Holi Awakening - An Arylie OS 16+

Hi behenas!

A Holi related OS because 'tis the season and the perfect opportunity for Imaliya to realize what a hunk she's been hanging around (or pushing around going by the recent episodes). I also was supremely annoyed by AKT questioning Imlie on rasam and rishta. So this is my take on the events that lead to the BOMB photo of shirtless Aryan holding Imlie. Just two people not drunk on anything other than their pheels, a bare-bodied Aryan and Imlie finally being a 20 year old with eyes that work.

Rated 16+ just to be safe but its innocent. Really.

Happy Holi y'all!

Love,

E ☯️

Holi awakening

Imlie was hiding. She wasn’t sure if she was hiding from her Amma who wouldn’t stop talking about Aryan Babu, Aparna Ma who would stop talking about Aryan beta, or Aditya Sir, who confusingly, also wouldn’t stop talking about Aryan.

Why was everyone so obsessed with Aryan Singh Rathore?

“Tumne toh kaha tha ki tumhari shaadi ho chuki,” he’d accused, cornering her in the kitchen.

“Phir apne pati se rang lagwane mein itni der kaisi? Rasam hoti hai yeh toh.”

“I have never needed to be reminded of my responsibilities before. You don't need to do so now. It’s none of your concern. Rasam ho ya rishta. Woh hum khud chune hai aur nibhaye bhi hai.”

She had stomped away then, not wanting to be subjected to more accusing stares. Sure, Aditya was a victim of Malini Didi’s crimes but that did not give him a right to treat her as though she was doing something wrong too. Not when she knew she was undergoing a massive upheaval in her life to ensure Aparna Ma doesn’t lose her son.

She grabbed a plate of jalebi and a glass of thandai, heading to the only room she knew no one would look for her in. The one room which had become a dumping ground for all the decorations for the festivities taking place.

She closed the door gently behind her, making her way through the maze of boxes and sat down on a couple of pillows, getting ready to drown her sorrows in jalebi. She’d barely taken a bite when there was a flurry of activity, followed by a slam and a click. Curious, she stood up and saw Aryan, huffing, his back to the door and eyes closed.

She frowned. “Akkadbagge?” she called. Why was he breathing so hard?

Aryan startled at being called out unexpectedly. “Imlie? What’re you doing here?” he asked, walking to the far corner of the room. He stopped as he saw the mound of jalebi on the floor, a half eaten one still in her hands. He quirked an eyebrow up.

“You weren’t hyper enough already that you needed this level of sugar rush?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t understand. You’ve turned bitter like the coffee you drink,” she snapped right back. Why was he here intruding on the little bit of peace she craved?

“What are you even doing here?”

Aryan sighed, bringing his hands up to rub his forehead. It seemed like any conversation between Imlie and him turned into an argument these days.

“I was just…looking for some quiet.”

She crossed her arms and tapped her feet. “This is my quiet spot, you can go somewhere else.”

“Are you ordering me out?” he asked, annoyed.

“Haan. Hum karat hai tohka order. Toh tum ka karloge?” she challenged, beyond frustrated.

Aryan’s eyes flashed as she said those words, his lips firming into a thin line. He bit back his retort, not wanting to get into it with Imlie. Any louder and his pursuer would know he was here. He had narrowly managed to escape that crazy woman who kept talking about pictures and hashtags. And she kept touching him every chance she got, which he hated. He threw a quick look over his shoulder to make sure he couldn’t hear anyone coming.

A snap of fingers brought his attention back to the spitfire standing in front of him.

“What?” he asked, annoyed.

“Can’t you leave?”

“Can’t you be quiet?”

Imlie opened her mouth to argue only to have Aryan unceremoniously grab her hand and thrust the jalebi she’d been holding into her mouth.

“sdkhfgiesoiof” she tried to scold him, mouth full. Imlie saw red, fuming at his heavy handedness. Wasn’t it enough he’d forced that disgusting khichdi down her throat that now he’d done this too? She wasn’t thinking rationally anymore, the jungli in her wanting revenge when she saw him smirk.

Shaking his head, he turned around to find a spot for him to sit when he was spun back. With no warning, he felt Imlie’s hand brush the side of his face angrily with a powdery substance, the deep pink tone colouring his vision for a second. He stumbled, suddenly blinded and hit his back against the wall, an involuntary cry escaping him. He hunched in pain, grimacing.

“Ka hua?” Imlie asked, surprised at that reaction. She rushed over and put a hand over his bent back, immediately pulling back when he gasped in obvious discomfort. He straightened slowly, trying to release his breath in a controlled manner as the sudden spike of pain receded.

