Arhi FF - Pocket Change - Chapter 13- 26 January - Page 3

Originally posted by: Ms.KKN

M intrigued by the title VH... Plz explain about it na.. :)

brilliant chapter! the mystery is deepened khushi asked for divorce after 15 months of marriage.. earlier arnav-khushi had been friends, lovers and then spouse and during whole divorce proceeding she said with big black glasses.. Why? and after divorce she didn't even turn to look at him.. what could have made khushi to take this step and now she is here after years writing those moments they have spent together in the past, with a new man in her life.. quite interesting.. feeling sorry for arnav.. loved the update.. 😊

I like this story.Really inquisitive..

amazing update

Originally posted by: Petrichorlove

I second this, yaara. What an adorably mysterious title.

Did they have some cutesy pocket money connection?

Absolutely!! :D
C'mon VH.. Tell it already!! :D ;)

I'm hooked! My first thought after reading the three chapters is that the first bit of the novel must have a bearing...the bit about a cold ruthless entrepreneur and Ahlaya loving Rehen but him not loving her back.

Originally posted by: neverbefore

I'm hooked! My first thought after reading the three chapters is that the first bit of the novel must have a bearing...the bit about a cold ruthless entrepreneur and Ahlaya loving Rehen but him not loving her back.

Everyone has their persepective and at the moment all we're seeing is Arnav's PoV. If Khushi's family haven't condemned her and there is a valid reason for her leaving him then maybe it has to do with a perspective that we're not getting yet.

It's totally intriguing.

As for pocket change...it's normally a phrase used to describe something that's inconsequential...e.g a value that is so small in comparison to a person's overall wealth that losing it would mean nothing to them.

Maybe Khushi felt that she was 'pocket change' in Arnav's World.

Thats absolutely a wonderful insight my dear friend! :) thank you! :)

Ah, the story is very interesting. A different one too. Would love to read more. Update soon :)

A/N: Few things I wanted to say. First, thank you SO much, the response is incredible and unbelievable. I'm grinning like a Cheshire Cat here. Also, one of the readers brought it to my notice that there's a book called Honest Lies', and I want to have a disclaimer that Khushi's book has no similarities with it whatsoever. I also have not figured out any updating schedule - I have some free time now, so I'm updating, but I will try to be as regular as possible. I'm not sending PM's as of now, so feel free to stalk (PLEASE DO!)

And please comment, I'm pleading as though my life depends on it. If you think my dramatics are annoying, you'd get along so well with my mom ;)

Chapter 4

Arnav watched as Khushi's grip on the chair tightened, the tendons in her wrist growing more pronounced and knuckles whitening, her eyes never leaving his - as if gauging his response to her boyfriend. The said boyfriend was handsome, in a refined, neat way with hair sleeked back - the type of person exercised regularly and kept in shape.

Khushi had always said she preferred Arnav's rugged, easy edginess more - it made him sexy. He'd grin lazily at her then as they were sprawled on the living room couch and rub his stubble against her cheek playfully as she laughed and swatted him away.

He sighed and shook his head, snapping out of the memories. The uneasiness in Khushi's eyes reminded him that the lightheartedness between them was long gone. That there was no 'them'. No laughter. No entangled legs and twisted sheets; no breathy moans and desperate touches. No sleeping wrapped around each other fitting like puzzle pieces. Secrets and silences had made sure of that.

Realizing that his hand was still waiting, Arnav shook it grudgingly, locking hands more aggressively than he'd intended.

"Arnav Singh Raizada. The ex husband." The bitterness in his voice was ill concealed as he tried to sound nonchalant.

The smugness he felt at seeing the man wince slightly was short lived as he saw Khushi's face crumple. He felt like 14 year old Rehan in that moment - a complete jerk. Nikhil Kapoor looked between the two of them for a second before extricating his arm from Khushi's waist, taking her hand instead and squeezing it gently.

"It's nice to meet you Arnav." He turned to Khushi then. "Sweetheart, I'll just go see if Akash needs any help with the luggage." He threw Arnav a warning look before leaving the room, which Arnav returned with a cold one of his own. What did Khushi need protection from? She was the one who left him stranded. She was the one who tied him in knots, blew him kisses, taking his heart along with her and vanished.

Arnav looked at Khushi then, the dark circles around her eyes very prominent. He wanted to ask her what the hell did she think of herself, showing up with a boyfriend so suddenly? Did she want to make him jealous? As always, concern won over anger, and he asked softly, "Are you okay?"

He stopped himself for reaching out for her hand at just the right moment, remembering that they weren't allowed to do this anymore, his hand falling to his side. But God, did he want to. Touch her, hug her, feel her body mold against his so naturally, with twelve years of familiarity. For a moment, he would be home - that nostalgic, perfect place everyone hunts for in music, and comfort food, blankets and scented candles. And it was right there, in front of him but he couldn't take it. He knew she had caught his little slip as sadness crept into her eyes.

"I'm okay. Just tired, travelling and all." She sighed, finally sitting on the chair she had been gripping.

"Right, hotshot author. Written anything good lately?"

A hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. She obviously knew he read her work. "You mean besides those bestsellers?"

"Like I said, written anything good, lately?" Arnav teased. She laughed, the melodious familiarity slamming Arnav in the chest. The ice was broken.

