow, a thin, elongated ribbon of black, slid silently against the wall behind him, with the stealth of an assassin rearing to deliver the final blow to his unsuspecting victim.

Shyam Jha's undivided attention was currently bent, with the focused intensity of a high-power microscope, on a single objective.

No different from a man caught within the confines of a building burning down to the ground, his entire being focused solely on getting to the opening, the fire-exit, the thought of escape, and nothing but escape, predominant in his mind. Nothing mattered except getting out alive, all concerns for what losses he incurred in the bargain- whether they be material losses, emotional losses, sentimental losses, burns and bruises and scars- shuttled to the backseat, glossed over and indistinct, all fading in their significance as he stumbled with unwavering intent towards the promise of fresh air and the chance to keep breathing.

And just like a man caught in a burning building, Shyam Manohar Jha was fixated solely upon the idea of escape, of survival, so much so that all lines of caution and consideration, the weighing of pros and cons, the enormity of the stakes he was wagering, the mere notion that his plan was riddled with imperfections that could jeopardise everything, doom him to spectacular failure, never occurred to him.

Not even for a second would he doubt what was in his mind a foolproof plan.

Killing all those meddlesome birds with one stone.

His much-contemplated masterstroke.

All he had to do was take out one knight...and that would be his brilliant endgame. Checkmate.

All he had to do was remove Shashi Gupta...and it would solve all his problems in the wink of an eye. Like a magician's conjuring trick.

Take Shashi Gupta out of the equation, and there would no longer be a witness against him. Against the lengths to which he was prepared to go, the depths to which he had already degraded himself, to get what he wanted. No one would ever know that not only was Shyam Jha an artful master of deception, a fraud and a liar and an infidel and a blackmailer, but only narrowly avoided the title of murderer. No one would know of his elaborate, but unfortunately failed, schemes involving oxygen cylinders in hospitals, severed electrical wires in swimming pools, ether in perfume bottles, scorpions in beds.

And, Shyam had reasoned with himself gleefully, if the father of the family were to die suddenly, unexpectedly- even someone as dense as his Rani Sahiba would think it insensitive and importunate to go about advancing marriage proposals for the daughter when the daughter herself would be bereaved and mourning. That would save Khushiji from Saale Sahab's clutches for a while longer, earning him the time he had so desperately been craving.

Time which would be ample, he argued with himself, ample to strike yet again and remove the remaining thorns in his bed of roses. Saale Sahab and Rani Sahiba. Of course, both incidents must be made to look purely and entirely accidental, a cruel hand dealt by fate on the Raizada family. If he were subtle enough about it, he might even be able to manipulate the soon-to-be grieving Raizadas into thinking that it was their new daughter-in-law, Payal, yet another nuisance that could tip the carefully stacked deck of cards, was responsible for bringing a slew of bad luck in her wake. That she was unlucky for the family.

That would be one stain she would never be able to scrub off herself, he gloated mentally.

And grief-stricken minds, reeling from the after-effects of terrible, untimely deaths, the demise of a son and a daughter of the family, would be susceptible to any amount of absurd drivel he chose to fed them.

And then, finding himself an 'unexpected' widower, the prospective suitor for Khushiji having breathed his last breath, Shyam could finally claim his prize. Khushiji would be all his. After all, who could possibly grudge an inconsolable young man, recuperating from heartbreak over the loss of his wife, a second shot at happiness? At Khushi?

If one were to look at his face now, they would infallibly find themselves staggering backwards in shock, a cold shard of icy fear stabbing them straight through the heart.

Terrified by the manic, possessed grin that split his face in half, teeth bared in demonic satisfaction as he mulled over his not-too-far-off future, the ultimate rendition of utopia. At the demented glow glittering in his wide open eyes, the twitching left eyebrow, the coat of perspiration that glossed his half-sallow, half-flushed skin.

A madman.

But there is a certain luxury in madness, a luxury that Shyam had relapsed into as naturally as falling asleep. His mind was already in a fragile state, dwindling at the edge of irrevocable insanity, unravelling steadily with each passing second like a ball of yarn, the thread tangling within itself until it could never again be undone. And as he was stripped of his calculating inhibitions and doubts and misgivings, Shyam quite happily saw what he wanted to see.