“ABP?” she questioned, now concerned. She may be annoyed to high hell with the man but she couldn’t ignore him if he was hurt. She still wasn’t quite over his stint in the hospital, the sudden memory of her desperation to see him awake and healthy clashing with the more recent anger she’d felt with his behaviour.

“It’s nothing, Imlie,” he gruffly brushed aside her concern.

“What do you mean it’s nothing? You don’t sound the way you just did if something wasn’t obviously hurting you.”

“I’m fine.” he repeated, trying to remove the gulaal from his left eye.

Frustrated with the mammoth man in front of her, she used his temporary distraction to turn him around, hands feeling his back over the kurta he was wearing.

He squirmed. “What the hell?”

“Stop,” she commanded, seeing a small red blot under his shoulder blade. “You’re bleeding!” She knew there was a first aid box in each room. She rushed over to grab it, coming back to Aryan and handing it out.

He looked down at the small box in her hand, and then back at her in confusion.

She waved it again in his face, impatiently. “Well? Take it and put the antiseptic cream on your wound.”

Aryan gave her a look that could only be described as aggrieved.

“I can do a lot of things, Imlie, but how do you expect me to reach behind my back to put on medication?”

He had a point there, Imlie thought, biting her lip. She released a breath and then nodded.

“Fine, I'll go out and get someone to come do it for you,” she announced, getting ready to walk to the door when Aryan blocked her way.

“No, no, I’ll just wait then,” he responded.

If he let her go out now and Gudiya was still out there, he’d be trapped once more. Imlie had seemed to enjoy seeing Gudiya flirt with him, as though she was hoping for Aryan to be pawned off on her instead. There was no way he was going to allow Imlie an opportunity to push another woman at him. Knowing her twisted brain, she might make it seem like Gudiya and him were in this room alone and use that as an excuse to call off the wedding. He wouldn’t let that happen. Not in this lifetime.

He winced again, as the rough embroidery of his kurta chafed against his wound.

Imlie tilted her head, watching his features contort in discomfort.

“You’re bleeding Mr. Fast Forward. Let me go get help.”

“No. If it's that important, then you can help me.”

“What?” Imlie was taken aback.

Aryan reached to unbutton his kurta when Imlie exclaimed in shock. “What are you doing?!”

“Are you being obtuse on purpose today, Imlie? I’m taking my goddamn kurta off so you can look at the wound.”

“But.. but..you..” Imlie was sure she was starting to redden. Did the man have no shame left or did he lose that in his quest for revenge, too? She felt the slow rise of a flush as she tried to avoid unbidden images of a bare chested Aryan from flashing through her mind.

Sharp eyed as always, Aryan clocked in the shift in her behaviour and the spread of colour on her cheeks. How curious, he thought.

“Unless,” he raised his brow, challenging her silently. “Unless, there is a reason why you don’t want me to take my kurta off.”

Imlie’s eyes narrowed at that, trying to not take the bait that he was blatantly laying down in front of her. That is, until he asked with a knowing smirk. “Darr gayi?”

“I don't…” she huffed, knowing that there was no way she could back away from that. “Just take off the damn kurta and let's get this over with,” she instructed through clenched teeth.

The man was an absolute pain in the ass, she grumbled. She put the first aid kit down, opening it and rummaging through until she found the small vial of antiseptic and some cotton balls. She rolled one in her hand, dampening it with the dark liquid and turned around only to draw a quick breath in.

Aryan was standing there in his dhoti, letting his kurta drop on the ground. Imlie’s eyes travelled down the smooth skin of his body, taking in the flat chest, the toned muscles and the shadows on his abdomen that made it look like someone had carved lines down his belly. Imlie had seen bare bodied men in her village during prayers. Aryan Singh Rathore put them all to shame.

Her eyes roamed up his forearm, taking in each curve and vein. His waist was narrow and lean as compared to his shoulder which flared out, wide and strong. She’d never given much thought to his physical attributes but seeing him like this made her realize how powerfully precise each feature was, the sinewy strength in his well proportioned body obvious in his bare state. She felt the insane urge to run her hands across him, wondering if he'd be as hard as he looked.

Aryan cleared his throat, bringing shocked eyes to meet his questioning ones. He quirked a brow again as he asked. “Ghoorna ho chuka hai or are you going to ask me to pose next?”

“Put that brow down and just turn around,” Imlie sniped, trying to cover up her embarrassment with bluster.

Aryan turned to face the wall, sighing now. Anytime it seemed he saw something other than dislike for him in Imlie’s eyes, she’d come back and fight him like an angry cat. He was getting tired of it. Of being misunderstood and treated like he was a villain in her life. After everything that they had been through, how was it that she saw nothing in him worthy of her trust? She had so easily assumed that he was using her. His ego and his feelings were both hurt. In that, he’d chosen to decline explaining himself to her, but hadn’t been able to stop himself from caring for her.

