Erm...so...
This is AU. Kind of. You can probably tell in which aspects upon reading. Or at least, I hope so.
And it's also inspired by a certain toddler cousin of mine, with whom I'm absolutely enamored, and is the reason I started writing this- which leads me to the warning that I didn't really plan this out, was feeling incredibly silly writing it, and haven't proof-read it: all of which probably shows. Sowwy about that :P I hope it's not too weird, and will make you guys smile a little at the very least :)
ArHi OneShot |How I Wonder What You Are|
"He's very fond of you."
She's talking to you, idiot!
The slurp of coffee Arnav had been about to imbibe almost went down the wrong pipe as his brain abruptly switched to the task of processing what had just been said to him. His eyes watered, his throat smarted, and he couldn't feel his tongue anymore, and it was something of a miracle he managed not to cough or choke.
He was not expecting her to talk to him.
"Er..." was the first sound to come out of his mouth, slightly strangled due to the recent exertions his throat had just suffered from. What did she say again?
Thankfully, Khushi appeared to be in a cooperative mood today.
Folded cross-legged on the floor, some distance away from, she repeated what she had said before. If she had noticed his accident with the cup of coffee, she had chosen to overlook it.
"He's fond of you."
Back in the real world, with his thoughts no longer afloat in subliminal realms elsewhere, there was no mistaking the context. His eyes instantly fell on the toddler currently having the time of life being bounced up and down on one of Khushi's knees- though he was no expert with babies, he was quite sure the excitable little squeals translated into delight.
Then it hit him.
She's making conversation with you, fool!
She was. She really was. She had just initiated dialogue with him. He was not even sure she had remembered he was still in the room, so engrossed had she been playing with little Aarav.
And here she was, addressing him directly.
Well, stop gawking like an idiot! Say something!
"Ah...really?"
Idiot.
Inwardly, Arnav seethed at the impertinence of the disembodied voice. No one dared to speak to him like that! And that included disembodied voices in his own head.
Whether or not he really was gawking like an idiot.
Meanwhile, Khushi had stopped rocking his eighteen-month old nephew on her knee- instead, she had bent her head, one hand cupped around the child's ear, and she was whispering conspiratorially to the little boy, her eyes fixed on him all the while.
They were her Mischief Eyes- the ones that always twinkled and glittered with hidden mirth, always giving her away whether or not she managed to remain demure herself.
Aarav listened intently to what was being said to him, and if Arnav was not more than a little versed about the mental and physical development of babies (he had read everything he could lay his hands on before Di had given birth, just so he was prepared for any unforeseen eventualities), he might have believed that Aarav had nodded when Khushi sat up straight again.
Looking him dead in the eye, with an expression so deadpan he might have been looking at the mirror (Don't give yourself such airs, his unwelcome guest scoffed), Aarav opened his mouth and clearly enunciated, "Ma-ma."
That, evidently, was the extent of his ability to be serious, because one blink later, he was squirming playfully in Khushi's grip, keen to be on his feet, gurgling when Khushi started to tickle him. "Mamamamamamamama!" Aarav yelped as Khushi expertly locked down on his little flailing arms, scooping him up before bounding to her feet so adroitly, Arnav had to admire her grace.
"That's all he says," Khushi elaborated, hitching the struggling baby more securely in her grip, making a face at Aarav and laughing when he wrinkled her nose at her, "Maa, or Mama."
"Well, can't fault the kid on taste," Arnav smirked.
Well done, his inner voice sounded reasonably impressed, That wasn't too bad of a comeback.
Arnav did not have time to dwell on that back-handed insult though; Khushi had just rolled her eyes at him, and even though she had pursed her lips to keep from smiling, he had caught her Laughing Eyes.
"Really, now?" she quipped, pausing to fish out a baby bottle that seemed to materialise from nowhere. Keeping a light grip on the base of the bottle as Aarav suckled on it, seeing as he had a tendency to chuck things away when he was tired of them, Khushi asked the baby thoughtfully, "So, does this mean, you're going to be a tailor when you grow up too?"
Arnav apparently had very bad timing- he had just been about to take a congratulatory sip of coffee for redeeming himself when her question had him spluttering until his eyes bugged out of his head.
"Tailor?" he managed to spit out; it was difficult to say whether it was his extremely undignified attempts to salvage composure or the fact that she had just called him a tailor that was making his face burn in a most uncomfortable manner. Add to that the fact that the voice in his head was sniggering at him, and Arnav was close to doing something violent.