Saw his success in removing Shashi Gupta from the picture, employing such ingenious methods that no one would suspect foul play, before tomorrow morning.

Saw his success in putting a damper on the Raizadas' plans of visiting the Guptas with shagun for his Khushiji.

Saw his success in eventually being able to orchestrate convincing-enough deaths to rid himself of the brother-sister duo of Arnav and Anjali Singh Raizada once and for all.

He did not see, because seeing it would inconvenience him, the million different ways his entire scheme could go wrong.

Did not see, with all his attention monopolised by one chess-piece on the board, the dozen others that were riveted on to his every move.

Did not see the shadow darting past his open window, nor the intent pair of eyes that had been studying his every move as he crossed over to his closet and began rummaging inside for a leaf of pills he had stashed there not too long ago, as though he had prophesied an eventuality would arise when he would need them.

***

"Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead."- poet and playwright, Oscar Wilde

***

It was somehow fitting that Arnav's steps had indubitably led him to the sliding double doors through which he guided Khushi, maintaining a tenuous control over the excitement that frolicked within him, enticed by the mere rustle and swish of the cinnabar, jade and gold ensemble Khushi had on, or the faint tinkle of her bangles and anklets as he propelled her into the dusk-gold light bathing the poolside. Already this place had been a favourite haunt of his, an alcove sequestered from the rest of the house when he sought clarity of mind, or an escape from the brutal practicality of the world outside, or simply the oft-rare luxury of solitude and isolation. But somehow- and he would never be able to pinpoint how or even when this shift had occurred- but the significance of the poolside had altered in his mind to become irrevocably associated with her.

With his Khushi.

With the memories that had been spun here, the bewitching enchantment that seemed exclusive to the bejewelled aquamarine of the water's surface, the languid sway of his tenderly nurtured, lush-green plants, the emerald rivulets of ivy weaving up the walls. It was here, only here, that the pestering, interfering creatures roaming the earth left them alone, be it only for a few, scant moments- let them forget their reservations and inhibitions and reticence and simply just be there for one another.

Gently blowing air into her eye after dust had gotten into it, unconsciously leaning closer to the tantalising warmth, the fruity-flowery scent he had come to define her with...finding her here on Diwali night, words withering before they could form as he soaked in the sight of her, a nymph in crimson in the midst of a dozen flickering little flames, like scooting fireflies, the interplay of light and shadows only enhancing her breathtaking, heartbreaking, unearthly beauty...the warm glow of joy expanding and burning behind his ribs, pleasure and contentment and unspeakable delight trickling through him like a rejuvenating mug of coffee as Khushi ranted at him in an adorable fit of anger, admonishing him for disappearing, for not picking her calls, for making her worry, all the while fighting not to let loose a full-blown grin at the idea that she cared...toying with her, teasing her, feasting off the drug of her presence, that crackling electric tension as he yanked her closer and fulfilled one of his most covert fantasies, pressing his lips to her impossibly soft cheek...and then the shock of her retaliation, the single second where his heart had stopped before revving up at dangerous speeds when she had jumped the breach and pressed her liquid silk lips to his cheek...stalking fiercely behind her until he had her cornered here only last night, seething from the hurt of the thought that she had offhandedly dismissed his thoughtful presents, bangles handpicked for her, a perfect fit, only to have her accidentally blurt out that she did not intend to part with them, that she was fond of them...

Fond. It was the only word that could possibly describe this sudden, sentimental attachment he felt to what had been no more than an ordinary part of the house...where every brick and every stone, every crack in the tile and every undulating wavelet of water, had memorised every detail of the moment where he had followed his Di's sincere advice, and seized at his heart's desire with both hands...

Jab dil mein koi baat aaye, toh usse keh deni chahiye...

Never wait for tomorrow, for tomorrow never comes...

And he was going to listen to her advice yet again, his fingers threading through Khushi's in a more intimate grasp, determined to bring full-circle the endeavour he had started here earlier in the evening, when he had cornered his ever elusive Khushi, a shadow of a dream to the waking, in the first place.

Speaking of which, he ought to reward Laxmi for keeping Khushi there long enough for him to come out and block her escape in the first place.

And Di for giving him the much-needed push in the right direction, stamping a seal of finality on his purpose.

