Removed - Page 56

He paused tentatively at the door to look at her warily. She was smiling at him, her forearm supporting her against the door frame, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears, which drove a spear through his heart. No, he had still not been able to bring himself to love her as he ought to but her pain made him ache too. And the guilt only strengthened around this house, for she had lived in it...

He was going away, finally. From the wife he could not love despite his efforts, from the father who wanted to dominate him, from the mother he could not save, from the girl whose image was haunting him, suffocating him, from all of it, he was going far away. As he had promised his wife, she would stay at her mother's place until her application for the American visa was completed. He could not afford to make her more miserable by forcing her to live with his tyrannical father. So, he had decided to drop her off at her mother's place the day before, and they had insisted he should stay back for the night too.

He had not been able to refuse. He had desperately wanted to be part of this family, he had, maybe, but not with the same ease as the other son-in-law had done so. The environment around him had kept distracting him. Everywhere he looked, he would find her. Standing by the window, lounging in the antique but plush armchair like a serene queen, walking around the sun-dappled garden, lying asleep next to him in bed... And she was always smiling at him with outmost love, with as much love as his heart held for her, maybe more...

But he was going now. And he prayed to the gods that they would pity him and help him forget her, that they would forgive him, and that they would make him love his wife instead. Trying to smile back, he extended his hand to her. She took it, her lips quivering, so that he could pull her into a tight repentant embrace that shattered her into silent sobs. Shyaam bent his head and inhaled the lemon scent of her hair deeply. He had gotten used to it, and he knew already how much he would miss it.

"Very soon," he whispered a promise to her, only for her. "Very soon we will be together again, Anjali. Don't cry."

***

He found himself quite unable to take his eyes off her, even for a second, very often. And she was innocently unaware of it, which only attracted him to her more. With every smile of hers, every laugh, every gesture, every single thing she did, he fell more and more in love with her, as helpless as he could ever have been. And she was not even guilty of it. He could not blame her at all, just let it happen...

She [jewellery] was smiling sweetly at the photographs of his childhood that he had, in the end, decided to get out of the cupboards that had been closed up since his mother's passing away, to tempt her out of the kitchen. For once, he wanted to spend time with someone, for once, he was willing to do anything to be with someone. And it had worked. As soon as he had mentioned wanting to show her the albums, her eyes had started twinkling with curiosity but she had hesitated, torn between her duties as the mistress of his house and wanting to know more about her otherwise quiet and reserved husband. So, he had indulgently walked up to her and released the kitchen knife from her hold and handed all the responsibilities to the servants. She would have the opportunity to do this later on, he had told her, but since he was going to be home for the coming weeks until his dadi returned, he expected her to spend time with him. They had to try to know each other, after all.

She giggled softly, looking up at him. "Aap kitne pyaare the!" (You were so cute!)

"Ab nahin houn?" he lifted an eyebrow amusedly, and she coloured up, lowering her eyes at once, but the shy smile never left her lips. He chuckled, resisting the urge to kiss the cheek of his adorable wife. (I am not anymore?)

Her slim fingers turned the page over but she did not linger on the photos that followed yet, she looked at him again. "Aap ek bohot achhe pati hain, Arnavji. Hum bohot hi khushnaseeb hain..." (You are a very good husband, Arnavji. I am very lucky...)

Suddenly, it was hard for him to swallow. All that was audible to him was the faint, erratic thudding of his heart in his chest, even when she downcast her eyes once more, this time concentrating as hard as she could on the images of his early life.

***

"Aye Bitiya, jaao, jaakar thoda aaram karlo abhi." (Oh child, go, go and have some rest now.)

She smiled tersely at Madhu Ma but shook her head obstinately. "Nahin. Unka phone aayega to hum hi lenge. Unhone vaada kiya tha ke voh pohonchte hi humein bata deinge. Ab tak to unki flight land bhi kar chuki hogi, na? Unka phone abhi aata hi hoga. Humein thoda intezaar karna chaahiye." (No. If he calls, I will pick it up. He promised he would call as soon as he reaches. His flight must have landed by now, right? He will be calling any moment now. I should wait a bit more.)

Madhumati beamed at her older niece and nodded. "Theek hai. Lekin zyaada der tak jage mat rehna. Sehat ke liye achha nahin hai." (Okay. But don't stay awake for too long. It's not good for your health.)

"Ji, Madhu Ma." (Yes, Madhu Ma.)

Anjali watched her aunt disappear into the corridor before placing her head back on her forearms on the low table, right near the telephone. Would he call? Her husband had been very troubled ever since they had gotten married. He had tried to hide, but she had seen through the strong facade he had put up. She would have wanted to know what it was, she would have wanted him to share it with her, but she also did not want to look like a nagging wife. She did not want him to tire of her even before their life together had started. She would have to get to know him first, ease into his life and make herself an integral part of it, be his friend, and then, she would dare to ask him... The phone abruptly came to life, making her jump.