"I'm a fashion designer," he corrected in clipped tones that did not sound as cold or haughty or unaffected as he would like, "The most renowned in the country in fact and-"
"But there is no shame in it," Khushi was still talking to the baby, tipping the bottle up so Aarav could finish off the last of the milk- and completely ignoring him in the process. The nerve! "There's nothing wrong with being a tailor- it's a nice, reputable profession, and not everyone is skilled at it-"
His jaw had fallen open. The woman was ignoring him. She was ignoring him. Not only had she just compared him to a tailor- him, Arnav Singh Raizada, the most successful business magnate in India and not just in the fashion industry- but she was now paying him absolutely no heed.
Unacceptable.
And what did she know? Nothing, obviously. If she had any fashion sense she would not be walking around like a human confetti shop. So what if those ornaments she had hanging from her brightly-coloured clothes oddly suited her? He was confident that if she was to don one of his creations, she would look positively divine. Gorgeous. Not that she didn't already. He was not blind nor delusional- he had no problem admitting that she was quite pretty. Maybe that was an understatement. She was really rather beautiful, to be precise. And with the right outfit, she could literally put to shame the majority of the emaciated models-slash-harpies he had the misfortune to work with. In fact, he had been rather disappointed when she had voiced her intentions about wearing her Amma's lehenga during Akash's wedding...he had been quite looking forward to-
Wait, what was he supposed to be angry at again?
Before he could fully recall it though, he had refocused on Khushi, frowning slightly as he resurfaced from his meandering musings, and instantly there was no reason to be annoyed anymore.
That sly little glint to her eye-
That was her Teasing Look.
She was fooling around with him.
And if it did not overly tax the muscles of his jaw, thoroughly unfamiliar as they were to this kind of exercise, he might have mirrored her grin too.
Aarav had started to doze in her hold; Khushi gently extracted the bottle from the baby's slight chubby handed grasp, one-handedly clipping its cap back on before lowering it on a nearby table. With a hand braced on the baby's back, she coaxed Aarav's head into the bend of her neck, swaying slightly on her feet as she did.
She seemed so at ease with it. Granted, eighteen months with a baby would have taught even a novice a few basic tricks- but he remembered quite clearly how confident and skilled Khushi had been when Aarav was no more than a few days old. Nani, for all her experience, was still prone to get tired easily, and it was unfair to expect her to be so active at her age, and Mami was more than a little unreliable. Akash had accepted a post in the U.S.A two years back, and Payal had accompanied him by general consensus, and that had only left Arnav, who had been more than a little daunted by the idea of having a baby in the house. Di's pregnancy had taken a toll on her, and she was already frail physically- with her husband out of station for work, Arnav had seriously contemplated hiring a governess to look after the child's needs.
And then Khushi had stepped in.
Di was fond of calling her Aarav's guardian angel- in the days when Di was too weak or bedridden to tend to her child, Khushi had made it her mission to make sure neither mother nor baby were left wanting for anything. She was a whirlwind around the house- but probably the most organised whirlwind he had ever seen.
It had surprised him- made him stop and rethink his opinion of her entirely. This was not the girl he had catalogued her as- clumsy, loud, childish and hopeless. While she had retained that aura of hers- that bright, perpetually cheerful aura that clung to her like her scent (which, coincidentally, was of jasmine and sandalwood)- but at the same time she had been so...
Mature? The nosy little busybody in his head offered, Grown-up?
He was not quite sure what to call it. All he knew was that the Khushi that had taken charge of his family when he had fully expected chaos to befall his organised existence was not the same Khushi he would turn up his nose at in disdain. She was calmer without having dimmed, she was staid without appearing to be serious, and all of a sudden, she had gone from being a troublesome pain to the woman he had only ever had rare glimpses of.
Come to think of it, the appearance of the voice in his head coincided with that time too. In the beginning it was just a snide comment or two slipped in as he watched her pacing the corridors or the halls endlessly, never appearing to tire, never complaining despite Aarav's erratic sleeping patterns and endless crying sprees. But soon enough, the voice had taken liberties and began running a round-the-clock commentary on all his thoughts and his surroundings- with Khushi being its most favoured subject.
Such as how nurturing and patient and loving she could be.
A slight movement out of the corner of his eye broke him out of his reverie. Khushi had eased herself carefully into an armchair, leaning back in her seat. Aarav's little fist was curled into a lock of her hair- he was fast asleep.