If she had shown that she was capable of living life for herself instead of wasting it on the Tripathi’s, he may have never been tempted to coerce her into this marriage, knowing how much she detested his actions. He wanted to save her from Aditya Kumar Tripathi and his manipulations. He wanted to save her from herself. That’s it.

Liar, a voice taunted him back. You want to save her for yourself, too.

He drew in a sharp breath as he felt cool hands touch his back. He closed his eyes and leaned over to put a hand on the wall, bracing himself against the soft delicate touch. He tried to focus on breathing normally, Imlie’s proximity affecting him more than usual today.

Perhaps it was the way she looked today. She had surprised him with how beautiful she looked when she'd walked out with her mother. Pure, sweet, innocent in her white dress, her hands and ears adorned with pink and blue jewellery to match his dress.

For all the world, they had seemed then like the husband and wife he claimed them to be. A couple in love. In private though, it was war. She’d promised he wouldn’t be allowed to colour her and he’d promised that he’d find a way to do exactly that. Except, Imlie had been taken away by her mother for some work and he was besieged by that crazy Gudiya from whom he’d been trying to escape for the better part of an hour. His mind was brought back to the woman standing behind him, quieter than usual.

Imlie gently grazed her fingers along the slopes of his back, amazed at the strength she felt behind taut muscles under her hand. She’d seen him brawl before on the first day she’d met him. She only understood now what that power looked like in the flesh. Her eyes took in the darkening bruises near the wound under his left shoulder blade. She sucked in a breath at the angry red cut that had bled through his dress. She tried to tamp down the pity she felt. It looked painful.

“This might sting,” she warned quietly, dabbing the cotton around the wound while blowing cool air to reduce the burn. Aryan hung his head, his mind fighting a battle to stop himself from conjuring up images of Imlie blowing air on him. It felt tortuous to feel what he did for Imlie while she was entirely oblivious to his state. Was she really that naïve? He wondered.

“How did this happen?” he heard her ask as she shuffled back a few steps, returning shortly to dab at him with something dry.

“It was yesterday when I got you out of the box in the truck. Couple of the boxes fell on me when I was looking for you. I didn’t notice it then.” Aryan said all this in a matter of fact tone, not wanting to have her feel like she was obligated to thank him.

Imlie felt torn once more, knowing that he’d gotten hurt trying to help her. Her emotions were all over the place today, especially after her chat with her mother who seemed to see nothing except care and love in Aryan’s behaviour towards her. Sometimes, Imlie wanted to believe it too until she remembered that the impetus for this marriage was revenge, not love.

Looking at the quiet man in front of her, she struggled to reconcile the two Aryan’s she’d seen in the last few days. On one end was a person who terrified her with his thirst for vengeance, who broke her heart by insisting on a wedding she didn’t want and constantly challenged her, riling her up till she was exhausted and ready for a good long cry.

Then, on the other end, was this Aryan. The one who crossed every hurdle to save her. Even in those times when she didn’t think she’d make it, he had come to her rescue. Just like he had yesterday. And he’d gotten hurt for it, never complaining or holding it over her. She gulped, feeling overwhelmed and disoriented. He had her feelings so twisted that she was unable to think clearly. She rushed to put a bandage on his wounds, wrapping it up quickly.

“You’re done,” she informed him quietly, turning to leave. His hand struck out and closed around her wrist, holding her in place. Imlie turned her face away. She felt herself crumple as something inside her broke, silent hot tears coursing down her cheeks. She sniffled, trying to pull her hand out of his grasp only to find herself being spun around and pushed against the wall, one large hand resting near her head as the other held her around the waist. Her hands came up to his chest to automatically push him away when she stopped at his question.

“Why are you crying again, Imlie?” Aryan asked, looking at the downcast head of the petite girl in front of him. He felt her struggle for control, trying to draw in a breath which instead turned into a quiet sob. He took his hand off the wall, sliding it under her chin to bring her eyes to his, his thumb rubbing away the damp trail over one cheek.

She gazed at him, her doe eyes still glittering with unshed tears, flitting over his sharp features. The kindness and concern in his eyes reminded her of the person who had patiently cleaned the mud off her hands while disguising his worry under a barrage of advice and scolding. She missed that man. She missed her friend and the comfort of his friendship. The security that she felt knowing she was with him. Her chin quivered, trying to not sob once more as she looked away, unable to meet his eyes anymore.

“Imlie? Tell me!” he demanded. He knew she’d been quick to anger lately, and had seen her shed angry tears. But the look in her eyes right now was heartbreaking.

“How could you do this to me?” He heard her accuse him again.

“Imlie we’re getting married, that’s final. I’m not changing my mind.”

