Shaapit - The Cursed Sisters - Thread 3 (Re-posting)

She nervously made her way downstairs, wearing the red and gold saree one of her new sisters-in-law had told her to wear. Her hair had been pulled tight into a thick braid that hung down her back. There were not so many guests that day, but there were still a few relatives who would stay at the Raizada's for another day.

Suddenly her husband appeared at the bottom of the stairs, causing her to pause in astonishment as she had not expected to meet with him. Arnav froze too, his lips halfway through an incomplete word as he stared at her. He had a white shirt on, with black pants and a black vest. It reminded her of the first time she had met him. He looked different in these clothes.

"Mr Chatterjee? Let me call you back later," she heard him say. She glanced at him again, realising he had been talking into a phone, to find him frowning up at her.

Khushi bit her lip in apprehension while he walked up the steps, his brow creased. Was he angry at her? It seemed like he was certainly displeased with something about her. He Devi Maiyya. What had she done?

Arnav stopped when he was two steps below her. "Why did you-?" he grunted with irritation. Her eyes flew wide open in fright but he came up another step and before she could understand anything, he had grabbed her braid and ripped off the elastic which held it at the bottom to free her dark hair and spread it over her back.

"Tumhaare baal khule zyaada ache lagte," he explained embarrassedly. "Baandha mat karo." (Your hair looks better open. Don't tie it.)

He had ran up to the corridor in which their room as well as his study were found and disappeared into either of them by the time she had gotten over the shock of what he had just told her. She stared into the empty space where he had just stood seconds before, feeling that old, familiar smile touch her lips again.

***

"Suniye! Uthiye na, aath baj chuke hain," she whispered anxiously as she tried to wake her husband, who dug his face deeper in the pillow. (Listen! Get up, it's already eight.)

"Sone do, Anjali!" Shyaam grumbled. "Vaise bhi raat ko der se soye the." (Let me sleep Anjali! We had slept very late last night.)

She felt the heat and colour flood her cheeks as the memory of their wedding night came back to her. The first time had hurt, a lot, but it had been beautiful. She shyly bit her lip. He was wrong though. They had not slept late last night, he had let her rest only in the wee hours of the morning, giving her only less than two hours to sleep before the morning aarti. She shook his shoulder a bit more.

Shyaam finally lifted his head and gave her a sleepy smile. She felt his eyes trail over her, taking in the sindoor in her parting, the mangalsutra around her neck, her saree-clad body.

He propped himself up in his elbow and smirked. "You look good, today."

"Sirf aaj?" she pouted gently, making him chuckle. (Just today?)

"Mera matlab yeh hai, ke aaj tum alag si ho... Yeh sindoor, saree... Bilkul rani ke jaisi." (I mean, it's different today... The sindoor, saree... You look like a queen.)

Anjali laughed and pinched his cheek. "Ab uth bhi jaaiye. Ma ne aapko jagaane ko kaha hai." (Now do get up. Ma has told you to.)

He rolled his eyes as she got up and walked out of their room but he finally did listen to her.

***

He took his eyes off the screen of his laptop when she scuttled inside their room to stand in front of him, handing him a glass of cold milk. Arnav raised his brow in surprise.

"What's that?" he whispered. Dammit, his tongue was still burning. What was with Dadi? She knew he didn't eat spicy food, then why the heck had she asked Hari Prakaash to make that chilli-stuffed daal? And even if she had wanted it, she could have at least warned him, right?

"Thanda doodh hai," Khushi explained, looking down. "Voh... aapne mirch vaali daal khaayi thi, na? Isse aapko raahat milegi." (Cold milk. Umm... You had eaten the spicy daal, right? This will soothe it.)

He flinched but took it from her. Milk was another thing he detested, especially when in its pure state. But she had brought it with so much... not love exactly, but she did care a bit for him, right? He forced a smile on his face. It was already, what? The fourth day of their marriage? Yeah, the fourth. Thank goodness the last relatives had finally left. Now it was just the two of them, Dadi and the servants. Hopefully, life would be calmer.

Arnav grimaced at the floor as he brought the glass to his lips. He felt his eyes widen in surprise once again as he gulped a mouthful down.

"Kya hua?" his wife asked worriedly. "Achha nahin hai?" (What happened? You don't like it?)

"Iss mein badaam hai?" he choked, and she nodded uncertainly. "I haven't drunk badaam doodh since my mom died," he smiled gently up at her. "Thanks, Khushi."(It has almonds in it? [...])

She smiled back at him shyly. "Aapko achha laga?" (You liked it?)

Tugging her hand, he made her sit next to him on the recliner. "Bohot..." (Very much...)

Her smile widened slightly and she bit her lip. Not sure what to do, he drank all the milk from the glass. She took it from his hands and left for the kitchen. Arnav almost caught the end of her pallu and asked her to stay. But he got a grip on himself, remembering that she needed time and watched her go.

Fortunately she didn't take too long. By the time he had tucked his laptop away, she was back and had already taken her night saree, a plain light green cotton one. She stopped at the door to the bathroom to turn slightly towards him while he went to take his pillow and blanket.

"Suniye," she called softly. "Aap sofe par mat soyiye. Uncomfortable hoga. Bistar pe hum dono ke liye jagah hai, na?" (Listen. Don't sleep on the recliner. It must be uncomfortable. There is place for both of us on the bed, right?)

***

Peace invaded him while he watched her sleep. She looked like a child with that pout and slight frown, her hands tucked under her pillow as she lay on her stomach with her head turned to him.

Khushi.

He smiled to himself and lifted his hand to brush her hair away from her face so that her frown faded away. It was difficult not to love this girl. She was innocent yet so mature in her way of thinking. She was unendingly selfless. She was beautiful in every sense of the word. She was his wife. She belonged to him.

And he loved her. Right from the moment he had seen her, he had been head over heels.

Suddenly, he realised how far off she had pushed herself on the bed. His brow creased and he sat up to look at her form sprawled in the moonlight. As he had doubted, she was on the edge. Arnav sighed. He wouldn't be surprised if she fell off with the next breath she took. Carefully, he found her waist and pulled her closer before settling back on his own pillow to watch her.

She frowned again, then the lines smoothed away and she snuggled deeper in the pillow with a deep breath. He smiled again, lying on his back and finally closed his eyes.

***

"To aap humein chhod ke chale jaayeinge?" she sniffed. (So you will leave me?)

Shyaam looked at her with honest regret. "Sirf do mahinon ke liye hai, Anjali. Jab tak ke tumaare passport aur visa ki formalities poori nahin ho jaati." (Just for two months, Anjali. Until you passport and visa formalities are complete.)