A warmth that had nothing to do with his coffee seeped into his chest and pooled there- and Arnav acknowledged it with mild discomfort. It did not take much effort for him to attribute that warmth to gratitude- Khushi had pulled through for him and his family at a time when he had been unsure if he would be able to maintain order, and she had pulled through time and time again after that. Even now, with Di in considerably sound health and her husband back from his out-of-town obligations, she had still come in to babysit Aarav whilst the two of them went out to spend an evening to themselves, at her insistence.
Or are you just glad that this is the first time you've seen her in a month?
The question caught him off-guard- which was saying something considering he had tried to forge immunity to it.
Half afraid that something of his thoughts might have been revealed in his features, he stole a glance at Khushi-
-and found her face pinched with thought.
He didn't need the prodding of the voice to blurt out what he did next.
"What's wrong?"
Khushi shook her head slightly, as though emerging from her own train of thoughts, and Arnav was suddenly overcome by an overwhelming curiosity. In the time she had spent in his home, though he had had little occasion of interacting with her directly, he had often found her reflective or faraway, as she rocked a cradle or walked with Aarav in tow all over the house. She had seemed so deep in thought back then that it had at some point banished his presumptions that she was a mindless creature of instinct- and with that presumption gone, he had often wondered, not really conscious of it himself, just what she used to think about so seriously.
And now, as Khushi graced him with a small, vague smile, he found the curiosity that had had little opportunity to manifest in the days she had not come over to Shantivan assail him with full force.
"I was actually wondering..." she started lightly, smoothing a hand over Aarav's spine so as not to startle him, and then she trailed off, a tiny frown furrowing her brow as she appeared to consider a new line of thought.
"Arnavji," she started abruptly, tipping her head to regard him intently, "Mami has a sister, right?"
She had not changed in this aspect at least- she still managed to completely throw him off when he least expected it.
"Mami?" he repeated, a little dumbfounded, and relieved that her unexpected question had stunned the condescending voice in his head into silence as well.
Khushi nodded slightly, careful not to jostle the sleeping baby. "Nanheji's mother?"
Comprehension coupled with confusion dawned on him, and this time he was not quite as relieved to find that it was shared by the voice, which wasted no time in jumping to the crux of the issue.
Why is she talking about that idiot NK??
Evidently taking his silence as a "Yes", Khushi pushed on, "What do you call her?"
Arnav was really not at the top of his game today- everything from his mishap with the coffee earlier right down to falling victim to her rather obvious teasing had made him act quite contrary to his general demeanour of distant aloofness, and that was still an understatement. But with the increasing randomness of Khushi's questions, he was starting to think he was not really to blame.
"Call who?" He had asked for this- he was the one that had been intrigued about Khushi's thought processes, so he might as well see it through.
Khushi made a tiny little gesture with one hand, which almost came off as impatient. For whatever reason, this neither irked nor embarrassed him.
"Mami-ji's sister- what do you call her?"
Baffled but refusing to appear anymore idiotic than he already had, he actually made an effort to provide a legitimate answer. "I haven't seen her in years- but I'd probably call her Aunty." And then, as a finger of sudden disquiet eased up his spine at Khushi's sudden interest in NK's family, he coughed out, "Why?"
Khushi's lower lip was protruding in a disconsolate little moue, and Arnav almost got distracted by it before Khushi huffed out a small melancholy breath and diverted his attention.
"I was wondering what Aarav might call me when he's a bit older," Khushi explained a little sheepishly, and Arnav's eyes rounded with realisation (the voice was less subtle though- it went "Ohhh" rather loudly inside his skull), "I'm not really sure what someone calls their Mami's sister...and Aunty sounds...too impersonal."
Arnav might not be the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to emotions (the voice informed him of this in crisp and unapologetic monotones), but even he could not fail to notice how attached Khushi had grown to his nephew. Fondness gleamed in her eyes when she played with him, fed him, or even just sat by his side when he was fast asleep- her movements and actions around him were always so heartbreakingly gentle, so very affectionate.
Arnav would not lie to himself- he held a strong dislike for favours, anything that in the least bit resembled charity. When Di had first brought up the notion of Khushi staying with them for a while, he had staunchly refused, not so much because he did not trust Khushi to be up to the task but more because he resented the idea of owing someone for something, and most of all a girl he had been at odds with since the moment they had met. A paid governess would be different- she would get a salary in return for her services, and there would be no question of being at someone's debt. His past had conditioned him into the distrustful, self-sufficient individual he was, and the prospect of bringing in an outsider, no matter how closely he had gotten to know her before Akash married her sister, was still an uneasy one for him.
