Pari, that fickle slip of a girl, had left him in a lurch! Called him up out of the blue and informed him that she was leaving for Mumbai – no reasons, no explanations, just a quick goodbye and a message that she had left a gift for him - a gift! Fuming at her audacity, his thoughts swirling inside him, he had come to this room - expecting to find the so called 'gift. And find it, he did; indeed, he did.
She stood there, a resplendent gem in red, surrounded by candles; their reflected light bathing her in an ethereal glow; making her appear almost unreal to him. This craving had taken over him; a craving to have his fill of her, memorize every detail, every nuance - to etch them in his heart forever. He had been lost in gazing at her beauty, reveling in her splendor; and it was the thunder outside that had brought him back to reality; the reality of Pari having left abruptly and of Dadi waiting for him. He had then blamed her - for Pari's disappearance and for putting him in this predicament; blamed her inwardly for his need to make her confess, for making him bring Pari here in the first place.
Knowing fully well that she would not be able to find Pari's replacement within the hour, he had asked her to do just that; effectively cornering her, trapping her in her own web of denial - denial of her feelings for him, refusal to accept his feelings for her. And finally, to force her hand, he had asked her to be his "fake" fianc instead.
She had been shocked into silence; looking at him as if he had taken complete leave of his senses- which, in a way, he had. Right now, all that mattered to him was that he get her to agree to this little charade; for the sake of Dadi, and, to help him out of his dilemma, so to speak. He knew in the deep recesses of his heart, that his reasons were entirely different, but he would be damned if he would admit to them. He had then watched, captivated, the emotions flitting across her face like scenes in a movie; surprise, shock, indecision, anguish and finally, refusal; she had refused him - again.
Her refusal had dashed the shred of hope that he had unknowingly held on to; hope - that she might accept her part in this charade with him and, in a way, accept him too. His hurt had then taken refuge in anger; anger at her refusal, anger at her ability to make him feel this helpless pull for her, anger at this hope that raised its head only to be crushed again. Her repeated rejection had hurt him, corroded at him; eating away at his heart in a way he had never thought possible. His patience wearing thin, his control breaking, he had grabbed her close in a painful grip, not caring that he was hurting her, breaking her bangles even; his only thought being to extract some form of punishment for what she was putting him through.
It was only her pained gasp that had made him release her; release her, only to hold on to her sari as she moved away, making her stop in her tracks. He had steadily moved closer to her, seemingly to cover her; but also, to see the effect his nearness would have on her, on himself. Her words might have said 'No' to him, asking him to stay away, telling him she could not stand his closeness; but her helpless response to his proximity seemed to say otherwise. Her eyes drawn to his, her indrawn gasp and lips parted in anticipation told him what he needed to know; before she lowered her eyes and looked away, afraid to have given away too much.
Hand resting on her stomach above the edge of the sari, his face close to hers; close enough to stir the wisps of hair on her face when he spoke; he had asked her why she rejected him? Asked, if he was unsuitable for her, unlikeable, or just plain unbearable? Asked, if she waited for her Prince Charming to come from above and whisk her away. She had raised beseeching eyes to him then, pleading with him to let her go; let go, so she may still save herself and him.
He had stood there, watching her go, willing her to look back; look back at him standing right there – no ring, no flowers, no steed; but her Prince Charming nonetheless.
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