"No, nothing then. Are you still the workaholic, or have you done something significantly fun?" She retorted, her hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity, and Arnav understood the burning question behind the casual enquiry.

What have you been doing these three years?

Did you miss me?

Have you found someone?

"Actually, I've been working on a new song."

Her eyebrows shot up. He knew she used to love working on the chinks and details of the song, improving his lyrics, determining if the chords were right. He'd complain that her words were often too complex, that they said too much for a fun song but in the end always relented, knowing her penchant and hunger for the just-right word.

"Want to hear some of it?" Arnav was apprehensive, knowing she could refuse. Too much had happened between them. He was angry and lost. She was...he didn't know what, but she was definitely out of place. He didn't want to make her more uncomfortable.

But instead, she grinned, relieved at the olive branch he was offering and walked up to the couch, settling comfortably watching him take the guitar from the case on the table, his fingers as they plucked and played over the strings, feeling out the notes before he dove in. Her head relaxed on top of the couch, a lock of hair falling over her eyes. Before, Arnav would have smoothed it behind.

The tune was a folksy blues infusion. Arnav smiled inwardly as Khushi unconsciously began thumping her foot. And then he began singing, his voice a raspy baritone:

"Too warm with all the blankets,

But had no heart to get her to move;

She was the flame who scorched me,

I was the phoenix who let her consume me."

The words were bittersweet, nostalgic. Arnav remembered how he always insisted on holding her close at night even when it was so hot. Khushi was like a heater, it was a joke between them, and he called her Spark. When Khushi looked away, he knew she remembered too.

"Ice packs nurse your doorknob wrists,

twisted too far by hours in our music closet,

writing Coldplay for a Rolling Stones kind of guy."

He glanced at her, mouth turning up in a wry smile. Yeah, she remembered that, too. Khushi's wrists were thin, and she used to have terribly sore tendons after playing the guitar too long. Arnav would ice them to keep the swelling down, and he'd keep practicing while she listened. He loved the music closet, because playing wasn't the only thing they did there, away from their nosy friends as horny teenagers.

"Then, you were too warm to miss.

Now, little heater, the bed's too cold."

The last chord hung in the air. He met her brown eyes, the golden flecks burning bright, searching for something in his. He stopped breathing. Embarrassing crimson crept up his neck, into his cheeks. Even after all this time, she could still do that to him. With one look. The last line was a bad idea.

And then the grandfather clock in the hall chimed four, pulling them back to the present. They weren't eighteen anymore. And they weren't together. So now Arnav just had to remind himself how things stood between them. She'd left him. She'd left them. He didn't miss the way she was breathing deeply and the way she'd tucked her hands under her, sitting on it.

"Do you want to?" He asked quietly, offering the guitar.

"I don't play anymore."

"Oh, come on, Khushi--"

"Drop it, Arnav."

He ground his teeth, running a frustrated hand through his hair. If she didn't want to make an attempt, he didn't care either. After a few moments of silence, he heard her voice.

"Arnav?"

"Yeah." He said reluctantly.

She broke from his eyes and stared down at the guitar, a sense of longing lingering, absently tapping the arm of the couch. "Are you still mad about...everything?"

"Are you?" He shot back, out of habit.

She almost smiled. "Nice try. I asked first."

Arnav sighed, setting the guitar aside. "I was...a very angry person for awhile after you - we divorced. But I'm at a point where I can see our relationship more clearly now. Are you?"

"I know I don't have the right to need you anymore but--"

Arnav frowned. She had ended their relationship. He let out a disbelieving laugh. "And yet you write all that crap about us - about me, in your books!"

"Crap? I wouldn't exactly call it crap."

"You wrote about the heart shaped freckle on my hip, Khushi. And the scar under my eye-"

"Arnav." Khushi's eyes narrowed as she carefully thought over his words. "You know I didn't write lies about you. You just don't like a mirror being held up to your face."

"Ha!" He noticed she intentionally dodged the question, turning it back on him. Khushi always did play like that, but he wasn't falling for it this time. "So you admit your little angsty love-hate story is about me?"

"It's fiction. I may have drawn inspiration from my life, as any writer does -"

"No, my life! My quirks, my embarrassments, my flaws. I could sue you for defamation of character, you know."

That got her. "Sue away," she shot back. "You'd have a hard case. Besides, I offered you all the compensation. What more could you want?"

"I never wanted any of it!" He was seeing red now.

"The money or the divorce?"

"The whole damn marriage!"

She reeled back as if he'd struck her.

"Khushi..." He took a deep breath to calm himself down. "That came out too harshly. I never said I didn't love you when we were married, or even before that. God, you were...everything. What I meant was, with my parents' relationship, you always knew what I thought of marriage--"

"Don't," she said flatly, holding up a hand. "Don't say any more, Arnav."

She ran out of Raizada Mansion before he saw her cry.

How dare she? Acting so hurt, like he was the one who left her. She'd left. One day she just packed up, and that was it. Twelve years together, tossed in the dumpster with old coffee grinds and empty pizza boxes.

Amazing, how they could swing from tender affection to all-out brawls. It had always been that way for them, since they were children.

Guess they weren't all that grownup after all.