Arshi SS: The Tinder Affair | (Part 31 up) | (Blog Link Up!) - Page 5

PART THREE

Why was she talking so much today?

Arnav chewed his rice slowly, not paying the slightest attention to Khushi who was chattering away about inconsequentials.

"...And Mrs Sharma from next door has invited us to her daughter's birthday party. Do you think we should go? I mean, I know you don't like kids and that kid doesn't like me but maybe we ought to, you know.. Oh, and I bought new cushions for the living room on my way home, did you see?"

She looked up at him questioningly.

"I'm sorry, what?" Arnav shook his head, trying to clear it of NK's words from earlier which had been repeating on a loop inside his brain.

Khushi's mouth pulled down in disapproval.

"The new cushions," she accused. "In the living room?"

"Oh, yeah, they're nice."

He knew she didn't believe him. He waited for the angry retort but Khushi only made a sound of irritation and went back to eating her dinner.

The noisy clatter of her spoon, the screeching of her fork against her plate, the sounds of her chewing - which he began to think strongly resembled those of a masticating cow - suddenly grated on his nerves.

She never looked up from her plate and didn't initiate anymore conversation.

She was pissed. And he was screwed.

Arnav scrambled around for something to say, desperate to avoid any grave consequences. His wife had an uncanny habit of pouring fruit juice into his shoes in revenge for any and every wrong he had the ill-luck of committing against her.

Khushi accidentally banged her glass against the table and muttered a quick, high pitched apology.

Grimacing at the sound, he quickly swallowed a spoonful of daal, in an attempt to stop himself from snapping at her.

The daal was too salty. He almost gagged.

Perhaps she was being melodramatic.

But her quiet occupation was bringing her immense joy and contentment as she lazed on the cozy couch in front of the TV, watching a Salman Khan flick. On mute. Because her irritating, useless husband with his big head and an even bigger ego was sitting beside her, immersed in work on his laptop, his files strewn all over their coffee table. There wasn't an inch of space for her to rest her feet on. Gah! Those blasted files.

Khushi smiled mysteriously at the TV, her eyes unfocused, her thoughts far away from Salman Khan, for once. In a blessed corner of her Fantasy Land, she was cackling madly while she watched all of Arnav's files - red, green, blue, grey and black coloured - burning and turning into pitiable, charred versions of themselves. On the other side of the large bonfire, Arnav was looking at Khushi with a horrified expression. His arms and legs were tightly tied to a stake. Judging from his reaction, the sound of her laughter had probably made him pee his pants.

Pfft. What a pussy.

But he should've known better. Better than to lie to her about the cushions. Better than to sit at the dinner table like a daft idiot, gorging food inside his mouth instead of apologising to her. And he should definitely know better than to UNDER-pleasure her hoohah.

Inside her head, Khushi flipped her hair over her shoulder with an affected air. He was so going to find juice in his shoes the next morning. And she would make a morning run to make sure she had fresh orange juice available for the delightful occasion.

Khushi glanced sideways at Arnav who was busy rummaging through the files on the table. She half hoped that he would tell her that he knew what she was plotting.

He husband looked up at her abruptly. Her eyes widened.

"Khushi... do you know where I put the file for May's sales statistics?"

She took a double take. Then bristled with anger. "No," she replied curtly.

He shrugged, then got up and disappeared into his study to look for them.

Khushi counted to twelve, taking deep breaths to calm her rage, trying to convince herself that the butcher's knife was better off in the kitchen drawer than through her husband's bloody throat.

On the television screen, a colourful commercial drew her attention. Tinder.

Khushi cocked her head to one side and looked at the screen thoughtfully.

A rush of adrenaline suddenly coursed through her system. On an impulse, she picked up her phone, opened up the Play Store and typed in Tinder' in the search box.

She just needed a distraction from the tempting thoughts of murdering her husband in bed that night.

And she really needed to see for herself who this girl was that Nanhe-ji had met on the app. Lavanya, Anjali Di had said her name was.