I'm going to start by apologising for this OneShot. I was having exam jitters and couldn't sleep and ended up writing this. And then changing it while waiting for my professor. So yes, this might be kind of messed up, since I'm pretty messed up too right now, and I'm so sorry :( I don't know what I was thinking (probably wasn't)
*EDIT* I forgot to mention this is AU!!
ArHi OneShot |Direct Approach|
I'm telling you-
'Shh!' The hiss was a sharp one, accompanied by a tiny glare and finger to the lips before Khushi resumed her intent browsing of tomes lined up along the shelf-rack.
But Arnav was not to be deterred.
'I'm telling you,' the borderline-aggression of his tone had not abated, despite the tight whisper he lowered his voice to, 'Do NOT talk to him again.'
His nostrils flared in anger, fist clenching in a visible sign of poorly controlled temper when Khushi showed no reaction, aside from a small, exasperated sigh.
'All I said was 'Good morning', Arnav. I was only being polite.'
'There was no reason to be!' He protested, his pitch a decibel too high in frustration as Khushi gently shouldered her way past him, having retrieved the book she had been looking for. He followed closely, his toes all but nipping at her heels as she wove her way back to her habitual corner of the library. Noticing the few sidelong glances his retort gained, he leaned over her shoulder as they marched, all but hissing into her ear, 'He's a complete stranger!'
On any other occasion, he might not have heard it, but the absolute silence of the library meant he picked up Khushi's slight tsk loud and clear.
It aggravated him to the point of trying to rip his hair out. Here he was, all but quivering from the effort of containing the extremely volatile sensations laying siege over him, feeling so unstable he was liable to burst at any moment, and here she was, the root cause of his plight, so utterly dismissive he felt like yanking her back to face him- or better yet, dragging her out of the library so he could rave and rant to his heart's content.
Instead, he stuffed both his fists into the pockets of his baggy, khaki pants, dropping down uninvited at the long, oak desk where Khushi preferred to sit her vigil.
Apparently noticing the mutinous scowl engraved into his face, not to mention the intense glowering she was being subjected to, Khushi laid the pen she had just picked up aside and lifted a hand to massage her temple.
'Arnav,' she began, her tone placating, goading him to be reasonable; he gritted his teeth, annoyed at how this simple call of his name had managed to tame the vehement twitching of the nerve above his eyebrow, 'Relax. All I said was Good morning'. I always say it, no matter who it is at the counter.'
'Well, you shouldn't,' he persisted grouchily, thoroughly aware of how unreasonable he sounded, how very absurd. But the urge to dissuade her from her inane ideas of courtesy were so strong, it was quick to snap apart the tightness of embarrassment crowding his chest. 'It could be misconstrued.'
'Misconstrued how?' Khushi repeated, her own tenor now a tad louder than probably allowed in their current circumstances; evidently noticing this for herself, she threw a cursory glance about them before leaning forward over the girth of the desk separating them, her increasing bewilderment and impatience beginning to show in the tiny frown curving her lip, creasing her forehead. 'Can you imagine how boring it must be just to sit at a shop counter, day after day, hour after hour, watching people walk by with their purchases and go about their lives? I mean, most people just treat them like machines and I know I would hate it. So I try to say Hello' or Thank you'...you know, just to acknowledge them. Show them some appreciation. It's as simple as that. What's there to misconstrue?'
Arnav exhaled, reclining against the back of his chair until it was balancing precariously on its hind-legs. 'You're too quick to see the good in people,' he grumbled, tipping his head back and staring at the swarm of dust swirling above them, glittering in the late afternoon sunlight streaming in through a nearby window.
But this time his riposte lacked its previous bite. And perhaps that was because this was an argument they had had time and again before- an argument that inevitably ended up in a longwinded philosophical discussion about good and bad, right and wrong, duty and responsibility, both sides digging their heels in and chucking arguments back and forth, back and forth, until neither could remember what they had been arguing for in the first place and invariably chalked up an impasse.
And truth be told, Arnav rather liked it that way. He liked the fact that she so adamantly held her own in any debate, stood by her own point of view. Being the only child of an influential business magnate, probably the most powerful tycoon in the fashion industry, had meant he had grown up to people agreeing with everything he said just to please him. Or at least, that was how he had always seen it. Anyone who had tried to be nice to him, cordial or friendly or helpful, had sparked up his suspicion and his scepticism, and he would agonise, over and over, whether they approached him because of his name, or himself. And over time, almost as though it were a coping mechanism to spare himself those doubts, he had grown distant, taciturn, giving off an air of hostile arrogance until rarely anyone would try to challenge him.
Except Khushi.
And he liked it. He liked how she could speak so passionately about something she believed in, liked how involving these conversations could become, how absorbing and enriching and fulfilling, something that had always been missing in his life before...