And Hari Prakash for forgetting to refuel the generator- the lights going off when they had had been a blessing in disguise, once again keeping Khushi from scarpering long enough for him to declare what he had denied for so long.

And maybe, in a moment of magnanimity and charity, NK as well, for his surprisingly apt song selection.

'So,' he found himself whispering, his even baritone now hoarse as he turned to face Khushi, tugging her smoothly into his embrace again, an arm eagerly snaking about her waist, before his face dropped closer to hers and nudged her nose with his, 'Where were we?'

***

"It is the absence of facts that frightens people; you open a gap into which they pour their fears, fantasies, desires"- from the novel 'Wolf Hall', by Hillary Mantel

***

Anjali, panting and flushed from the exertion of dancing, with far greater abandon than she could remember indulging in for years, huffed a little as she ambled back towards the sitting area of the hall. After being on the receiving end of an affectionate tongue-lashing from the joint forces of Nani and Buaji, a very unwilling Anjali had no choice but to acknowledge that their reasoning could not be faulted. She had barely had a moment's rest all day- it was solely her own exuberance and enthusiasm that had driven her through her self-appointed schedule, devotedly stopping at each and every temple she had intended to visit, spending a tremendous amount of time out of doors, without assistance or company, draining herself out as she methodically tackled her pilgrimage.

Not to mention, the mental and physical trauma that had been inflicted upon her psyche from the accident. But that incident Anjali did not dwell on for too long- her finely-tuned security mechanism was extremely adept at repressing unpleasant experiences, shutting them off until they were no more than the reflection of aged memory.

Plopping down onto one of the low settees, the contact of the plush upholstery into which her back sank merely served to highlight her own fatigue. Her body was tightly wound from exhaustion, which was not surprising considering that she had returned home only to plunge straight into the heart of things, throwing herself into any and all activities she could participate in, smilingly dissenting whenever anyone urged her to have a short lie down, that they could manage. After all, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity- Akash was not going to get married every day.

And despite the touch of stupor crawling up her spine and itching behind her eyelids, ostensibly making her drowsiness known to her, Anjali did not regret a moment of it. She had thrived on it all- swamped in the bubble of fulfilment that she had floated in as she visited one temple to the next like a wandering minstrel, the apprehension when the Pandit had failed to arrive on time, the glee at watching her recluse of a brother transform before her eyes from an ice-sculpted effigy to a love-struck, moon-eyed young man...and then with the prospect of yet another marriage and a magnificent chance to be part of all this excitement a second time round, this time for Chote...

It was the sharp trilling of her cell-phone, which had slipped in between two of the pillows covering the seat, that broke her out of the reverie. Rubbing her knuckles to take the edge of her sleepiness, Anjali blinked a little blearily at the caller's ID.

'Hello, Doctor!' she chirped brightly, receiving the call with a smile. The happiness everywhere was contagious.

'Mrs. Jha...I've been trying to contact your husband for the past few minutes now...but I can't seem to get hold of him. Perhaps his phone is switched off?'

Frowning slightly, Anjali sat up at the slight tinge of urgency colouring the normally genial, laid-back tenor of their family doctor. Her eyes swept over the length and breadth of the hall, scouring it for her husband...come to think of it, it had been a while since she had last seen him.

In fact, he had disappeared before the lights had been dimmed, the opening notes of Dil Ibadat drawing every last drop of her attention to the dance-floor where Chote had abandoned all semblance of decorum and- literally- swept Khushiji off her feet. Mesmerised by the fairy-tale scene playing out live for her romantic of a heart, the sight of Prince Charming hopelessly enamoured with the Princess attending her first ball...Anjali had effectively forgotten all about Shyam.

It was with a guilty start that she realised that she had not thought about him since.

'Um, is there something wrong Doctor?' Anjali muttered concernedly, little droplets of anxiety dripping into her stomach when her repeated surveys of the hall yielded no positive results.

'No, I don't think so,' but there was no mistaking the hint of uncertainty in his voice, 'You see, he called me with some medical inquiries but before we could finish speaking the line got cut off. I've been trying to get hold of him ever since.'

