Arhi SS|New Year's Resolutions|LastPart- B&C p130 *complete!* - Page 77

11A -
Of all the things , I am most impressed by the last line of the update -

"Because I...I wanted to. I wanted to drive you home...and to bring you back, if you'd let me."

Sums up beautifully Isn't it? I mean the change in Arnav.. asking for her permission.. 😃

Arnav is changing so much !! He is even tolerating NK and sincerely trying to understand Khushi and make her happy. It was so nice to read this update .

NK is always the charmer who can make anyone laugh with his silly antics but well they are always done to bring a smile on the faces of everyone around him.
That's how NK is. Funny, mature and perceptive.
Arnav is finally understanding both NK & Khushi. Two people who are widely known for their hysterics and goof-ups. Arnav has finally unveiled and seen what lies beneath the facades.
I'm glad that he has decided to wait for Khushi to reach out to him than helping her out in other ways which could offend her.
I'm so looking forward to their journey from here.

Hi,
Loved the update.I must tell you apart from writing about intense emotions so well,you also write comedy well.Its only subtle and is present only here and there, but I have read in your other stories too.

And,btw I didn't quite get the diamond bracelet reference.Sorry, but can you clear it up for me?

Thanks for the PM.

so touching... for the first time, arnav is understanding what khushi actually is

Such a beautiful update...arnav is showing all d respect towards khushi's dreams, her ambition n her resolutions...finally he is understanding d real nature of khushi...n questioning his d prejudices dat he so dearly held when it came to khushi...terrific update.

Enjoyed both the parts.😊

Great chapter. Absolutely lovely writing. Arnav's evolution of thought is very well done.

This is the last segment of Part 11. Part 12, which will be the next update, will be the last chapter (remember, this is a short story!), and after that there'll be an epilogue.

Um...I am really, really, really, REALLY scared for this part...I'm not sure it makes sense, or whether it came out right. But I'm currently not at home- staying over at a relative's place and only started writing this in after everyone went to sleep :s In a rush to post, because I'll be out of town for a day or two and won't get the chance. I hope I didn't mess it up too bad- I'll fix it if I did so please let me know!

I've tried to keep this story realistic- things don't change overnight, and neither do people. Also, as I said at the beginning, I've tried to meat out many of the side-characters of the show, with all the layers that (in my opinion) make them up. I hope I have succeeded even a little bit in that endeavour.

PLEASE NOTE the dates and times in the subheadings- this story skips back and forth through time e.g. some scenes here happen in the evening, others in the afternoon.

*Part 11 C*

"Her heart did whisper he had done it for her"- Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

7^th January, 2012, 3.03 p.m. (afternoon)

Khushi believed in coincidences, and she believed in fate, and she believed that when Devi Maiyya saw fit, to could make even wildly improbable events unfurl in the fissures scattered through reality.

These things were whimsical- they were magical, and they made the harshness of the world she lived in and occasionally had to see and touch and traverse through somewhat more bearable.

But no amount of fairy tales and fantasies, and her conviction that all the little mismatched patches threaded together to make life could not possibly be contrived...

...but this was an exception.

And while she ogled in silence, her hands suddenly full with the task of juggling her surprise, her astonishment, and the eccentric things her inner voice had taken to whispering to her that made no sense, Khushi was far too occupied to speak.

Nanheji did, in her stead.

"That's just bizarre!" he had stomped his way over to Anjaliji, until he was peering wide-eyed and open-mouthed over her shoulder, "We were just talking about this!"

When he glanced up at Jiji and herself again, his eyes met Khushi's for a split second, and she was struck by the most peculiar impression that there had been something...something in that look that was out of the ordinary, something that was unusual and not akin to anything she had seen there before...

An alien cocktail of shock and knowledge.

He had shifted his focus before Khushi could bring herself to delve further into what that meant, or whether it meant anything at all, and then Anjaliji was speaking again.

"I remember renting this out a while back," she admitted, waving around a rectangular box; the motion snagged Khushi's stare to it like a magnet, and they remained glued there as her mind fumbled to absorb what she ought to have, would have, should have, openly accepted as an example of divine intervention (or sheer luck), but was being uncharacteristically sceptical in doing so, "It just got delivered today."