And he liked how, no matter how determinedly she defended her stand, she was always willing to listen to him...how she was never too stubborn or prideful to allow herself to be convinced.
It gave him a strange sense of pride, to be able to move someone with his words, not because of his surname or status, but because of himself.
And then perhaps it was also because he liked this about her too...this ability she had of finding something positive about everything, about everyone. Of finding it in herself to be considerate for the sentiments of absolute strangers, of stepping over the bounds of what was expected of her to give a little something wherever she could.
He reckoned it was one of the many reasons she...charmed him.
But then there were some things he wasn't particularly fond of either.
Specifically, her ability to find something positive in everything. About absolutely everyone.
Dipping his head back, he caught her frowning at him a little unhappily.
'It's true,' he affirmed again, the chair falling back onto all fours with a resounding click, You are too quick to see the good in everyone.'
He could practically see her cheeks puff up in mild affront, and if his nerves were not currently on a highly disorienting roller-coaster ride, he would definitely have smirked at how adorable she looked.
'I. Only. Said. Good. Morning.' She repeated, enunciating every word clearly. Both her hands were splayed on the table-top, her notes and textbooks forgotten, 'How is that too quick to see the good in everyone'? It was just one lousy greeting! It's not like I gave him my number, or added him as a friend on Facebook! Heck, I don't even know his name, and I probably never will-'
'-but he might try to find out yours.'
Khushi trailed off mid-rant, her hands suspended before her, frozen in the process of her vigorous gesticulation. She blinked owlishly at him a couple of times before her shoulders sagged in confusion, and she uttered a baffled, 'Huh?'
Dual sensations of frustration and desperation twined through him then, and Arnav resorted to tapping his fingernail in a rapid tempo across the wooden edge before him, trying to vent some of the steam steadily accumulating within him. In a voice deceptively masked of all emotion, he slowly replied, 'He might try to find out your name. Or ask for your number. Or find you on Facebook.'
He watched with mounting agitation as Khushi blinked erratically, seemingly struggling to process what he had just said.
'But I've never even seen him before,' she eventually managed to say, tilting her head at him as she was wont to do when there was something she did not understand, 'Why would he-
'Because he might think you are interested.' It all but came out in a bark; he had tried to put it as bluntly, as concisely as possible, trying to spare himself a replay of the black rage that had seeped into his vision and coiled about his limbs, tempting him to physically wrench away the young teller, garbed in the traditional red of a 7-eleven employee, who had returned Khushi's smile with a toothy, eager one of his own.
'Just because of two words I said to him in passing?' Khushi had regained her bearings while he had been trying to rein in the strong, insane temptation to march back to the small convenience store close to the campus entrance, and rattle that boy up just enough to ensure he never dared to look Khushi in the eye again. 'Aren't you overreacting a little bit? He does not even know my name.'
'He might try to find out, the next time you pass by there.'
She was shaking her head at him now, scepticism passing over her expression, 'You're starting to sound paranoid, Arnav...you're reading too much into this.'
Yes, he agreed mentally, I am reading too much into it. It was not as though he did not realise it- he was very well aware of how ridiculous half the things he was saying sounded, aware that his reaction had been far too strong and too over-the-top to an interaction that was likely harmless and not liable to happen again.
But then, he also recognised that there were those emotions that existed beyond the bounds of rationality, beyond the limitations of reason and sense and sensibility.
Jealousy, for instance. Or possessiveness. Or protectiveness. Or selfishness.
He did not know which of these it was currently bewitching him, but they were fiery enough, and overpowering enough, and destabilising enough for him not to care.
All he knew was that he did not like the way that guy had looked at Khushi. How he had smiled at her. How he had wished her a good day as he handed over her change.
But how was he supposed to explain that to Khushi? No matter how besotted he might be with her, there was the undeniable fact that she could be as oblivious as a toddler to people and their intentions. She had been in all the time they had known each other, long before either of them had hit their teens. Even then, since that first day they had shared a desk during elementary school and she had taken it upon herself to nag him about everything under the sun, he had felt nothing short of stuttering incredulity that someone so...nave and so straightforward could and did spar with him with no reservations where even his own father had failed.
Sometimes, when he reflected on their time together, he would think that perhaps it was this fact, the fact that she presented a walking, talking vulnerability, that had evoked this...desire...to be by her side. To look out for her. That had instigated his protective instinct into permanent activity around her.
Or maybe it was because she was the first friend he could recall having- the first person who would speak to him normally, casually, who would tease him and bother him and pester him, ignoring his glacial irresponsiveness and snide remarks until she succeeded in wringing out a smile. The only person who had perhaps seen through his facade of cold indifference and hammered through his reservations until he could safely say she knew him more, understood him more, compared to any person alive. Because she had cared to get to know him, cared to understand him.