Anjali's furrowed brow smoothed within seconds, releasing a silent sigh of relief. That was why he was nowhere to be found. 'Oh! I'm sure it is nothing serious...he would have told me immediately if it were. He was probably just calling to confirm that I was fine and there aren't any complications...he was very worried when he heard about the accident you see...' Worried enough to slip away quietly from the guests and ring up their physician to reassure himself that she had, thanks to Devi Maiyya, escaped unscathed.

'Ah, actually, Anjali...he didn't mention the accident.'

Tired, sleepy, and a little muddled by the rapid succession of sensations that she served as a thoroughfare to, Anjali's mind fumbled a little to grasp this unlikely concept.

'Pardon me?'

'Yes, he wasn't calling about the accident...that's what I assumed he would be calling about but- he was actually asking me about the usage of a certain pill that's used by heart patients.'

'Heart patients?'

'Yes, I was puzzled by that too. As the family physician, I know that Mr. Jha is perfectly healthy, and besides, I did not prescribe to anyone in the family the pills he mentioned-'

'But- Doctor- he must have mentioned why he was asking about them?'

'Well, I was just about to ask him when the line went dead. You see, he was asking me about the potential effects of an overdose. He'd heard that an over-average dose of that particular drug over-stimulates the heart, and can lead to cardiac arrest. In severe cases, even death. That is why the medication is not freely sold at pharmacies without a prescription. I assumed that he knew of someone taking this particular pill, or had to help administer it, so he was simply checking up to be on the safe side. However-'

A rather lengthy pause followed. Though Anjali could not see his face, she could almost taste the unease that had unexpectedly mingled in the air around her. That wrapped its skeletal, chilled fingers about her. Her mind had suspended as it tussled with this influx of mystifying, odd, incongruous details, failing to match the puzzle pieces to their allotted spots, as her entire being strained to assuage its need for answers to the riddles plaguing her head.

A slightly weary sigh preceded the doctor's cultured tones, 'However- and I only say this because I have known your family for several years now- I couldn't help but feel a bit- worried. It may entirely be an old man's fancy that got to me...but I think you ought to check on your husband, ask him what's wrong. It's a bit strange for him to be inquiring about medicine I never recommended for anyone in the family, and to my knowledge none of the Raizadas have ailments of the heart which would require it. And also...he sounded a little- flustered, if you get what I mean. Restless and excitable. I might be simply imagining things but I can't but help feel a little misgiving that something's...wrong.'

It was at that precise moment that Anjali recalled a most daunting slip of memory.

So busy had she been entreating Devi Maiyya to bless her brothers and the women they had fallen in love with, along with every single member of the Raizada clan, she had in a bizarre, eerily portentous lapse of thinking, entirely forgotten to pray for herself.

And her husband.

***

"I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you"
—poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning, in her letters to her lover and husband, Robert Browning

***

'I'm waiting for an answer, Khushi,' Arnav husked with deceptive calm- inside his heart was cavorting madly, causing a greater commotion than the travesty of a song that had driven the two of them to the poolside to begin with. One of his hands cradled her chin with infinite tenderness, trying to cajole her into meeting his eyes, 'Or have you forgotten what I said?'

Before him, he could see Khushi visibly trying to work up the nerve to speak; even though she complied to the pressure of his palm against her jaw, lifting her head readily enough, the timidity shone clearly in those wide, expressive doe eyes. Had she always been this transparent, he marvelled, always so easy to read? Or was this strange telepathic phenomenon to do with the fact that she now owned his heart, and he had staked his claim on hers?

'What is it Khushi?' he probed gently, putting a reluctant three inches of space between them, and skimming his other hand upwards until it grasped her shoulder, hoping that the switch from the unmistakeable intimacy to something less intimidating would loosen her tongue.

'Arnavji,' she began, tremulous and clearly overcome by a mixture of nerves and shyness, 'Did you- when you said- did you-'

'When I said what?' he interjected softly, unable to resist. He would never fail to relish in Khushi's innocence, her inexperience when it came to these matters, though no less than his own, several times more endearing. He would make her say it. Make her acknowledge it.

Make her accept it.

The ruby glow of her face deepened, and her fingers absently reached for the edge of her dupatta to fiddle with it, an obvious sign of her discomfiture.

***

'When you said- when you talked about- when you asked me-,' she stuttered to a stop once again, scavenging within her brain for suitable words to explain what she wanted to say, mentally chiding herself for opening her mouth in the first place.