"Aap ruk kyun nahin sakte?" (Can't you wait?)

He pulled her down on his lap, feeling his heart shatter with each breath he took. "I'm sorry, Anjali... lekin kaam hai, na?" (... I have work, right?)

"To aap humein yahaan akele chhod deinge?" (So you'll leave me alone here?)

"Arrey? Aap akeli kahan? Mere ma-baap hain, aapki ma, chachi aur bua hain... aur... aapki behen bhi... To aap hi bataaiye, Rani Saheba, aap akeli kaise huyi?" he smirked at her. (How will you be alone? My parents are here, your mother, and aunts are here... and... your sister too... So tell me, Rani Saheba, how can you be alone?)

Anjali threw her head back and laughed heartily despite her sadness. "Rani Saheba?"

Her husband nuzzled into her neck playfully, making her run her hand up into his hair. "You are my queen," Shyaam whispered to her.

"Kab tak?" she breathed. He pulled away immediately, as if jolted by lightening, to stare at her in bewilderment. She smiled at him. "Humaara matlab hai, aap kab tak yahaan honge?" (Till when? I mean, till when will you be here?)

He smiled back rather tightly. "Three more weeks," he replied, before hurriedly removing himself from under her to leave the room.

"So it was you?"

Khushi jumped and whirled around, forgetting that she had the water hose in her hands. She gasped and dropped it, her eyes and mouth both open wide, when she realised her husband was dripping wet in front of her.

"He Devi Maiyya!" she gasped, clapping her palms against her mouth in shock.

Arnav bit the insides of his cheeks to hide his smile as he closed the tap before striding to her.

"H-h-humein m-m-maaf k-kardijiye..." she stuttered nervously, eyeing him approach her with his expressionless face. To her surprise he broke into a grin and shook his head. (Forgive me...)

"It's okay, Khushi. Vaise bhi, mujhe nahaana hi to tha." (...I had to shower, anyway.)

Khushi's eyes widened, making him laugh.

"Tum itna darr kyun rahi ho?" (Why are you getting so scared?)

She shook her head in confusion and bit her lower lip, her eyes lowered.

"To mere plants ko tum paani de rahi thi?" he chuckled. (So you were watering my plants?)

His wife looked up at him in alarm. "H-haan... Voh, baat yeh hai ki... h-humein ped-paudhe bohot ache lagte hai, to... Aapko bura laga?" (Yes... Actually, the thing is... I love plants a lot, so... Do you mind?)

Gently, he brought his fingers to her chin to raise her head so that he could look deep in her eyes. "Not at all."

***

She adjusted the saree's end on her head as her mother-in-law had instructed her to before entering her parents-in-law's room. Head bend, she walked to her sasur, who was seated in the rocking chair reading some papers, and placed the tray on the low table beside him. Silently, she made his cup of tea and handed it to him. He took with an annoyed grunt.

"Chha!" he spat after the first sip and dumped the cup back on the table as she watched with naked apprehension. He grimaced up at her. "Chai itni garam thi. Kalmuhi! Mujhe jalaana chaahti thi kya?" the man growled. (... The tea is so hot. Cursed girl! You wanted to burn me?)

Anjali took at horrified step backwards, her hands clasped on her chest as tears filled her eyes. "N-n-nahin bauji-" (No, father-)

"Dekh ladki-" (Look girl-)

"Suniye," her mother-in-law scrambled hurriedly in the room and grasped her husband, who had now stood up, by the arm but he roughly shrugged her away. The poor woman shrank miserably. (Listen.)

"Tum beech mein mat aao! Kitni baar kaha hai-" (Don't interfere! How many times should I-)

"Aur maine bhi aapse kitni baar kaha hai ke Maa se aise baat mat kijiye?" a voice interrupted the old Mr Jha. (And how many times should I tell you not to talk to Maa like this?)

His son stood in the doorway, seething. Shyaam marched into the room, his glare fixated on his father. Her mother cowered and shook her head frantically while Anjali held him by the sleeve but he did not relent.

"Aur ab aap meri patni par bhi shuru hogaye? Main aapki izzat karta houn, Bauji, iss liye sirf kehta houn. Ab mujhe itna bhi majboor mat kijiye ki main kuchh aisa kar baithoun jisse baad mein aap ko hi pachhtaana pare," he told his father calmly. (And now you started on my wife too? I respect you, father, that's why I just tell you. Now don't compel me to do something that you will yourself regret.)

The old man sneered wickledly. "Kya karega tu?" he cackled, taking a step forward. "Haath uthaayega mujhpe? Yaad rakh, issi baap ne tujhe bada kiya hai. Aaj tu iss ladki ke liye mujhe dhamka raha hai? Bada sher banna hai, na, tujhe isske saamne?" (What will you do? You will hit me? Remember, this father has raised you. Today you are threatening me for this girl? You are being very brave, you think, right? Trying to impress your wife?)

"Bas bhi kijiye, aap," Shyaam's mother implored. (Stop it.)

The son threw a dirty look at his father before taking Anjali's hand to lead her out of the room.

***

"Promise me one thing?" he whispered hoarsely. She looked at him in surprise. Shyaam had not spoken since they had entered their room, it had been hours. He had stood by the window quietly, glaring out. She was just stacking his shirts back in the cupboard when he had spoken. He turned around to look at her, his face torn with regret.

She ran to him and clutched his hands in hers tightly. "Shyaamji-"

"Vaada karo ki jab main America chala jaaounga, tum apne maayike jaaogi?"(Promise me that when I'll go to America, you will return at your mother's place?)

Anjali felt her eyes tear up and she leaned against him. He locked her in a stifling embrace. "I don't want you to live with him. My father will make your life heel, Anjali, and I don't want that. Go to your mother's place. Promise me."

She pulled back and nodded, her cheeks already red and damp. "Hum vaada karte hain." (I promise.)

Shyaam nodded and kissed her forehead tenderly. "Tum jaanti ho, agar kaam itna bhi zaroori nahin hota, to main tumhein yahaan chhod ke kabhi nahin jaata?" (You know that if the work was not so urgent I would never have left you?)

His wife smiled sadly and nodded again before settling in his arms.

***

Arnav put his laptop away for the night and blinked the pricky feeling out of his eyeballs. He glanced at his wife, intending to look away immediately but he simply could not. She was huddled up in bed, her knees drawn close to her chest and her back resting against the headboard. She had already changed into the long black kaftan with its edges embroidered with red flowers that she would wear for the night. A novel lay in her hands and she was reading it attentively, drinking the words.