She had done what no one else had. She had persisted, and he had been forced to relent.
And he had grown to love her uninhibited capacity for compassion.
But it also meant that she was as blind as a bat when it came to subtleties, or implications, or ulterior motives.
If she had not been, she had to have noticed just why he had made a U-turn from the campus gates to walk her to 7-eleven and back. Why he had insisted on carrying her bags for her. Why he had picked up a quaint-looking plastic lead-pencil she had stopped to examine, and mutely thrust it into her hands during one of their rare joint classes. Why he was likely to walk her home this evening, even though his classes would end before hers and the route to her house took him two streets beyond his own.
Why he would never listen to any of her protests when she tried to dissuade him.
He could not lay the blame solely on her though. He knew it was partially his fault- partially the fault of his own withdrawn, sometimes standoffish nature. Maybe it was unfair of him to expect her to understand what he wanted to say, without saying it, but he had never learnt how to express himself properly. Living with his emotionally bankrupt father following a messy divorce case, surrounded by professional caretakers being paid hefty sums to look after him rather than because of any genuine care, had not exactly been conducive in making him a very approachable person.
Instead, he had to deal with the jarring pangs of envy, of possessiveness, of insecurity, of paranoia, growing more and more frequent as time passed by, every time she so much as spoke to another guy in a familiar manner.
It was driving him insane, and he had the feeling that one of these days, no matter how tactical he tried to be, his battered patience was going to crack.
'So you're saying I should ignore him?' Khushi's voice, rich with disbelief, interrupted his troubled musings, 'How does that even solve anything?Especially when what you're saying could be totally unfounded-
As an ode to his rising insanity, overly-enhanced flashbacks of the seconds-long interaction between the teller and Khushi zoomed through his mind again.
'But they might not be,' he said tersely, aware that he was slipping off whatever foothold of logic he had been teetering on but plunging forward nonetheless.
Khushi fixed him with a look that was part-outrage and part-confusion.
'Assuming they are not,' she began, in the same manner she always used to counter him, 'Isn't it too early to say? I mean, it's not like he was trying to flirt with me or anything...'
The notion of another man flirting with Khushi did not do Arnav's fleeing control much good.
'For all you know, he might have,' he bit out, focusing his stare on the balled-up fists resting on his lap, 'I don't recall him wishing me a good day when I paid for my drink- or anyone else for that matter.'
'That does not constitute as flirting, Arnav.'
'It may as well, for him. It may as well be the start of it.'
'Ugh, come on! It's probably because I bothered to greet him first that he greeted me back!'
'Isn't it his job to treat all customers the same?'
'Honestly, Arnav! I'd think if he wanted to flirt with me or even just make friends he'd have been a little more direct!'
And would you have responded?' Arnav's stare had shifted to Khushi's flushed, animated features now, narrowed marginally, 'If he had been more direct about wanting to make friends or even more direct flirting with you, would you have responded?'
'I don't know!' She threw up both her hands in tandem with the exclamation, But if those were his intentions- and this is still open to debate- I would definitely appreciate if they were put forward a bit more obviously-!'
Her tirade was cut short by the metallic trill suddenly severing through the tension that had been steadily thickening about them. Arnav said nothing as Khushi's arms dropped back on to the table, before she made a grab for her cell-phone, groaning when she spotted the time on the screen.
'Man!' she groused, gazing dejectedly at the fresh, open page of her notebook, 'I didn't get anything done...'
'Khushi.'
On any other day, he would probably have apologised.
But today, as she looked up from the task of busily stuffing books into her bag, Arnav was far too caught in the momentum they had been barrelling ahead in to hit the brakes just yet.
'We're not done here,' he told her matter-of-factly, his chair scratching against the floorboards as he gained his feet and stalked round the table towards her, anticipating her making a run for her classes.
'Arnav,' Khushi began in a warning tone, glancing once again at her cell-phone as she got to her feet as well, hoisting the books that would not fit into her bag into her arms.
'That was only the first bell,' he reminded her, sliding nonchalantly before her to block her way, 'There's still ten minutes to go before class.' Without giving her a chance to retaliate, he pushed on, You said that you might have responded, if he had been a bit more direct-
'That is not what I said!' she interrupted him snappishly, her words rushed, movements jittery. He had known her long enough and well enough to know how she resented being late, was familiar enough with her timetable to know she had a lecture with a professor who did not look too kindly upon latecomers, and yet he could not bring himself to move. To stop. He kept barging ahead, gaining speed, all but rocketing toward a destination he had not even glimpsed yet. 'All I said was that I would appreciate a bit more directness-'
'Isn't that the same as saying you would have reciprocated?'