But it did not take him long to change those opinions.
This side of Khushi, this affectionate, tender person she transformed into as she invested all her time and her energy without even a whisper of regret at her choices into Aarav, was a complete revelation to him.
A very nice, warm, almost comforting revelation.
And he found that relenting to his Di's stubbornness as he had might just have been the best decision he could have made, for both his Di and his nephew. No governess would put in so much of themselves into keeping them happy, keeping them content- and had not that been his aim all along? To keep his family happy?
And what about you? The voice asked him rather knowingly.
Arnav shot down that question before it could take off, but there was little he could do about the ruckus going on in the vicinity of his chest.
Khushi was oblivious to his mental somersaults though; she sat very still, still caressing the small expanse of Aarav's back, and then nuzzled his mop of curly, brownish black hair a little absently.
His heart stilled its adrenaline-spiked acrobatics, and warmed until it almost melted.
There might have been a time when he would look at her in disdain or with a sneer, and taunt her for thinking so deeply into a matter as insignificant as what a baby who was not even directly related to her might call her. But then again, he knew better now. He could not compare what Khushi evidently felt for Aarav (and what his nephew evidently felt for her, judging by his rather vocal excitement in her presence) with the distant and all but non-existent relationship he shared with NK's mother. The woman had barely featured in his childhood, and she had not been a recurring figure in his adulthood either. Khushi on the other hand...
"Maybe he can call me Maasi," she said suddenly.
The voice made a loud noise of protest in his head, but Arnav did not immediately grasp why; he was too caught up in the rather arresting expression on Khushi's face. Eager, and almost triumphant.
And above all, authentic.
Yes, that was it, he thought, a little dazed as he came to the realisation that she was awaiting his opinion. Khushi was authentic. Her feelings that she displayed so readily were authentic. Even her thoughts, which could revolve so deeply and so dedicatedly to something as little as what a child might call her, resonated with a kind of honesty and purity that he was not used to.
Perhaps that was why he had been so wary of her in the past. Perhaps that was why he had been so suspicious, so keen to keep his distance.
He just had not known that people like her could exist.
When he did not say anything in response to her suggestion, Khushi frowned a little uncertainly.
"I thought, since I call his mother Di..." she began to explain, sounding a little unsure of herself as she did, "And since his mother's sister would definitely be his Maasi..."
This is even worse than asking about NK!
It was a sign of how flabbergasted Arnav was currently feeling that he actually responded to the voice's chagrined rants.
What are you talking about?
The voice snorted in disbelief. She wants to be called Maasi.
So?
"Maasi" means mother's sister.
So?
The mother happens to be your sister too.
This was why Arnav had no patience for traditional family trees. They were so unnecessarily confusing. Call everyone "Aunty" or "Uncle" and be done with it, but no-
If he calls her Maasi, she might start calling you Bhaiya next.
Arnav very narrowly avoided a near-death experience involving his coffee-mug and choking on his own spit.
Khushi had one second to look at him, thoroughly alarmed, before Aarav, like a true blood child of the Raizadas, immediately snatched her attention away from him by shaking his little frame awake and beginning to whimper.
Arnav, in the meantime, fought to regain some semblance of control over himself, pushing the accursed coffee-mug as far away from him as he could without letting it topple off the table.
Don't blame the coffee-mug for your complete inability to not act like an oaf, the voice placated him in the least placating way possible. If the thing were a physical entity, Arnav was quite certain he would have committed homicide by now. Instead he settled on gritting his teeth and glancing up at Khushi, who was on her feet again, murmuring gently to a highly cranky baby.
"Shh, shh, it's ok, it's alright..." she sang, and for a moment he thought her concerned eyes had flown to him. But then next moment, she had expertly hoisted the whining child up to her and pressed a small kiss to his forehead, smiling her Kind Smile at him, and she asked, "All better now?"
It might have been because of the kiss, or it might have been because Aarav was fully awake now and established familiarity in his surroundings, but he sniffled and quieted, and let himself be huddled into her secure hold again.
And while he did not doubt Khushi's ability to handle Aarav, what she did next thoroughly surprised him.
With two quick steps, she was right there, in front of him, well within his personal space, and bending so close that if he rose up half a foot, their noses would be touching.
Her Concerned Eyes bored straight into his and just like that Arnav was incapable of thought.
"Are you alright?" she asked him quietly, and he watched the furrow at her brow deepen as she searched his face for some sign contradicting his well-being.
He was glad he was no longer holding that mug- he might have dropped it on himself by then and injured himself further.