He could not help but smile as he shifted to sit at the foot of the four-poster bed, in front of her. He rested his back against the footboard.

"You like reading too?"

She started with a gasp and he realised it was the second time in the day that he was scaring her like this.

"Sorry, mera tumhein daraane ka iraada nahin tha." (Sorry, I didn't want to scare you.)

Khushi responded with a shy smile. "Anjali ko bhi padhna achha lagta hai, na? Usske saath rehte-rehte hum bhi kitaabi keere ban gaye." (Anjali also loves to read. Living with her all these years made me a bookworm too.)

"What do you like reading?"

Her eyes sparkled excitedly, as though he had touched a really interesting topic. "Kuchh bhi ho, lekin ek achhi prem kahani honi chaahiye! Jismein happy ending ho!" (Anything, but it should be a nice love story! With a happy ending!)

Arnav's smile fell at her words. "Jo tumhein nahin mila," he muttered without thinking. He saw her spirits fall to the ground too. She lowered her eyes, feeling drenched in guilt. He felt remorseful of his words. (That you didn't get.)

"Khushi," he called her, causing her to look up hesitantly at him. "Sab theek hojaayege. Main utna bhi bura nahin hoon," he added with a chuckle when she failed to cheer up. (Khushi, everything will be fine. I'm not that bad.)

Her beautiful eyes were suddenly swimming in her tears, giving him a terrible punch in the gut. "Vahi to," she whispered, "aap zaroorat se ziaada achhe hai..." (Exactly, you are too nice...)

His face immediately creased into a frown because of her emotional pain. Without thinking, he scooted nearer to her on the bed and wrapped his arms around her tiny form. "Hey, come here."

He kissed the top of her head before tucking it under his chin. She saw his kindness but the silly girl was blind to her own selflessness. She was too fragile. Like the last rose in a harsh winter. But he wouldn't ever let the cold bite her, would he?

He would be her wall to shield her. He would give her his shoulder to cry upon. He would fill her life with so much love, it would make her forget her past memories. He would always be there for her. She lifted her head when there was a knock at her door and wiped her face while he frowned, waiting for her to be okay before letting anyone in.

"Come in," he said.

Subhadra walked in, a reluctant smile on her face. "Hum galat vakt pe to nahin aaye?" she asked, looking from her grandson to his wife. They both got up to greet her. (Did I come at a wrong time?)

"No, Dadi, it's just... Khushi ko ghar ki yaad aa rahi thi to..." (... Khushi was remembering her maternal home...)

The lady gave her daughter-in-law a soft smile as she advanced on her to cup her cheek gently. "Hum samajhte hai." (I understand.)

Arnav cleared his voice. "Aapko kuchh kaam tha, Dadi?" (You had some work, Dadi?)

"Haan," Subhadra beamed at the couple. "Ab jab tumhaari shaadi ho hi gayi hai, hum soch rahe the ke hum teerth-yatra pe chale jaayein. Hum sirf yeh kehne aaye the ke hum parso jaa rahe hain." (Yes. Now that you are married, I was thinking about going on a pilgrimage. I had just come to tell you that I will be leaving day after tomorrow.)

Her grandson nodded. "Fine, is there anything you need? I'll tell Aman to make the arrangements."

She hmm-ed and started to leave, only to pause at the door. "Vaise hum shaayad ek mahine baad aayeinge, aap dono ko akele samay bitaane ka mauka bhi milega. Kaam mein ziaada ziasth mat rahiye, Chhote. Humein aapse aur bahu se jald hi khush-khabri chaahiye!" (I might be gone for a month, you two will get some time alone too. Don't busy yourself so much in work, Chhote. I want a good news from both of you soon!)

Catching her meaning, Arnav and Khushi both blushed embarrassedly and Dadi left with a short laugh.

He had been an insomniac since he could remember. Even as a child of less than four years, he remembered wandering in the big house at night to find his parents' room and try to sleep near his mother. But the solace took a lot of time to come. He always had nightmares, strange, different nightmares each night. They probably meant nothing, but he got easily scared at that age. And if he did tell people about them, he would be laughed at.

So, as he grew up, he force-trained himself to stay in his own bed despite the nightmares. He used his mind to get rid of that childish fear. He thought of things, of what he might be in the future to drive away the urge to run to his mother and father. Instead, they helped him to drift into a better sleep.

Then, when the nightmares were no longer so unsettling, he was already going to school, and with that came the stress. He was expected to be the perfect student like his father had been. Exams scared the crap out of him, especially since he tended to work not so well at school. That lasted till the secondary level. And then, he kind of stopped caring. No matter how hard he pushed himself, things never worked out the way he wanted them to but surprisingly, that was also the time when his marks rose.

He barely paid attention in class, to tell the truth. He doodled, day-dreamed, yawned, at times he didn't even bother to do the homework. Yet, he passed the exams brilliantly. And by then, another period had started with his sleeping patterns and that had seemed to stick along.

He could go to bed, tired like hell, but sleep would still take hours to come. And when it did, the least ray of light, sound or movement would jerk him awake. He would still use his thoughts to divert his mind and try to find some sleep. Now?

He didn't need anything. He didn't even want to sleep, dammit. Because all he wanted to do was watch his wife sleep. His wife... That was so bizarre, yet so endearing. Her presence was a comfort. It made it feel like he had someone to come home to. He hadn't felt eager to return home for years, which was maybe the reason why he had turned into a workaholic, following the footsteps of his father.

His mother had died when he had been about fourteen years old. And since then, it was like he had his father had started distancing themselves, not from each other, but more from the house she had turned into home. His father stayed in office till late, Arnav kept himself engaged in different ways. He would stay at the library till closing hours to read comics and mystery novels or he would stay at his friends' place.

Then he had gone off to university. Counting on his father for some moral support would have been hopeless as the man was devastated by his wife's death. But it didn't upset Arnav. He had seen how his parents felt for each other. It was only his father's demise that had pushed him to leave the States. And his Dadi, who had been living in an ashram since his mother had passed away, moved back to keep him company and help him. but he had never really felt that eagerness to come back to his place he thought of as wretched.

Now was a different matter. He had hardly left home for his office since the day of his marriage. He had left the office into the hands of his very trusted and capable right-hands to reign every movement from home. The reason? This new woman who had entered his life against her full will. She was a mystery to him.

Khushi.

Watching her sleep so peacefully beside him, her lips puckered in a cute pout and her hands curled under her chin, made him wonder. Was she the same crazy ball of furious frenzy for housework that kept tornado-ing about his immense house the whole day? He smirked to himself. She was adorable and he wished to know her better. Maybe it would be easier now that they were the only two people in the house, excluding the servants? Dadi had left just that afternoon.