***

Anjali refrained from mentioning that by "a while ago" she really meant around an hour, and that it had not actually been delivered but rather fetched by (a sworn-to-secrecy) Hari Prakash bearing a small piece of paper with the word Bodyguard scrawled across it.

As Khushi stared on stunned at the DVD box she brandished, NK Bhai, still hovering near her shoulder, covertly whispered, "He asked you to get it, didn't he?"

Anjali inclined her head somewhat- the closest she could come to a nod without being too conspicuous, and cast her mind back to the chain reaction of events that had led to this moment.

7^th January, 2012, 12.57 p.m. (afternoon)

"Hello? Di?"

Anjali, in the grasp of her paranoia, allowed a few silent milliseconds to elapse as she tore those simple syllables apart, hunting for any hint of that haunting, hollow voice that had reverberated through her skull since the moment she had first heard it the previous morning.

She was close to becoming a nervous wreck.

And she despised herself for it.

Chote had torn off and crushed underfoot her rose-coloured glasses the morning before, and Anjali was still adjusting, queasily, unwillingly, to the reality in all its gruesome glory that her illusion of perfection had always hidden from sight.

And it was damning, and unsettling, and almost scarring, to see the person who had once represented the epitome of perfection be reduced to a rough-hewn, damaged figurine, pockmarked with flaws.

But despite all of that, it did not change the fact that Chote was her brother- her younger brother, her responsibility, a responsibility she had neglected, and whether he was culpable or not, she could not help but cherish him, love him- and pray for only the best for him.

And it was her selfishness that was taking this toll on her nerves- chewing them up into bits as the need to fix this, the need to sew back together the splits in her perfect picture of their lives that had suddenly bloomed into sight- it spread like an allergy through her body and infected every last cell she possessed.

If he was guilty, then so was she- and if she was guilty, she had to do something to repair what he (and by extension, she) had broken.

His future depended on it.

His happiness depended on it.

His khushi depended on it.

But what was she to do? The solution was maddeningly elusive, and after an insomnia-spiked night Anjali had begun to fear there was none.

Akash and Payal's relationship, while jostled a little by waves born from other waters, would sail smoothly ahead now- she was assured of that. But what of Chote? Even she, with her penchant of hand-picking what she chose to belief, could not trivialise the damage he had wrought so freely over one specific individual- who, as though Devi Maiyya herself had deemed it necessary to serve him a taste of own medicine, had evolved into someone upon whom hinged her brother's chances of a happily ever after.

Those few days of self-sentenced isolation were proof of that.

And instead of being able to do something about it, instead of stepping to the battlefront as her brother had done for her every single time she had faced even the smallest hurdle, here Anjali sat, alone in her room and roiling in self-pity, trying to hold back the bitter-tasting tears of her failure, her helplessness, her uselessness.

And even though she missed any trace of distress in her brother's voice as he spoke to her on the phone now, it did nothing to placate her.

"Haan, Chote?" she answered back quietly, keeping her voice deliberately low in the hopes of smothering the betraying thickness there, "Tum log kahaan tak pohche?"

"Actually, I'm parked right outside the house-"

Anjali's breath hitched involuntarily as she experienced that disorienting dip, reminiscent of those disorienting dips met in dreams, as though toppling from a rocking boat into swaying water, and panic and dread arm-wrestled to see who would take the lead in her army of subdued emotion.

"You're here?" she squeaked out, and immediately rebuked herself. She had to pull herself together- if she were to fall apart now, before she had even settled on something to do, something concrete that she could sink her teeth into that would count as more than the profuse apologies she had resorted to the day before, she would be a disgrace as the older sibling she had hoped to be.

She was the one who had invited Payal over earlier than usual, even though the rehearsals were scheduled for much later- somehow, her intermittent stream of "sorry"s over the phone had not abated any of the guilt and the apprehension that had dug its claws into her flesh and nested there. She had thought, in her frantic rush to make amends, that perhaps she would do a better job of it were they before her, in person...but now, with them waiting downstairs, she cowered.

