IshKara OS: His Masterpiece

Her lithe body was sprawled on the divan and her chin was cushioned by her arms as she watched him work on his sculpture. A hint of a smile was playing on his lip and Ishana cocked her head to the side as she took him in. Omkara Singh Oberoi. The man who'd stolen her heart so surreptitiously; Ishana realized that really he had been the con artist in her game all along, and she a mere desperate damsel.

She slithered off the divan and glided towards him, peaking over his shoulder at his work. His brush strokes were concise and even, the paint coating the clay evenly, bringing his masterpiece to life. But her mind was too focused on the artist himself to appreciate the art.

"Om," she said softly. He didn't reply to her and Ishana sighed, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

"Omi," she whispered into his ear, his nickname was hers to use when she wanted to feel his love. Instead he dipped his paint brush into another color and lifted his hand to resume painting. Ishana pulled back from him and stared at him.

"Om," she repeated. Again no response. An ugly expression came over her face and she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Omkara," she snapped. But he did not respond to her. Ishana narrowed her eyes and lifted her hands to jingle her bangles. Alas, the man did not even blink.

"Omkara Singh Oberoi," Ishana was fuming as she growled his name. But he paid her no heed and continued to be lost in his artwork.

"Om, if you don't listen to me now, I'm going to...I'm going to leave you," she said, turning her nose up to the air haughtily. Ishana stares gob smacked at him when he didn't even turn towards her. She shrieked in frustration and stalked out of the room, grumbling gujurati curses under her breath.

"Completely unromantic. What is his problem? Will I have to bang his head or something to get him to listen to me?" She raged as she sauntered into her and Omkara's room. Flopping down on the bed, Ishana glared at the picture on their side table. It was a picture from their wedding day when they'd exchanged vows to be together till the end. She'd been so ecstatic that day to be accepted into his heart and his family, even after all she'd done.

Snatching the picture off the table she glared at his photo and said, "Mere itne bure din aa gaye hain ke ab mujhe tumhaare photo se baatein karna pad rahi hai."

Ishana lay back and rolled over onto her tummy, staring at the photo. A forlorn expression flittered onto her face and she looked up at the door, awaiting his arrival. As much as she loved him, her husband loved ignoring the life out of her.

"Ishana, you might as well just romance yourself," she said gloomily. But her rebellious mind perked up and she sat up and crossed her legs.

"How does he not even notice me?" She pouted and then looked at the door again. Narrowing her eyes, she shot onto her feet and flipped her hair over her shoulder, stalking back to his art room. She found him just as she'd left him, absorbed in his art work. Raising an eyebrow, Ishana tied her dupatta around her waist and slid over to the stereo to hit the Play' button.

O re piya haaye.

The music filled the room and Ishana lost herself to it. She'd never lied about loving dance, it did give her a sense of freedom and she moved with a grace of a swan. The music rejuvenated her and lifted her moods, her heart soared as the lyrics wafted through her ears and memories began to flash in her mind. This song was special to the both of them and it had too many fond memories attached to it.

As the last notes of the song faded, Ishana twirled and with a smile on her face turned her attention back to her husband. Her eyes widened and her body froze as she stared at him. Throughout it all, Omkara hadn't even turned to look at her once and was still easily painting away on his sculpture. The only difference being that now he was standing as he mixed together some shades of brown and got to work.

"Grr," Ishana growled and stalked up to him. She grabbed his arm and twisted him around so he was facing her.

"Ishana? Everything okay? You look upset," Omkara said, his eyes widening at seeing her angered face. Omkara gently put down the brush and palette, wiping his hands clean he cupped her face tenderly. Her gaze softened and she looked at him with those dark brown eyes of hers, shimmering in the studio's bright light.

"What's wrong?" He asked, gently.

"Wrong..." She said dumbly. Ishana blinked and shook her head, even after a year of marital bliss, he still had an effect on her. She looked back at him, his concerned gaze checking her over to see if she was hurt. Ishana's anger returned and she pulled away from him, turning her back to him.

"Why do you care? Go back to your painting," she said. Omkara looked at her back in shock before he shrugged and picked up his brush and palette again. She whirled around and grabbed onto his arms.

"Kya kar rahe ho, Om? Idhar main naraaz hoon aur tum phirse painting shuru kar rahe ho?" She asked incredulously before she let go of him. Omkara looked at her and sighed.

"Ishana, tum hi ne toh bola ke tum theek ho," he said, frowning.

"Maine? Om, maine kab bola?"

"Abhi abhi toh bola."

"Om, maine kaha ke go back to your painting, iska matlab yeh thhodi ke tum painting karna shuru ho jao," Ishana said pouting adorably. Omkara put down his things and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Accha. Toh kya matlab hota hai iska?" He inquired. Ishaan stared at him dumbfounded.

"Ab yeh bhi main hi bataoon?" She snapped, she turned on her heel and stalked back to the divan to take her seat and glare at the floor. She heard footsteps and a moment later he kneeled before her, taking her hands in his.

"Kya hua, ab bol bhi do," he said gently. Ishana cursed him as her gave her that look that made her weak in the knees.

"That look isn't going to work on me, Mr. Omkara Singh Oberoi," she said tutting.

"What look, Mrs. Ishana Omkara Singh Oberoi?" He asked playfully. Ishana fought the smile that threatened to burst on her lips as he began his teasing.

"I'm still angry with you," she said, flicking his nose. He chuckled as she turned her face away from him.

"At least tell me what my fault is," he said.

"Fault?" She asked looking at him. "Om, tumhaari naazuk si kali jaisi patni akeli baithi hai aur tumhe painting ka bhoot sawaar hai."

She feigned a look of innocence and he blinked before bursting out into a hearty laugh.

"Tum? Aur naazuk?" He asked in between laughs. Ishana made a face and stuck her tongue out at him.

"Laugh all you want, you're not even a little romantic," she grumbled as he continued laughing.

"Come," he said standing up, once he'd stopped laughing, and holding out his hand to her. She looked at him questioningly and he nodded toward his hand. Sighing she reached out and took it. Omkara led her to the sculpture he had been working on and stood her right in front of it. Ishana glanced at it then turned her attention to him.

"Om, what am I supposed to be looking at?" She asked as he moved to stand behind her.

"Pehle dekho toh. Tum khud hi samajh jaogi," he said, his arms coming about her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder. Unconsciously leaning back into him, Ishana turned her attention back to the sculpture. Her eyes widened as she took in the range of hues he'd painted, the curves he'd so delicately molded with his own hands, Ishana took it all in. A gasp escaped her lips as she processed her husband's handiwork.

"It's my masterpiece," he whispered into her ear, pushing her hair to one side and pressing his lips to the exposed skin of her neck in a chaste yet delicious kiss.

Ishana stared at the replica of herself laying on the divan preserved in a clay form. It was the most beautiful sculpture she'd ever seen and Ishana realized she wasn't just looking at any sculpture of herself, she was looking at herself through her husband's eyes. What he saw when she smiled like that at him, how she appeared to be a Roman goddess lounging on the pillows, every dip and curve of her body adorned with his favorite saree. She saw Omkara's Ishana.

"You're my muse," he murmured against her skin. She turned in his arms and hugged him tightly.

"Om, don't ever change," she whispered to him. He may ignore her when he was working on his art, he may not pay attention to her when he gets busy in something, but he was hers as she was his. Forever his, flaws and all.