And he had made up his mind. For this one month or so that they would be alone, he would not let her work at all. They needed to get to know each other. They were 'friends' just to say it, but truth to be told, they hadn't even had a proper conversation at all. And there was so much he wanted to talk about, to know...

***

"Chhoti Maalkin? Saab aapko bula rahe hain," Lali said softly from the doorway. (Sir is calling you.)

Khushi glanced at her with a swift smile before she frowned back at the creased shirt of her husband's she had been ironing. "Unse kehna hum abhi aate hain. Bas yeh ho jaaye to..." (Tell him I'll be right there. Let me just finish this...)

She resumed her work, the tip of her tongue sticking out, concentrating solely on the chore, so that she never heard the person approach her until a large brown hand close over hers. Her eyes snapped up, shocked, to clash with dark brown eyes.

"Chhodo, koyi aur karlega." (Leave it, someone else will see to this.)

Her heart thrummed for some unknown reason, while he unhooked her fingers from around the handle of the hot iron. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Lali take up the task, following his silent command. Her husband did not release her though. He turned her hand to that it rested comfortably in his and he tugged gently.

"Chalo," he muttered, taking her out of the room. They crossed the house, went one storey up and he paused at a closed door. She felt his discomfort when his grip on her tightened and instinctively stepped closer to him. (Come.)

Arnav smiled down at her briefly and, opening the door, he pulled her inside with him. He had not been in there for around fourteen years. His father had shifted in another room downstairs since his mother had left them.

"Yeh meri maa ka kamra tha," he whispered, all those memories coming back to him with a pang. His eyes pricked and watered against his will. He felt her squeeze her small hand around his as best as she could to comfort him. He looked at her with a sad smile. (This was my mother's room.)

"All her jewellery is in the cupboard, she had a lot and we never... It's still here. I want you to use it."

Khushi opened her mouth to protest but he countered immediately. "Please, Khushi. I want you to use it. She had a lot of them. My dad loved her more than anything and he liked showering her with jewels. Please, use them. Sab tumhaara hi to hai. I'm sure she would have wanted her daughter-in-law to wear them. Aur vaise bhi, mujhe achha nahin lagta hai ke tum sirf yeh chhote earrings pehno. You are my wife, Khushi, aur sirf yehi nahin iss ghar ki maalkin bhi ho." (...It's all yours afterall. [...] And anyway, I don't like the fact that you wear only wear the mangalsutra and these small earrings. [...], and not just that, but you're also the mistress of this house.)

She looked at him silently for a minute and he tensed, afraid that she would still refused. But she gave him a small smile and nodded.

"Fine," he grinned boyishly with relief. "Kuchh pasand karlo, pehenlo aur neeche aao. I'm waiting." (...Choose something, wear it and come downstairs. ...)

With that, he kissed the top of her head and hurried out of the room, leaving behind a dazed wife.

***

He was speaking on the phone when she walked down the stairs to him. He turned slightly, hearing her footsteps, and stilled. Khushi bit her lip tersely and made her way towards him, even as he dismissed the person he had been talking to. Arnav frowned as she approached.

"Tumne sirf yeh jhumke kyun pehne? Kitne saare sets the, kuchh aur chun liya hota." (You wore only these jhumke? There were so many sets, you could have taken anything else.)

She looked down, shifting awkwardly. "Humein iss sab ki aadat nahin hai..." she mumbled. (I'm not used to this...)

He sighed. Her eyes widened when she noticed the half-smile on his face. "Theek hai, chalein?" (Fine, shall we?)

"Kahaan?" she gasped. (Where?)

Her husband leaned in, his brow raised with amusement. "Voh to tumhein chalke hi pata chalega." (You'll know that only if you come.)

***

"Hmm... Bohot, bohot, bohot hi achha hai!" she giggled. "Aapko kaise pata ke humein rasmalai pasand hain?" (It's really very good! How did you know I love rasmalai?)

"Mujhe tumhaare baare mein sab pata hota hai!" he drawled with an attempt to flirt with his wife. (I know everything about you!)

Anjali smiled fondly. "Bachpan mein, na, hum Khushi ko zabardasti school se bhagaate the, phir hum mithaayi-wale ke paas jaate the. Jaise humein rasmalai pasand hai, Khushi ko jalebiyan achhi lagti hain." (When we were kids, I used to force Khushi to run away from school with he, and we would go to the sweet shop. Like I love rasmalai, Khushi loves jalebies.)

Shyaam tried not to frown at the mention of her sister. "Unki yaad aati hai?" (You miss her?)

She nodded mechanically, turning away so that he would not see the tears and ravaging guilt in her eyes. But that also prevented her from seeing the momentary pain that flitted across his face.

He watched her smile at the Rabindar Sarovar, looking at a group of children played by its edge. Maybe she had memories of her childhood connected to this place, but he didn't ask, because if she had, he would have to listen to her talk about her cousin...

At that moment exactly, while the thought crossed his mind, Anjali leaned against him to place her head on his shoulder and with a sigh, he let the false smile slide off his face. Of course his wife was beautiful too. And of course he did love her. But he couldn't deny the attraction he felt for her cousin. Shyaam let his eyes drift shut as he rested his cheek on his wife's head.

When he had first seen Khushi, he had almost regretted agreeing to marry Anjali but her cold and clean refusal had clearly put her off limits. Had she agreed to his proposal, he would have immediately spoken to the elders, without caring for a second about what Anjali could have gone through. Yes, he admitted it. He would not have bothered to think about her. He had been, and still, was too smitten with the younger sister. But he did not regret marrying Anjali. She was as beautiful, as nice, as understanding... maybe? Because he had never really known Khushi, had he?

Yet, he often found himself imagining how life would have been if it was the other cousin that he had married. He never did it of his own accord. The thought just came on him. He never wanted to compare Anjali with Khushi. He didn't even want to think about Khushi. Why was this so difficult? Why was it, that even if he was trying his best to love Anjali more than just platonically, it was harder than anything to match that to the feelings he had for Khushi?

He wished so dearly he could change that and love only his wife that way. There were even times when he watched Anjali and realised how worthless he was. His respect for her escalated manifold every time she confronted his sour father with silent grace although it was obvious that the man, who had never softened for his own wife, would never do so for his despised son's wife. He felt immensely grateful that she was so devoted to him and his loved ones. She gave his adored mother her support after his father's frequent outbursts. She loved him, maybe too much, too blindly.