But what else was she supposed to do? When he had first whispered it to her, a moment that was more beautiful than any she could ever have knitted for herself in her topsy-turvy fantasies, she was already too enmeshed within the dream that his eyes, shifting from liquid amber to molten bronze to sumptuous honey and completely imprisoning her in their mystifying depths, had captivated her in. And just as one never resists the flow of a dream when one is deeply submerged within the clutches of slumber, she had let herself be carried off by the river of this dream, simply watching what appeared to be a pre-recorded film on screen in which she was expected to accept what she was shown, not try to question it or change it.

Now, however, Khushi was fully awake.

And as the three succinct, articulate syllables churned within her mind, they sounded more and more improbable, more and more like a whimsical vagary, a product of her fanciful, overactive, wishful imagination. Insecurities that had been shed crept back into her mind like nocturnal creatures prowling out after dark, and Khushi, despite wanting what he had promised, wanting so badly that the ache in her heart nigh on asphyxiated her, she could not bring herself to believe that she could be this lucky.

That all this could be true.

That he had really said what she had thought he had said, what she had yearned for him to say...a promise to prolong this...this feeling of just being with him...for the rest of her lifetime.

So when she heard Arnav speak again, she half-convinced herself that she was hallucinating.

But even her imagination was not vivid enough to enact what happened next.

Which was, specifically, Arnav Singh Raizada taking two steps back, taking her left hand in his right, one finger tracing deliberate lines around her ring finger, tingles erupting from the points he touched and scuttling all the way up her arm to her thudding heart, while he suggestively tilted his head to the side, and intoned with faux innocence, 'When I asked you to marry me?'

The inference was not lost on her, befuddled though she may have been.

The unwarranted shock, tearing through her like a fighter plane across the sky, however, was enough to unglue the tongue that had been stuck to the roof of her mouth.

'You mean it?' she blurted without thinking, beyond astonishment, beyond belief, 'You really...you really want to marry me?'

There was a pause of a half-second, and Khushi was distinctly conscious of the man before her stiffening almost indiscernibly. But it was fleeting, passing before she could catch on to it and peruse its significance, until she could not be sure whether it had been a trick of the light.

When he spoke, his voice was schooled into a calm monotone.

But Khushi had known him long enough to know the nuances of difference in his speech, and she knew instinctively from his modulation that he was repressing some stronger emotion under his outward composure as he asked, casually, 'Why would you think I didn't meant it? Do you think I'm lying?'

'Oh, no!' Khushi dissented at once, shaking her head vigorously to emphasise her point, 'I didn't think you are lying...it's just that...I thought that-'

'Is it because I've hurt you too much, Khushi? Is that why you don't want to marry me?'

***

He had no longer been able to bottle his fast bubbling emotion, his facade of affected cool slipping faster than a dish through soapy hands. If he were to be honest with himself, Khushi's doubt ought not to have surprised him. He himself had come to the colossal decision of tacking on his surname to hers as one of many desperate measures he was determined to take, to obliterate the many wrongs he had done her in the time they had known each other, to give himself a fighting chance.

But that did not change the fact that the uncertainty flickering in her eyes, her near-disbelief- regardless of the fact that he had never been so sincere in his entire life, never so willing to make a commitment to someone outside the cluster of his immediate family, entrusting her with his long-forgotten heart- had shred right through him, repetitive stabs through his flesh with a jagged, rusted blade.

And the knowledge that she was not wrong to doubt him so did nothing to alleviate the gut-wrenching fear that had flushed his previous succour and contentment straight out, leaving him with nothing but a vague vision of desolation and loneliness and desperation, of unfulfilled longing and heartrending pain. Why would she believe him, after all, when he had but days ago promised marriage to another young woman in a spur-of-the-moment decision, only to refute it days later, never looking back again? How was she to believe him when he had spent considerable time and energy ridiculing the concept he now championed before her?

Why would she ever agree to spend the rest of her life with him when he had done everything feasible to hurt her every step of the way?

So his surprise was in every sense of the word boundless when Khushi spluttered loudly in protest, 'I never said I didn't want to marry you!'