'From responded to reciprocated?' Khushi's vocal speed was practically feverish now, as she pushed her chair into place with her hip, 'Seriously, Arnav? What's gotten into you? No! Happy, now? No, I would not have reciprocated if he had been more direct about whatever the hell it was he was apparently trying to say in the two seconds we spent speaking to each other-for the first time!' Shifting her bag to one side, she snatched up one of the pens she'd forgotten on the desk, brandishing it at him as she continued heatedly, all but bouncing on the balls of her feet in her restlessness to be on her way, And no, I probably wouldn't have responded either, because I don't even know him. All I'm saying is, I wish people would be a little bit more frank with what they want to say-' She jabbed him in the chest with the blunt end of her pen as she sputtered on, '-because it would definitely make things a whole lot easier!'
All the while she juggled with her books and bag and the lone pen in her hand, finally resorting to securing the latter between her lips- but he could not bring himself to move.
Because she had that look in her eye. That look that was like a spotlight, a laser-beam pointed straight to the middle of his forehead.
That look that made him feel as though he was a wide-open book that she had memorised by heart.
The one that meant she was looking at him, just at him, and could tell exactly what he was thinking; perhaps better than himself.
It spurred him into action faster than anything else could.
Grasping her by the shoulders and ignoring her weak attempt to kick his shin, he peered down intently at her from his greater height, face an impenetrable mask of stoicism.
Inside, though, his heart was doing a nervous tango loud enough to have the librarian kicking him out for disrupting the quiet.
'So you prefer people being direct about what they want to say,' he repeated quietly, returning Khushi's glares unfazed, You prefer to be told exactly what is on someone's mind?'
'Yesh,' the pen clasped in her mouth muffled the word, but it was still distinguishable, 'Nmow move-'
And then she made a funny little noise, somewhere between gasping and choking, because Arnav, still with his hands steady on her shoulders, had leaned forward, and plucked the pen from her lips.
With his own.
He drew back to the sight of wide, bottomless eyes of chocolate, awash with shock, and cherry-pink painted along her cheekbones, as a slack-jawed Khushi gawked at him, gobsmacked.
With his pulse singing a deafening tune in his ears, a grin he could barely understand the reasons for tugging at his lips, he removed the pen from his mouth before asking her quietly, 'Was that direct enough for you, or shall I say what's on my mind right now, too?'
Her jaw clicked shut, her lashes fluttered, and one of her books slipped out of her slack grip and clattered to the floor.
They both bent to retrieve it at the same time.
He noted her fingers tremble as his brushed over them, heard the catch in her breath, watched as her blush reddened with each passing second as they both kneeled beside the desk, before Khushi abruptly came to herself and all but sprang to her feet.
Feeling almost lightheaded, too absorbed in the moment to even bother analysing it for once, Arnav followed suit, murmuring, 'Yes or no, Khushi? I'd like a direct answer.'
She fidgeted, ducking her head, and Arnav knew the answer already, could read it in each of her movements, read it in her uncharacteristic reticence-
-but he wanted to hear her say it nevertheless.
For that look had set off an adjacent line of thought in a direction he had never even contemplated before, let alone tread upon, and it was surprising he could remain standing still as new ideas and new suppositions chased each other through his mind in rapid succession.
Because, after all, maybe that was why, despite the sorry lack of subtlety in some of his previous actions, Khushi had not cottoned on to what he had been trying to say without saying.
Because maybe she had wanted to hear him say it nevertheless too.
But he didn't get the chance to delve too deeply into that line of thought, because just then, in a tremulous little voice very unlike her own, Khushi had whispered, 'Yes.'
'Yes, what?'
'Y-es, i-it was...it was direct- enough.'
And even though she had not exactly said what he wanted to hear, even though this moment and these circumstances had posed a whole armada of new questions he did not know the answers of, Arnav decided it was all right.
Because he had not been as direct as he wanted her to be either.
And because he had the feeling that now, at least, they would have the time to learn how to say what they wanted to say, ask what they wanted to know, without playing a nerve-grating game of hide and seek.
He relieved her of her books, ridiculously pleased and on the verge of giddy when she did not put up her customary protest, not even showing any signs of panic when the second bell began to trill.
'Walk you to class?'
There was a pause.
'OK.'
Khushi never noticed when Arnav pocketed her pen, without any intention of ever returning it to her again.
Good, bad, passable, horrible? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this...
Also, if you'd like PMs for any of my other works or continuing stories, please click here and drop a comment, or a PM. Thank you!
I reserve all rights over this work of fiction and request readers do not reproduce/copy/modify it elsewhere and/or claim credit.
Hindi TV Shows
41