And that made him painfully guilty. Because he couldn't love her that way. He tried to, but it was impossible. He stayed carefully away from topics that could lead to Khushi, since he wanted to forget her. But Anjali in complete darkness of his feelings, spoke of her sister often, and each time that name was mentioned, he felt that now familiar ache arise deep in his chest.

Khushi.

He loved his mother and his country, he had wanted to stay back, but now, living in America seemed such a better choice. He held Anjali's hand in his firmly. Hopefully, distance would erase those feelings...

***

He opened the door for her and held his hand out for her to take. She hesitated before gently placing her hand in his. She got down, biting her lip and he smiled as he pressed the button to automatically lock the doors of his silver BMW Series 3 Sedan.

"Hum kahaan hain?" she asked meekly. (Where are we?)

Arnav smirked silently at her, without any intent to reply so soon but he drew her ahead. She followed him confusedly. They climbed a flight of old brick steps to arrive on an equally ancient-looking sandstone platform that overlooked Kolkata. She gasped at the breath-taking view.

"I used to come here often when I was younger, in college," he chuckled, slightly out of breath. "When I was bored with the classes and all? I came here. Beautiful, isn't it?"

A peal of laughter unexpectedly bubbled from her lips, surprising him. She glanced at him, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "Bohot sundar hai!" Khushi whispered, her gaze on the city, now a miniature to their eyes. (It's very beautiful!)

He found himself unable to look awayfrom her. It was the first time he was seeing her so happy. She couldn't even stop smiling. "Aapko pata hai? Anjali aur hum bhi school se bhaaga karte the! Voh humein zabardasti bhagaati thi aur hum mithaaiyan khaane jaate the." (You know? Anjali and I too used to run away from school too! She forced me to and we went to eat sweets.)

"Achha?" he leaned slightly closer. "Kaun si?" (Really? Which?)

She licked her lips with childish excitement, revelling at the memories. "Pani puri, chaat, rasgulle, samose, gaajar ka halwa, kheer, chole bhature, dholke, gulab jamun, ras malai, kachori, paav bhaaji, halwa, pakore, aur humaari man pasand, jalebiyan!" she recited in a single breath, rubbing her hands together.

When she looked up at her husband, he was gawking at her. She flushed at once, embarrassed by her stupid behaviour. But Arnav suddenly laughed, startling her. "To tumhein yeh sab khaana achha lagta hai?" (So you like eating all that?)

His lips twitched in amusement when she nodded and he tilted his head to whisper to her. "Ek baat bataaoun?" (Can I tell you something?)

She looked at him innocently munching on her bottom lip. "Kya?" (What?)

"Maine kabhi in mein se ek bhi try nahin kiya," he confessed. (I have never had even one of them.)

Her eyes rounded at him. "Kyun?" (Why?)

Arnav shrugged. "I don't know... I wasn't used to talking to people and making friends, and I don't have any cousin of my age too. I was always alone... I spent most of my time by myself here..."

The way her eyes filled with regret for him made his heart leap. "But it doesn't matter! Abhi der nahin huyi hai, aur mere saath ek expert hai..." (...It's not late yet, and I have an expert with me...)

***

"Yeh lijiye," he lifted his brow in surprise at the additional pills she was holding out along with the almond milk. (Take this.)

"Yeh davaayi?" he enquired. (These medicines?)

Khushi looked down to hide the laughter in her eyes. "Digestion pills," she giggled. "Aapko teekha khaane ki aadat nahin hai, na?" (...You are not used to eating spicy food, right?)

Arnav narrowed his eyes mockingly.

***

"Chhoti Malkin! Aapke liye phone!" (Little mistress! There's a phone call for you!)

Reluctantly, she [jewellery] handed the sieve to Lali and ran down the hall to take the phone from Hari Prakash, dismissing him with a smile.

It was Badi Ma. She laughed as she spoke to Garima, ensuring the older woman that she was perfectly fine. Unknown to her, Arnav was walking down the stairs, watching her. He repressed a sigh so that she wouldn't realise he was there right away. If only she knew how beautiful she was when she smiled. If only she would love him back...

He shook his head, deciding not to ruin the moment by thinking about the other man. She herself, seemed to have immersed completely in her new life. He should do the same. She moved when he reached the last step and saw him. She froze momentarily, staring back, her astonishment turning to confusion when he smiled, shaking his head.

Garima brought her back to the conversation it and she ended it politely, with the promise of speaking to her husband about it. She put the receiver down to frown at Arnav, who was now standing near her. Her chin lifted, her lips pouting slightly, as she quietly demanded to know what he was smiling at.

He sniggered and turned her around by the shoulders, making her stand facing the mirror on the wall. Her jaw dropped open and she turned pink, looking from her image to her hand which was coated with flour. She must have ignorantly touched her hair with it, because the right side of her head was streaked with white. Khushi smiled and started to move away but he made her look at him again, instead.

And slowly, he began brushing the white powder out of her ebony hair. "Kya keh rahi thi tumhaari Badi Ma?" he asked casually, as if the closeness was having no effect on him. (What did your Badi Ma say?)

But his wife blinked at him, her face blank for several minutes before she responded, her heart thudding violently. "Khaane par bulaaya hai," she managed to muttered, her gaze fixated on his face while her breaths unsteadied. (She has invited us for dinner.)

"Kab?" he frowned at her head with his eyes narrowed. (When?)

"Agle shukravaar," she whispered, without quite knowing why. (Next Friday.)

He nodded taking a step back. "Haan keh do." Then he was gone back up in his study. (Say yes.)

"Ma ne agle shukravaar ko khaane pe bulaaya hai, hum kya kahein?" (Ma has invited us for dinner next Friday, what should I say?)

He looked up at her impassively. Her face was bright with happiness. She had not smiled this way for days due to his father's constant bad mood. He kept insulting her and reprimanding her. And Shyaam was feeling more and more guilty for everything. How could he keep her from this moment of joy? He nodded meekly.

"Keh dena ke hum aajaayeinge." (Tell her we'll be there.)

Anjali giggled excitedly. "Hum abhi bataa kar aate hain. Bohot shukriya! Sab kitne khush honge..." (I'll just let her know. Thank you very much! Everyone will be so happy...)

She disappeared, taking the light with her. His face fell. He knew that she would be there too. With her husband. Would he bear it?

He would have to...

***

Her eyes, innocent and wide with confusion, filled with unknown admiration for him. They haunted him day and night. Those eyes were also filled with a strange kind of pain, emptiness, a sadness. If he could just strip those eyes of those bruises and give them beautiful dreams, infinite bliss, love.

What had he been thinking when he was dusting the flour off her hair earlier that day? Hadn't he decided to take everything slow? Then why had he gone that close? Why had he been tempted to test the boundaries?