“Not that!” she burst out. “How could you take my only friend away from me?”

She begged him, her voice breaking once more. “I want him back! I miss him!”

Aryan looked a little dumbfounded at her confession. She’d said this before to him, lashing at him for breaking their friendship. But to admit in the midst of all their challenges that she missed him, after saying just days ago that she hated him? Well, that threw him completely off kilter. He was at a loss for words, knowing only that he wanted to comfort her.

Without a thought, he pulled her into a hug, cradling head with one hand as the other tightened around her waist. Imlie was too emotional to protest, feeling a very human need for connection. She rested forehead against his chest, her hands on either side of her face. She inhaled his cool, spicy scent, trying to focus on something inane to stop her emotions from bubbling over again.

Aryan stroked her back slowly, letting her soft sobs subside. Once her breathing had resumed a normal pace, he quietly spoke again, his voice flowing over her like dark honey.

“I’ve told you this before and I’ll say it again. Decision tumhara hai, Imlie. Tum chaho toh main tumhara dushman, tum chaho toh main tumhara dost, ya…”

She pulled her head back to look at him then. “Ya?” she asked in a whisper, her face clearly displaying her anxiety and distress.

Aryan didn’t know what possessed him. All he knew then was that he needed to erase the pain he saw just now. He bent down and placed a light, soft kiss on the hollow of her cheek, making her go still. He lingered for a second, knowing that he would need to draw back now and let her go when he felt her angle her face towards his, her mouth grazing his bearded jaw, stopping a hair’s breadth shy of his lips. They stood there each others' breath warming their skin, feeling drunk with the possibilities in this moment. Aryan gazed at her, his eyes darkening while Imlie’s fluttered shut, her breath scattered.

Aryan bent the slightest bit, and pressed his lips to hers, waiting for the cry, the anger, the outrage. When the expected push and peet ma koni didn’t come, he brought a hand up to cradle her head, threading his fingers into her hair as he deepened their kiss. Imlie reflexively reached around him, one hand slipping around his waist and coming up to his back while the other held onto his shoulder.

He kissed her slowly, leisurely, coaxing her lips apart, drawing one, and then the other between his own. He tightened his hold on her, moulding her body to his, pushing for more. She made a confused sound when his tongue probed through, gliding over her warm mouth, insistent until she finally opened herself for him. She gasped when he drove his tongue into her in long deep strokes.

She leaned into him, her head tilting back with the force of his caress, her breathing laboured and heavy. Feeling utterly intoxicated, he brushed up and down her back, her sides, his hands seemingly touching and stroking everywhere, bringing every nerve to life as he continued to explore her with his mouth, tempting her, teasing her into a new madness. Imlie felt weak with pleasure, her legs trembling as she brought her hand down from his shoulder, slowly tracing the peaks and valleys of his arms and forearms.

A sudden clanging at the door brought them both back to their senses, Aryan breaking the kiss and looking over at the locked door. He held her against him, leaning over her protectively in case someone did manage to come in, shielding her from anyone’s gaze. The person eventually departed after rattling the door knob a few times.

Aryan looked down at Imlie who was flushed, a dazed look on her. He slowly moved away, putting some distance between the two of them so that he could clear his thoughts as well. He wasn’t sure he could explain why he kissed her or why she let him. They looked at each other, the air rife with tension until she turned and walked away. And this time, he didn’t stop her.

Imlie walked out of the room as though in a trance not realizing when she’d joined the rest of the family outside. She came to stand next to Arpita Didi quietly who did a double take when she saw her.

“Arre Imlie, Aru ne tujhe rang laga diya?” she asked quietly.

“Ka?” Imlie was confused.

Arpita laughed and swiped her finger across her cheek to show her the dark pink gulaal dusted over her features.

“My UNB brother got it on your lips too. Aisa koi karta hai bhala? I hope you got him back.”

“She did, Didi,” his deep voice cut in as Imlie turned to see him join them, dressed now, part of his face coloured in the gulaal she’d spread on him before in anger.

Imlie stared at him conflicted.

Tum par pehla rang mera hoga.

He’d won the challenge after all. The frank and unbidden heat in his eyes made her turn away, knowing that the heightened colour on her face had only partially to do with the gulaal and more with how it was transferred.

It seemed despite all her intentions, they had played their first Holi. Together.

How many more challenges would she lose before this marriage took place? She wondered.

How would she fight with someone who coloured her as his?

Aditya Kumar Tripathi observed the matching shades of Holi on Imlie and Aryan, the sweets he’d just been fed turning bitter in his mouth as Imlie's statement rang in his ear.

Rasam ho ya rishta. Woh hum khud chune hai aur nibhaye bhi hai.