If she had come colliding straight into him, he could not have felt more winded than he did at that moment. As though his lungs had shrivelled up and his windpipe collapsed. Even as his relatively agile mind rushed to dissect this statement for its worth, he was well aware of his shock-rounded eyes fixed on her, his mouth hanging slightly agape as he found himself wheezing, 'So...what are you saying?'

'Well...' Khushi began, this time definitely mulishly. She seemed to be totally oblivious to the fact that she had rendered him near-dumb with her bold proclamation, which, in his book, was as near an equivalent as a 'yes' to his proposal as he could get. In fact, it appeared that in her preoccupation, she had not even noticed that she had just admitted to having no qualms getting married to him.

That she might actually want to get married to him.

Was it just him, or where the flowers strewn all over the poolside suddenly brighter? Suddenly more...fragrant?

Within his ribcage, his heart took off at a prize stallion's pace, pumping warm and revitalising blood into his momentarily benumbed, chilled body.

***

Taking a deep breath to brace herself, Khushi directed her gaze at the tiled floor at her feet, suddenly very interested in the sequence of geometric shapes paving the poolside. She needed her wits about her if she was to say what was going on in her mind right now, not only to dispel the absurd assumption he had made about her supposed refusal of his twice-proffered proposal, but also to convince herself that the hope- the wild, untameable, irrepressible hope- that had ignited within her as soon as she had seen the hurt glimmer in his eyes at the notion that she was not willing to be his wife...to convince herself that that hope had not been for nothing.

'I was just trying to ask,' she murmured as evenly as she could manage, which was hard considering that all the blood in her body must now be flushing her entire face crimson, leaving her fingertips and toes uncomfortably cold as she pep-talked herself into confessing her rather awkward thought processes, 'whether you said- what you said- to make me feel better.'

There was a moment's silence, during which Khushi could not stop herself from peeking through her eyelashes at him.

He looked genuinely confused.

'Make you feel better?' he repeated blankly, dumbfounded.

Khushi clenched her fist into her dupatta to keep it from smacking into her forehead in exasperation at her own inarticulateness.

'What I meant to say,' she ventured again, a little apologetically, 'was that I thought you were asking me to- m-m- ahem- marry you- because you thought that that was what I would expect. Because you know how much I believe in it and...well, because...because that way, we wouldn't have to answer the awkward questions people would ask us...that our families would ask us...after they saw us dancing together like that and-' This time Khushi really did smack her palm to her forehead, clearly distressed, 'I am not making any sense now, am I?' And without waiting for an answer she prattled on, her agitation catapulting her tirade, 'Ugh! All I'm trying to say is, I thought you were asking me to marry you because it would be the right thing to do, not because you wanted to!'

There, she thought triumphantly, I said it and it did make sense. She tried to ignore the wispy black smoke that now gathered about her heart, the conviction that she was currently dissuading him from something she craved with every fibre of her being.

But she did not have to try and ignore it for too long, for she was most effectively distracted within seconds of her mortifying admission.

Laughter.

He was laughing.

He had actually thrown his head back and laughed.

And not a snigger or a chortle either. Full-fledged, unrestrained laughter. With such abandon that it took her breath away.

It was possibly the most beautiful sound Khushi had heard in her whole life.

She was certain, at any rate, that it was going to haunt her for the rest of eternity.

That, and how disarmingly boyish he looked with his face, its customary deadpanned look discarded, crinkled with his glee, his eyes glimmering with liquid delight, his entire visage aglow with some innate light of its own...

When she finally regained her voice, she snapped, in clipped tones which barely disguised the sting of hurt that had twisted through her at the idea that he had found her soul-shredding misgiving so hilarious, 'Why are you laughing at me?'

But instead of answering her waspish question, Arnav shook his head slightly, fixing her with an almost incredulous stare, the corners of his lips still twitching from the lingering aftermath of his amusement and some other emotion that she could not quite place.

'You thought – that I did not want to marry you. That I said it because it was my duty?' He also choked on the last word, as though a fresh bout of laughter had swept up on him and he had tried to swallow it down.

None too pleased for being laughed at, her humiliation making her wish she could simply melt into the ground and remain there, Khushi resorted to simply nodding once, stiff and short.

Arnav shook his head again, this time his hands resting on his hips as his eyes dropped shut, wearing an air of exasperation.

'And why did you think that?'

