Rules Of Attraction#3 Chapter 37 02/10 Pg73 NEW! - Page 51

It would be clear to every person vis--vis the crowd at the Fall Couture Week exactly a month after Khushi's impending surgery that Arnav Singh Raizada was cogitating on cancer awareness for his 2013 collection. The two parts of his collection would border majorly on the tedium and the glimmer of the colour grey with bursts of bizarre shades of lavender in-between, bringing dimension to the colours which are emblematic to brain cancer and in general, cancer awareness. But what would stand out would be that, the near metallic shades of grey would throw an edgy - almost an aura of static, steely strength whereas the lavender would bring to life the venerable craft of designing clothes with a thriving posing of unequivocally feminine fare. The collection would have all the semblances of all the trappings of a Raizada effort, but people would know by the end - after witnessing glimpses of floral appliqu's flourishing on sculpted jackets, floor-sweeping gowns, and even as epaulets on structured cropped tops, that the woman behind these creations was Arnav's better half.

Khushi looked down with a smile at the ornate vine-like embroidery she had managed to proliferate on the translucent lavender fabrics with a spun-sugar consistency, and the silken grey pieces lying in front of Arnav that mimicked the look of blooming daffodils.* Whereas Khushi had managed to juxtaposition nipped waists with flouncing layered skater skirts and exaggerated peplums, Arnav injected the gowns flawlessly with shots of sex appeal using sheer panels. He hadn't put his mind to work at such a length in a long time. But seeing this new, rejuvenated Khushi suffused every nerve of his body with unusual energy. This exuberance heightened every time she squealed with joy upon imprinting on paper what she had drawn out in her mind. For those few days everything else was forgotten, somewhere lingering at the back of their minds - but quintessentially not there.

They would take breaks at times. Arnav though, it seemed to Khushi, was hell-bent on making every second for her perfect. Having known her love for the aftertaste of rain and chai at trivial dhabas and their absence in the States, he took it upon himself to make her tea, adding pieces of cardamom and took the two cups out to the porch where they both sat side by side, on white wicker chairs listening to the soft drizzle falling all over and around them. Then at times when Arnav would take his eyes off her whilst talking to some person on the phone, she would nearly blind herself dancing about under the raindrops. Witnessing which, Arnav would first scold her - none too mildly at that. And then the man would discreetly, sometime amid the berating, lift the hem of her sodden dress up over her knees. And she, almost knowing every event that would follow would ease back into his arms, letting him hear the breath catch in her throat. He would also catch the indistinct smell of her, windblown but evident. These were one those instances whenever his skin brushed against hers. There is absolutely nothing else. There is no other focus other than that point between them. The world waits outside, unnoticed. There is no area, no sound, no passing eyes. As the rain would splatter on, somehow Arnav would drag her inside the roof, his mouth still gliding over her neck, below her ear. And with every shiver, every moan breathed, it all felt like the very first time.

There was no simpler way to put it. Every time Khushi saw Arnav walking around in their bedroom the last night before the surgery, talking on the phone, typing away on his laptop - even as his eyes flickered to hers from time to time, one solitary thought kept jabbing her heart. She didn't want to miss any of this. She didn't want to leave behind those moments where she would catch him beholding at her with a familiar yet inexplicable gaze. She didn't want to be in a world without him - without his touch, his words. She wanted it all and much, much more. She wanted to cook him a hasty breakfast every morning before he left for work; she wanted to argue with him over baby names and fight with him for the television remote. All those thoughts penetrated her being with a sting so sharp that it almost felt like she had been by ten thousand cars.

It was a pity though - because neither her love for life nor his love for her could save her.

---

The quietest of the falls of a solitary pin could be heard that night - the air amid them was so silent. Words, diffident questions and agonizing answers and insinuations, they all hung in the air, embossed flagrantly - just waiting to be scratched upon.

Khushi took her eyes off the ceiling and turned away from Arnav. He immediately shifted towards her side, gently drawing her towards him, yet again. "What happened?" The raucously gentle voice failed to calm her frayed nerves. She took a deep, arduous breath. "Arnav, we need... we need to talk." No sentence could have sounded any clearer. No verdict broadcasted, more calamitous. He inadvertently shook his head, assaying - determinedly so, that there wouldn't be any talk. Not then, not ever. But when had any of his dissents stopped her. "If I don't survive this -"She was once again interrupted by exasperated and angry protests "Shut up Khushi - don't speak, not another word!" But she continued nevertheless, faltering midway but not pausing, not once. "Find someone nice? Be happy Arnav. Please-"She could have punched him in the gut, and it would have hurt less - he knew that and she knew it too.

"When I tell you stop speaking - listen to me, for once." He was livid that second, manic even. Khushi hadn't seen that guise on his face for a long, long time. She nearly let slip a small smile. Eyebrows ridged and his jaw taut, his face stemmed menace from every pore as his hands pinioned her arms with vicious strength. A tear or two might have skidded down her cheeks, emulating the helplessness of their situation, because his eyes softened instantaneously and his face touched hers. Whispering against her forehead he said, "...There is no happy without you. Such a place does not exist. So do me a favour Khushi - do not die on me." He said those phrases with such conviction, that Khushi absorbed them all, maybe even believed them because she told him she loved him, again. That might have been the millionth time she had said those words, but neither grew weary of listening to those syllables over and over again.

Looking at her, engrossed as ever, he watched her eyes droop down, and then close. He shifted closer almost instantly and breathed out a relieved sigh upon hearing the feeble sound of the surges of her breathing reach his ears.

It hadn't been her final 'I love you.'

---

*Daffodils, also signify cancer awareness.

Author's Note:

"We the mortals touch the metals,

the wind, the ocean shores, the stones,

knowing they will go on, inert or burning,

and I was discovering, naming all the these things:

it was my destiny to love and say goodbye."

- Pablo Neruda, Still Another Day

"It was a pity though - because neither her love for life nor his love for her could save her."

But fighting against all these stands -

"It hadn't been her final 'I love you.'"

And I am going with this one, even if it is a maddening thing to do.

I can write paragraphs about your writing, Sona, but it always seems like I am repeating myself because I cannot ever match my praise up to the standards you set with each chapter of this tale.

PS - I am extremely sorry for the delay in editing this 'Res'.