Here was another ghastly slice of reality she would rather not have to acknowledge- the fact that she was a coward.

What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say?

Shaking herself, trying her utmost to dispel any more quelling notions from her head and pushing herself off her bed, she made to head out of her door outside as her brother answered, "Yeah, I'm putting the car away."

"Accha, toh jaldi se andar aajao..." she heard herself say, surprising herself with how normal she sounded. She had to do this- she had to prove, to herself and him, that he could rely on her too. That their relationship was mutual, and not as one-sided as she feared it might have become when she had not been paying attention.

"Ah- the others are already inside..."

And before she could move to say anything more, he had continued, "Di...I need a favour."

7^th January, 2012, 5.14 p.m. (evening)

It was such a small gesture, too small to even be counted as one, but it brought all the fulfilment that that diamond bracelet had not.

He had timed his entry very meticulously; he had listened out for the sounds of activity beyond his bedroom door, and it was only when the amalgam of confused noises originating largely from the living-room had petered out, and soon replaced by what he could discern as dialogues and music unmistakably originating from a television set, that he had allowed himself to make his way downstairs.

She must not suspect his hand in this- she would over-think it, ponder over it, nitpick it to bits questioning his motives, and that would completely defy the purpose of the whole thing in the first place.

And now, as he sat (strategically positioned with a perfect view) behind the line of throw-pillows and bean-bags he had not known they had in this house, flashes of coloured light dancing upon darkened walls and the curtains that had been drawn across the windows to block out daylight, he was conscious of a greater sense of peace than he could remember having experienced for a long time.

Because she was happy.

The movie was loud, the screen was big, but all his attention was held by the small figure curled comfortably up on a bean-bag , arms wrapped round knees, head tipped up toward the screen and splendidly light by its beams, and he watched his fill.

Watched as she would grin at times, and then at others bite down hard on her lip, blinking rapidly, obviously trying to stifle her giggles. And how at others, she could no longer keep it in and let a laugh loose, free and musical and heartfelt, swaying from side to side in her seat as the delightful sound sailed its way to him, out of her sight.

Watched, with a tenderness that left his heart sore and his body desperate with the need to move, the need to reach out to her and reassure her, when her bottom lip started to quiver and the flutters of her lashes turned feverish again, but this time to keep back the tears he was sure had gathered there.

And watch, with mounting awe, the most beautiful image of the show- that final, watery smile that lingered about her mouth as end credits rolled, long after the bold shows of stronger emotions had ebbed away.

That smile that spoke of simple happiness, and nothing else.

And perhaps he was cheating himself, and perhaps he was giving himself undue credit, but there was no helping the near-explosive joy bulging without control near the vicinity of his heart, because, no matter in how roundabout a way, no matter how indirectly, no matter through how tiny a gesture- he had helped her keep her resolution, but without sacrificing anything of hers in the bargain.

He had made her smile.

He had made her happy.

He did not realise, just then, that that had become his one personal resolution-

-and not just for the new year.

***

No need to tell anyone I asked you to do it, Di...

Anjali came to the sobering conclusion that her brother had grown up a lot when she had not been looking.

And so, as she watched him watch Khushi, with the most relaxed, peaceful, and above all content expression she had seen upon his features not just in the past few days but as far back as her memory would not stretch, she thanked him.

Thanked him for counting on her.

Thanked him for teaching her something about this business of apologising.

Thanked him for showing her that it was not the number of times you said sorry that counted- but the gestures that you used to say it that did.

And so, she leaned back into her seat, weary from the deluge of stress that had passed through her, but at the same time, uplifted, buoyant, from just the tiny part she had been privileged to play in sewing back together the very same splits she had been so terrified of earlier, and determined to continue doing so.

But more than anything else, she thanked him for one crucial lesson-

-that no matter how flawed, how damaged- in order to redeem oneself, one has to redeem themselves to themselves first, before them can do so to anyone else.

Khushi's thoughts on what happened here to be revealed in the next chapter! In fact that one will probably be pretty big, because lots of things are lined up to happen :) I'm quite excited to write it.

Please leave your thoughts and comments!! I really, really appreciate them!!

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