'Because,' Khushi could not resist this invitation to redeem herself, to argue her point of view and reinforce its validity, 'it's just unlikely for you to propose marriage to me. Like this. Here. Today. So suddenly. I mean, until yesterday we were still fighting like schoolyard rivals...we couldn't see eye to eye about anything. And within one evening, everything has changed...so much so that none of this seems...real...I mean, I know- I remember- Arnavji, I meant what I said to earlier. I was being completely honest about how I- how I- feel about you,' Can I please just go jump in the swimming pool and drown now? 'But...but how can you possibly know that you want to marry me? It's something that will last for forever Arnavji...how can you know you want to spend the rest of your life with me? There is so much we still have to learn about each other, so many misunderstandings to clear...we don't really know each other that well and-'

'Ah,' he breathed softly, cutting her short yet again, with a decidedly calm glimmer in his eyes. And this time Khushi could tell it was not feigned, 'But don't we, Khushi? Don't you think we know each other rather well? Better than others, in fact?'

Without giving her the opportunity to answer, he had continued.

'I know, for instance,' he informed her matter-of-factly, 'that your favourite Bollywood actor is Salman Khan.'

Khushi's jaw dropped open. He remembers that?!

'I know that your favourite dessert is jalebis, and that you love eating aloo pooris. I know that you like having biscuits with your tea, that you are fond of bright colours,' he was counting them off on his fingers, paying no heed to the increasingly gobsmacked Khushi staring wide-eyed at him.

'I know that when you get nervous or upset, you start biting your lower lip, and fidgeting with your dupatta...' here he cracked a smile, perhaps in response to the small gasp of surprise that escaped Khushi unbeknownst to her. He did not stop his list-making though, even as his voice became softer, almost tender and...affectionate-

'I know your deepest, darkest fears Khushi. I know that you are terrified of the dark, of speeding vehicles. I know that you believe your parents are watching you right at this moment as stars in the sky. I know you hang those star-shaped lights in your room to remind you of them. I know that those anklets that you always wear belong to your mother, and that they are your most prized possession...'

It was not until he swiped the pad of his thumb reverently beneath her eye that she realised that she was in tears. But Arnav was not done yet. He leant in close to her, his nose once more touching hers as he peered straight into her moisture-clouded eyes.

'Tell me, Khushi...how many people know that about you?'

But Khushi was too entangled in her own frenzied thoughts to formulate an answer.

He actually remembers. He remembers everything. Every tiny, insignificant little detail. Things that perhaps I never really noticed myself. My likes and my dislikes...my joys and my fears...

'And as for your thinking that all this is too sudden,' Arnav's tone had switched from mildly business-like to something dangerously bordering seductive, his rumbling baritone sending shivers skittering up and down her spine, 'I also happen to mean every single word I've said to you tonight, Khushi. Every single word of how I feel about you.'

...Di always used to say to me...used to tell me that when one falls in love, you would see that person everywhere...when you close your eyes...when you open them...she told me that when one falls in love...that person's happiness becomes your happiness... that person's grief becomes your grief, their pain your pain... that if I fell in love...I could never stay away...because...my breath would stop if I did...

And if feeling that way means I am in love...then yes...yes, Khushi Kumari Gupta...I am in love with you...

Khushi blinked rapidly several times, trying to clear her head of the fuzz that had indomitably clogged it up, her heart skipping several beats as it cantered off at a reckless pace, something that felt as warm and scorching as candle wax dripping into her chest and spreading through her whole body even as she leant back to meet the eyes dancing with mischief, with passion, with affection, and with that other emotion she had been unable to place earlier- relief.

'It might seem sudden to you, Khushi...' Arnav murmured slowly, once more slipping both arms about her to pull her pliant body into an embrace, '...but it has been leading up to this for a very long time. I've told you already...letting you go is not an option anymore. It had ceased being an option a long time ago. It's just that it took me a pathetically large amount of time to realise it. And now that I finally have...I'm keen to make up for lost time.'

With her ear pressed yet again to his chest, as it had been during their dance, Khushi was yet again acquainted with the thundering rhythm of his heart, inexplicably matching the tempo of her own hammering dhak dhak. Yet again acquainted with the wondrous knowledge that her slight frame fit into him perfectly, her flesh melting where it touched him to mould into the cast of his body.