Arnav closed the file with a snap. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't do this right now. Maybe a glass of cold water would help?

***

Anjali put the receiver down with a smile, but it soon melted away. Her husband was not happy, she could sense it. She walked back to her room, deep in thought. What could have happened to him? Why was he so dull?

But then she shook her head dismissively. Of course she knew the reason. He would be leaving soon. It wasn't easy on him to leave everything he loved and go in that cold, faraway country, was it? She sighed, hoping that the dinner on Friday would take some stress from over his shoulders.

And she stopped in her tracks. Khushi would be there too. How would she face her cousin, her sister after all what she had said to her?

***

Lunch was done. The dishes were washed and dried. Now, she had to attack dinner. But what could she prepare. Should she ask Arnavji? Biting her lip, Khushi glanced at the clock.

After Badi Ma's phone call, he had closed himself in his study. Her husband had come down for lunch when she had called him down, only to swallow everything down in less than ten minutes, grumbling something about an important deal. Then, he had shut himself up there again. It would not be right to disturb him again.

She sulked at her distorted reflection on the back of the large spoon she was holding. What could she make to please Arnavji? She didn't even know what he liked. Approaching footsteps made her turn around in alarm. It was him. He started at her in stunned silence before moving towards her.

"Tum abhi bhi kitchen mein ho?" (You are still in the kitchen?)

She smiled, feeling an unfamiliar warmth fill up her heart. "Haan, humein raat ka khaana banaana hai to... Aapko kuchh chaahiye tha?" (Yes, I have to prepare dinner, so... Did you want something?)

Arnav shook his head. "Just some water."

Khushi stopped him when he reached for a glass. "Rukiye! Hum aapke liye chai banaayein? Adrak wali?" (Wait! I'll make some tea for you? With ginger?)

A small smile teased his lips as he regarded her with amusement. "Fine. But don't worry about dinner, aaj raat hum kahin bahar chalte hain, okay?" (...We'll go out tonight, okay?)

***

He watched her awkwardly sit down on the edge of her side of the bed and smile nervously at him before sliding in under the thick cotton sheet. She lay on her side, looking at him from time to time, and Arnav found himself repressing his smile. He knew too well she wasn't comfortable at all. Neither with him in the same bed, nor with sleeping on her side.

Because all the nights he had spent awake, looking at her while she slept, he had realised she slept best on her front. In fact, in her deep slumber, she wouldn't even know that she snuggled deep in her pillow, as if she wanted someone's comforting hug and warmth.

He turned to her, smiling. "Main kuchh try karna chaahoun, to tumhein bura to nahin lagega?" (Will you feel bad if I try something?)

Khushi blinked rapidly, taken aback, and shook her head timidly. Arnav grinned and she was suddenly pulled in towards him. He gently tucked her head under his chin after kissing the top of her head and held her by the waist. Her figure was frozen in shock against him but she did not utter a word. He moved so that she was on her front, over him, but still comfortable, and wrapped her in his embrace.

Slowly, he felt her relax. He lay there listening to her breathing, which steadied indicating she was asleep. It was only then that he too closed his eyes.

***

Each breath was a new, harder wave of guilt that crashed upon him. He hesitated before getting up from the bed. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt and with one last look at Anjali's naked body, he snatched his keys from the bedside table.

Fifteen minutes later, he was sitting in his old Maruti, parked by the road, trying to keep in the storm that was brewing inside him. Why was it so difficult? Why couldn't he just forget those doe-shaped, deep brown, almost golden eyes? That expanse of milky white, smooth satiny skin? That long dark ebony column of silky hair? Those-

Shyaam slammed his fist on the steering wheel, his eyes closed tight. He was married to her sister for god's sake! She herself was already married! How could he even think? That was it. Whether she would be here at the dinner on Friday or not, he had to stop thinking about her. Anjali was his wife, and she was the one who deserved his love. He had to forget her...

Dry, humourless laughter rose in his throat. Who was he kidding?

***

For the first time in her life, she felt safe, secure, protected. It was a nice feeling. A nice and warm feeling that enveloped her. Khushi smiled and burrowed herself closer to the source of warmth, only to feel herself being pulled to it. Her smile grew wider, but suddenly froze as she realised it was actually a person holding her.

She lifted her head abruptly and gasped. Her husband lay beneath her, sleeping peacefully. Her eyes widened while a furious blush rushed under skin. They had spent the night like this? She had spent the night like this? With her head on his chest while his heartbeat had lulled her to sleep? With his arms protectively, possessively around her? She gulped and tried to extricate herself from his hold.

Arnav grunted in his sleep and tugged her back against him. She could neither stop nor explain the smile that blossomed on her lips. She was aware of his insomnia. He would fall asleep hours after her, yet get up hours before. Strange, but she felt each of his movements in her sleep. Today, he seemed to be enjoying his sleep.

She bit her lip and let her eyelids fall shut. Yes, she did have a lot of work for the day, but she sure could forget that for a few minutes of his peaceful rest, couldn't she?

***

Sitting up and clutching the sheet to her chest, she looked around the room frantically. It was only six, where was he? Fresh tears rose to her eyes and she swallowed the feeling of rejection and picked her discarded sari from the floor to run to the bathroom, where she shut herself, wiping her face of the dampness.

This wasn't the first time she was waking up alone. The morning after their wedding was the only once when he had been next to her. Something was troubling him, she knew it. But what? Was it her? Could she have done something to displease him?

Even as she tried to contain her tears, she found herself bursting in a sob, then another. Why? She had no idea. She just felt like crying. Weak, she slid to the floor, hugging her knees as she let the sobs wreck over her.

If only Khushi was there to hold her, comfort her...

"Khushi?"

Her eyes snapped open and settled on him hazily. He was blinking at her, fully awake but confused. She crawled back to her side immediately, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said sitting up. "I didn't know and... I slept damn late today!"

She smiled a bit, her eyes downcast. "Koyi baat nahin." (It doesn't matter.)

"I never slept this good in my life. What-?"

***

He stopped talking, his eyes trailing all over her. He had just been about to ask what had made him sleep so well but the answer was just in front of him. It was her. She was his own, special sleeping pill. His lips parted, wanting to say something but what? She glanced at him once, blushing deep scarlet, before she slid away to the bathroom, and he sat there, still dazed.

***

"Anjali? Anjali?"

She hurriedly wiped her face and came out of the bathroom, forcing a smile on her lips. "Aap aagaye? Hum aapke liye naashta laga dete hain." (You are back? I'll prepare your breakfast.)