"Hello?"

"Tum intezaar kar rahi thi?" she heard the smile in his voice. (You were waiting?)

Tears clogged her throat even as she giggled. "Haan. Kyun? Nahin karna chaahiye tha?" (Yes. Why? I shouldn't have?)

"Tum mujhse itna pyaar kyun karti ho?" The gloom was back. She could feel it, but she decided to look past it. (Why do you love me so much?)

Cheerfully, she smiled, brushing his question aside. "Aap theek se pohonch gaye, na? Aap theek to hain?" (You reached well, didn't you? Are you alright?)

"Haan. Main theek houn, abhi airport se nikla houn. Tum kaisi ho?" (Yes. I'm fine, I just got out of the airport. How are you?)

"Hum bhi theek hain... Humne aapke ghar phone kiya tha. Maaji theek hain." (I am also fine... I had called your home. Maaji is fine.)

He chuckled. "Thank you." She heard him call a taxi. "Haan, tumse baat karne ke baad I'll call and tell Ma ke main theek se pohonch gaya. Tum jaao, jaake so jaao ab." (... Yeah, I'll call and tell Ma that I reached safely after speaking to you. You go and sleep now.)

The tears returned with an ache that was beyond her control and she broke into a breathless sob. She heard him whisper her name in agony and she caught herself. "Hum theek hain... bas aapki bohot yaad aati hai." (I'm fine... I'm just missing you a lot.)

He sighed, and she could almost feel his hand caress her hair lovingly. "I'm sorry, Anjali. I'm so sorry."

***

She [jewellery] darted a glance at him and as usual, the sight of him stretched her lips into a gentle smile. He was brooding attentively at the screen of his laptop, his brow just slightly creased and his palm cradling his jaw as he went over his emails. He did not look menacing at all, though. He looked like he was perfectly at home sitting in the recliner he had moved to the kitchen himself. From time to time, he would look up and talk to her, or sometimes, he would even leave his work and try to help her with cutting the vegetables or rolling out the parathas. Indeed, she was lucky, very lucky. Never would she ever regret sacrificing her love for her cousin, because in doing so, even if she had lost her love, she had gained so much, among which was this husband.

This god-like husband who was the most precious friend she could have, after Anjali. This god-like husband who treasure her happiness as if it were his own. This god-like husband who had unknowingly made her so indebted to him that she knew she would never, even in the next seven lives, be able to repay him his kindness. Was she even worth him? Was she even worth his greatness? No, she did not think so. Perhaps, she had made a mistake in marrying him, because a man like him deserved to be cherished. Was she capable of it? Was she commendable of it? Well, she was trying, with all her heart, she was trying, every day, every minute, every second...

She had come to know of his insomnia during one of their uncountable conversations. So every night, she prepared him the almond milk that, Madhu Ma had assured her, induced sleep. Every night, she lay in his arms, forcing herself to stay awake until she had heard his breaths slow down in slumber, and then she would sit next to him and massage his head, play with his hair until he smiled in his oblivious sleep like a contented child, and then only would she be able to find sleep. She had learned that he could not eat too spicy food, so she had stopped eating it too. She generously gave in to all his demands, however childish they could be: when he insisted to take her out, when he asked her to leave the household tasks to be with him...

She had been told by the servants that he smiled more since they had been married. Sometimes, she would look at his grinning face, at his eyes glittering with happiness and she would wonder if it were possible for this man not to be happy. Surely, this was not because of her. What was she, but a burden on him? Right at that instant, when he lifted his eyes off the screen, he caught her gazing at him and while a fierce red coloured her cheeks, he smirked at her, getting to his feet.

"Need any help?"

"N-nahin... hum t-theek hain..." Flustered, she looked down at her hands to stare frantically at the onion she had been about to dice, now suddenly unable to remember what she was supposed to be doing. By the time he had reached her side, her heart was pounding unevenly fast in her chest. (N-no... I'm f-fine...)

He freed her hands and took them in his before lifting them to his mouth. She shuddered as she felt his warm lips against her knuckles, reddening even more and he chuckled heartily, flicking her nose. "Tumhein pata bhi hai ke tum kitni cute ho?" (Do you even know how cute you are?)

She had to bite her lip to prevent her face from being split in half by a smile. She looked down, unable to understand why she was reacting this way to him but her husband cupped her cheek and raised her face to press his lips against her forehead, only briefly, after which he started chopping the vegetables for her. Khushi watched him as he spoke to her at the same time with a handsome smile on his face. He was a lovable man and she realised that slowly, she was losing her heart. To him...