Tucked aware securely once more in the protection of his arms, Khushi discovered that it was inexplicably easy to let herself hope. Dream. Believe.

She almost moaned out loud in protest when he slackened his hold around her somewhat, leaving her bereft of his warmth, pulling back just enough to be able to look down at her with something akin to humour glittering in his ever-voluble eyes.

'And if you seriously thought that I had decided to marry you on a sudden whim, or because of those scandal-hunters and rumourmongers salivating for the latest gossip, then you are very much mistaken. I agree that I chose an inopportune time to broach the subject but-'

'But?' Khushi heard herself whisper breathlessly, curiosity tumbling inside her.

Arnav smiled at her then, a genuine, small, tilted smile that was nothing like the smirks that devastated her pulse-rate. It was the type of smile that melted her heart and filled her head with jelly, that warmed her from inside out.

That made her feel cherished.

'-but I had already let Di know that I intend to marry you, before I had even thought of dancing with you. In fact, we are supposed to be coming to your house tomorrow morning itself to ask for your hand.'

***

For some reason that was beyond the scope of his understanding, he found the look of abject and utter shock plastered across Khushi's face rib-ticklingly hilarious. He almost burst out laughing again, only this time his relief- relief that she did not hold his heinous errors of judgement, his despicable acts of injustice against him, relief that the only hindrances that had stayed her accord had been misguided assumptions about his motivations- inordinately greater than before.

But that did not mean Arnav would let himself forget his follies. And another one would certainly be added to the list if he continued on this path and rushed something as important as this due to his own impatience and over-eagerness. His own insecurity.

With that sobering thought in mind, Arnav very gently cupped the sides of Khushi's face, adoring the feel of her pillowy-soft cheeks against his calloused palms. Not even blinking in his resolve to show her how deadly serious he was, Arnav made his intent clear to Khushi, leaving no room for doubt.

'Khushi- I understand what you said about learning more about each other, about learning to move past our mistakes and rectify our misunderstandings. I want to have the time to court you and woo you and convince you that I will keep you happy for the rest of our lives. I want to be able to make amends for the times I've caused you pain in the past-' He pressed a finger against her lips as she opened her mouth to argue, 'But please. Please agree to marry me. I'm not saying I want to hold a wedding immediately, tomorrow or in a week or in a month's time...I am willing to give you as much time as you want, but only as long as we are engaged. As long as you know that you are mine. As long as the world knows you are mine. I just...I can't afford to lose you, Khushi.'

She stared up at him for a full minute, her beautiful, tempestuously dark eyes riveted onto his as though as amazed as he at this uncharacteristic display of candour, of vulnerability. He stared straight back.

And then she took a deep, steadying breath- and smiled at him.

Or more precisely, she beamed.

Through tears of happiness and a watery smile, she was positively radiant. And without giving his poor eyes a chance to adjust to her brilliance, she had thrown herself straight into him, his arms springing up to lock about her, even as she hid her face against his chest and shyly mumbled into his shirt, 'I love you, Arnavji.'

And Arnav, as though feeling the gates of paradise opening wide before him, the rioting of his heart loud enough to be heard over the pounding music clanging in the hall, dipped his head closer to whisper roguishly, 'So...do I take that as a 'yes'?'

And as Khushi nodded against his chest, burying her face further into the fabric, Arnav noted with mindboggling joy and relief that his hunch had been right all along.

The poolside was incredibly lucky for them.

Next chapter: a crucial revelation by Khushi that will spell a death-trap fro Shyam, and Shyam's ultimate downfall.

I think there are 2 chapters left- one if I make it a really massive one. And now I'm even more nervous than I was when I was posting this😭

Please read and review! Your comments are my muse!

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

yahhh!!!!!! You updated!!!!!!

res :p

I don't get to do this as often as I would like! ;)

*edit*

Yaaay! He proposed and she accepted and how! So poignant that they wound up back at the poolside so that it could witness another momentous occasion. Arnav laughed at her doubt. And I laughed at the thought of an indignant Khushi. And Shyamu is in so much trouble!! My thoughts are all scattered after reading this. :D Rest assured that I loved it beyond words can express.

I shall try and be more coherent if and when I edit this comment again. But, update soon Nafii.! and hope you've been well! :) Miss you. <3