Shyaam caught her by the arm and frowned at her. "Kya hua?" (What happened?)

"Kya?" she expanded her smile a bit. (What?)

"Mere dad ne kuchh kaha?" her husband growled. "Tum ro kyun rahi thi?" (Did my dad say something? Why were you crying?)

***

Her eyes were red and watery. How would he not notice she had cried? She averted his gaze and he saw a lone tear roll down her cheek, soon followed by another. And just like that, he seemed to understand. He should have known. His leaving so early in the morning was upsetting her. Even as a shard of guilt ripped his heart open, he hugged her to his chest tightly, regretting all of it.

Shyaam sat her on the bed next to him. "I'm sorry, Anjali... I..." She snuggled closer to him and hid her face in his neck. It made it easier for him to speak. "I just can't... It hurts to know that in a few days, I won't be waking up to you... I'm trying not to get used to it..."

It was not a lie. He was getting used to her. Maybe too much...

"Hum samjhte hain..." he heard her whisper. (I understand...)

***

"Crap!" he hissed, glaring at himself furiously in the mirror. He tried again, and failed again. "Dammit!"

His eyes went to the bandage around his hand. This was just too frustrating. Where had his mind been? He had been gardening, so obviously, his attention should have been in the activity. But it had flown elsewhere. It had gone down in the kitchen, instead, where his wife was cooking. He had been thinking about his changing sleeping patterns... And then, the object of his attention had suddenly made her appearance and he had cut himself across the palm.

Arnav sighed and stared at himself in the mirror, his skin turning faintly red. He couldn't sleep without her. Khushi had literally become his sleeping pill. If she wasn't in his arms at night, sleep would evade him. What was happening to him? He had no idea. He just felt like he was sinking deeper and deeper in a whirlpool of mess...

Gritting his teeth together, he glared at his open shirt and lifted his hands to do the buttons. He would have to do it, even if it hurt. He winced as he tried to flex his hand, but before he could do the effort, a pair of smaller hands scurried over, doing the buttons.

***

Her face grew hot as she felt his amazed eyes on her. But she willed herself and did the task for him. he would never have been able to do it himself anyway, with the deep wound that had set itself in his left hand that morning. Devi Maiyya knew what he had been thinking about. It was only the left hand, thankfully.Khushi bit her lip and stood back one she had finished.

"Thanks," he muttered, reaching for his jacket but she closed her hands around it firmly.

"Dijiye." (Give it.)

He let her help him with it too. "Thanks, Khushi," he smiled.

She smiled back shyly. "Aapko aur kuchh chahiye?" (Do you need anything else?)

Her husband shook his head diligently. "Nahin, ab humein chalna chaahiye, varna tumhaare maayke pohonchne mein der lag jaayegi." (No, we have to get going, else we'll be late.)

Khushi nodded swiftly and started moving away to check if everything was alright in the house before they left but he caught her by the wrist. "Khushi." Her already racing heart skipped a beat at his touch. "Aaj yeh pehnogi? Tumhaare liye laaya tha." (Will you wear this today? I had bought it for you.)

Her eyes fell on the flat black box he was holding out to her. She took it reluctantly and opened it, smiling at the beautiful piece. It was simple but she loved it. "Isski kya zaroorat thi?" she asked, trying not to smile. (What was the need for this?)

He shrugged, putting the box down and taking out the necklace. With his injured hand, he swept her hair over one shoulder and she held it up while he slipped the ornament around her slender neck. "Hak banta hai mera," he whispered huskily even as he looked directly at her in the mirror, making her heart thrum. "Patni ho tum meri." (It's my right. You are my wife.)

***

"Shyaamji," she held his arm uncertainly as they walked towards the car.

He led her to the passenger door, trying to smile despite the apprehension bubbling inside him. "Kya hua, Rani Sahiba?" (What is it?)

Her eyes darted fearfully to the house before she looked at him again. "Humein lagta ke Bauji ko achha nahin lag raha hai..." (I don't think your father likes it...)

Shyaam rolled his eyes and placed his hands on her shoulders to make her look at him. "Unhein pasand ho ya napasand, mujhe apne sasuraal apni patni ke saath jaana hai, to main jaaounga. Anjali! Tum chinta karna chhod do." (He likes it or not, I want to go to my in-laws with my wife, so I'll go. Anjali! Stop worrying.)

She pursed her lips but nonetheless nodded in agreement and he pulled her in to brush his lips on her forehead. He lingered for a second, wishing they could back out. But for her happiness, he would have to go. He have to face his temptation and try to abhor it instead of desiring it...

***

Anjali rested her head on the cool glass window of the car as they drove across the city to her mother's place. Her mind was so full she only wanted to sleep right now. The greatest worry, the heaviest guilt on her heart was about Khushi. It felt as if she hadn't seen her sister in ages, but it had been only a few days. And the last time she had seen her, she had told her so many bitter and hateful things...

How would she face Khushi? The very Khushi whose love had been lost because of a folly she had not wanted to commit. The very Khushi who had decided since their childhood that she would suffer Anjali's punishments too. No, she would have to apologise to Khushi. For all she had said...

Sighing, she turned to look at her husband as he concentrated on the road. A smile touched her lips. She had been unreasonable that morning. She had been so silly. The poor man was already so worried about his imminent departure, and she had only succeeded in adding to it.

She did understand now. It was hard to think that he would no longer be there in some time. Already, it was difficult to imagine a life without him. He had become the centre of her whole world overnight. She could understand what he was going through now. She could understand his need to impeach this from becoming a habit.

But for her, it was a completely different thing. Instead of trying to distance herself too, she wanted to hold on tighter, live every second she had with him fully. She was not wrong, was she? She loved him. It was her right. She was his wife, after all.

Her eyes were moist when he stopped the car in the yard of what had only days ago been her home, her safe haven. She could not take her eyes off the ancestral mansion, memories from her childhood coming back to her with familiar warmth. Yet, she felt her husband look at her, his eyes a reflection of her own nervousness.

"Chalein?" he asked softly. (Shall we?)

Swallowing, she nodded without looking at him and opened the door to get out. He walked beside her and, draping his arms around her shoulders, he pulled her to his side. Anjali finally dared to lift her eyes to meet his. They were filled with anxiety. She smiled and cupped his cheek.

"Hum theek hain." (I'm fine.)

He pressed his lips against her right temple briefly before they walked up to the door together.

***

He watched his wife fall in her mother's open arms, then hug her aunts too. The four of them were weeping in joy. He bent and touched the elder women's feet after they had met Anjali. Right then, another car entered the yard and he stiffened. Strangely, some kind of apprehension had clouded Anjali's face too.

He tried, he wanted more than anything in the world to tear his eyes away when she got down from the car, but it was stronger than him. She was glowing in the orange light of the evening. There was a huge smile on her face when she saw her former family, she turned with childish glitter to her husband who had leaned against the open door of his ridiculously expensive car to look at her with amusement, as if that was the exact reaction he had been waiting for. He flashed and grin at her and she ran as fast as her saree would allow her, to greet her mothers and sister.

Shyaam realised she looked happier than before. Since the day he had seen her, even on the day of her wedding, she had been gloomy, sad, as though someone had mercilessly broken her heart. But the image he had just had of her was the one Anjali had been telling him about incessantly. He swivelled his gaze back on her husband, Arnav Singh Raizada, as the man strode forward to join her, his eyes only and only for her, even if she did not seem to know it.

He looked like a man desperately in love with his wife. Shyaam could not help but envy him. Not just for having her or for being able of loving the woman he was married to, but for what he had been able to do to that woman. How had he turned back from her shattered state to her happy self that radiated the meaning of her name? What did he, Arnav Singh Raizada, have that Shyaam Manohar Jha did not?

***

She released Madhu Ma and wiped her cheeks dry even as another tear rolled down her cheek. Khushi turned, about to hug Anjali but she hesitated. The girls stared at each other awkwardly. Was she forgiven for the mistake she didn't know she had committed? Or was Anjali still angry?

She bit her lip uncertainly, trying to find acceptance in her sister's eyes but she found something else. Apology. Repent. Shaking her head, Khushi threw her arms around Anjali and hugged her tight. It had been one black thing that had happened to them, but it couldn't change the way they were, could it? Sisters they were, and sisters they would remain. Whatever happened.

They pulled away smiling and the mothers ushered them in the house. The warm weight of a hand landed on her shoulder as she waited for everyone to go in first. Khushi raised her eyes to meet with mysterious dark eyes that smiled at her pleasantly, and, just like that, she felt a smile draw itself on her lips. He reached to wipe the tears off her face.

"Maine tumse pehle kabhi kaha hai ke jab tum roti ho, to mujhe bilkul bhi achha nahin lagta?" Arnav whispered only for to hear. (Have I ever told you that I don't like it when you cry?)

She blushed and he caught her hand lightly, walking in the house with her.

***

He couldn't say he wasn't enjoying the lavish attention he was getting from the mothers. They fussed over him and the other son-in-law constantly, insisting they should eat more. It had been years since he had received such maternal affection and now, the love had been tripled, as to compensate.

He and Shyaam were left alone in the living room when the women had shooed them away to clear up. They talked about trivial things, trying to know each other, but Arnav soon noticed how uncomfortable Shyaam was. He smiled to himself; maybe it was just because they were meeting for the first time?

"Excuse me," Shyaam shuffled uneasily. "I have to make a few phone calls."

Left alone, Arnav wandered to the kitchen when the ladies were working on the dessert. He smirked, his eyes on his little wife who scuttled about, doing a little bit of everything. He realised this was her favourite place to be. Anjali, on the other hand, sat on the counter chatting happily while his mother-in-law did as little as she could.

This felt like home... He was suddenly transported to his childhood. The kitchen used to be as lively back then when his mother was still alive... He had always liked helping her and he remembered how his father used to drag in a chair so that he could sit and do his work while watching his family and talking to his wife...

Taking in a deep breath, he walked up behind Khushi's Madhu Ma - the one who had seemed most friendly to him - and looked over her shoulder. "Uhh... Aunty, aap kya kar rahi hain?" he wanted to know. (...What are you doing?)

***

She jumped on hearing his voice so close to her. She looked up in surprise to find everyone as shocked as her and she almost laughed. They had not heard him come in. Anjali quickly jumped off the counter and Badi Ma smiled indulgently while Madhu Bua watched Arnav with wide confuse eyes.

"Arrey, beta aap... Hum bas kheer bana rahe the. Aap..." (...I was just making some kheer. You...)

Khushi watched her husband's eyes gleam as he cleared his voice. "Main... Main voh... Aapko kuchh maddad chaahiye?" (I... Actually, I... Do you need some help?)

Funnily enough, he appeared to turn pink, but it was hardly visible. She grinned at his embarrassment but at the same time, she felt her heart swell. He was trying to bond with her family. Madhu Ma had already started to refuse him because he was the son-in-law of the house; he tried to contest that by affirming that since he was the son-in-law, it was his responsibility to help and Madhu Ma blushed furiously, mumbling that it would be a crime to make him work in the kitchen.

Khushi saw something in his eyes. He wanted to do this. He wanted something she could not understand fully, maybe he wanted to feel accepted in the family. But Badi Ma had read his eyes too and she nodded once in agreement. It gave him such an immense pleasure that she giggled, watching a boyish grin appear on his face.

***

He sighed in the cool night air, his eyes closed. It hurt much more than what he could have imagined. He had managed to overlook her throughout dinner. He could do this. But he didn't think he could befriend Arnav Singh Raizada that easily. It was not that he did not like him. After talking to Arnav for a while, Shyaam had decided that the man was actually very nice.

And maybe, that was exactly what irked him. Arnav had given him an impression, and a very good one. He might be rich, but he was very polite and very down to earth. The perfect man for her. The man who had restored her. A husband who had been able to give his wife his whole heart. And theirs had been an arranged marriage too...

Meeting him had made Shyaam see how little he himself was in comparison. What had he done? Converted an ever-smiling Anjali to a constantly worrying one. He had given her a father-in-law who would never be happy with her. And most important of all, he didn't love her the way she deserved to be loved...

Shyaam rubbed his palms on his face before plucking the courage to get back inside. He felt ashamed of himself. He felt dreadful. He felt like he was cheating on his wife. Especially since he had lied to Arnav about the phone calls. He had just wanted to get away, be alone for some time. The living room was empty when he walked in. He walked towards the kitchen instead, where he found everyone talking cheerfully as they ate the kheer that, he had to admit, smelled heavenly.

He knew he should have looked for Anjali first, but two other people caught his eye, and looking at them only twisted the knife embedded in his heart. Arnav was leaning against the counter, listening to the mothers as they narrated anecdotes from the girls' childhood, and from time to time, he lifted a spoon laden with kheer from the bowl he was holding, either to his mouth or to hers. However, neither seemed to be aware of that simple gesture's significance...

Guiltily, he looked over at his wife. She stood not far from her, giggling mischievously with her. And the fact hit him square in the chest. He was not a good son, not a good husband, not a good son-in-law. He was the only one left out. He was nothing, nothing but a failure...