That's OK, and this time Arnav did not even mind how cheeky the voice sounded, I'm sure she'd kiss you to make it better.
A thoroughly uncalled for mental image flashed inside his head, starring Khushi leaning in toward him with that look in her eyes that had only ever been reserved for Aarav. Granted, the way she was bent over him only lent credence to his imagination, but the burst of pleasure and exhilaration that coursed through his body with the ferocity of a lightning-bolt could not have been more out-of-context.
He was not surprised to find that he did not mind.
"Arnavji?" she inquired again, and perhaps he really was fantasising with his eyes wide open, but she appeared to be a lot closer to him now than she was moments ago, those lively, molten chocolate eyes wide and warm and filled with the need to know if he was alright, and he responded mindlessly to that need.
"I'm fine," he husked, and the words came out a little shaky and broken, his throat still convulsing from the cough attack he had had earlier.
Which in turn reminded him-
"I don't think he should call you Maasi."
Khushi paused mid-blink, and studied him with obvious surprise. Arnav stared steadily back- she had taken him aback more than enough times today already; it was only fair that he return the favour. He waited as the astonishment trickled away slowly, its place taken by confusion and a tiny hint of disappointment.
"Why not?" she asked quietly, attempting to mask her Disappointed Look.
But Khushi, as he had learnt in the weeks she had spent burrowing a place for herself in his home, his family, his life- and then had so heedlessly left empty afterwards- was incapable of hiding anything, and he caught it anyway.
But this was one disappointment she would have to bear.
Atta boy, the voice goaded him dryly.
"I'm sure there's a term for being a Mami's sister," he reasoned, stifling his own twinge of disappointment when Khushi straightened up again, putting more space between them and bobbing up and down on her feet to help put Aarav back to sleep. "Mamama", the child droned in a drowsy murmur, tone muffled into Khushi's dupatta. Grabbing at that opening, Arnav surmised, "He can even call you Mami too, I guess."
Smooth.
Was it just him, or did this voice, in all its sardonic glory, sound a little like himself?
"He can't call me Mami," she disputed, still swaying about as Aarav, being the stubborn little baby he was (another inheritance of his bloodline), refused to let his visibly heavy eyelids to shut properly, "Only his Mama's wife can be called Mami."
He looked her straight in the eye.
"That could be managed."
An interlude followed- even the voice refrained from making a comment, and the suspense of the moment vibrated as Arnav watched Khushi's expression slowly morph from nonplussed to comprehending.
And then crimson shot into those cheeks, and she tore her eyes away from him, but not before he had caught a look in them that he had almost forgotten about.
The Shy Look.
The timorous, tentative little sparkle that had graced those liquidy orbs in all those distant, faraway times he had leaned over her, keen on using his height to his advantage, but somehow always getting sidetracked and losing himself in their depths instead.
She would blush like she was blushing right now- her lashes would flutter in the same way as she strove to avert eyes, and then this...feeling...would pervade the air all around them, knitting its enticing web until they were the only ones enclosed in it, and for the life of him, he could not bring himself to mind.
He did not need the voice to tell him how much he had missed this.
At first, he had not even realised. With Akash and Payal's marriage, Khushi's visits to Shantivan had drastically gone down. That was more than two years ago- and two years ago Arnav had still been quite adamant to deny that that obstinate little girl who was so hell-bent on challenging him about everything could mean anything more than another inconsequential fragment in a sea of inconsequential people he was content to let pass by. He had told himself back then, and believed it quite readily too, that it was good riddance- he did not have to worry about orange juice in his shoes or people hiding inside his closet anymore; he did not have to clean up her mess every time she tripped over her own feet, or managed to get herself stuck in the boot of his car.
And then, there had been that long stretch of...nothing. Things had gone back to normal, but normal was not the adjective he had used to describe that phase. It had almost felt as though he had halted in his tracks and stopped moving forward. If anything he might even have been going in reverse, nagged the entire time by this needling sensation that something was off about his perfectly ordered existence.
And then, disorder came. Akash left. Jeeju left. The baby arrived.
Khushi returned.
And as though in a bid to prove to him that no matter how doggedly he clung on to the comfort of familiarity, change was inevitable- even she had not been the person he had expected her to come back as.
Her Buaji's saree business was up and running again, he had heard through Payal and Di, and they had succeeded in reviving their sweet business in Laxmi Nagar as well. Khushi, unsurprisingly, had obviously taken the initiative in getting both those businesses back on their feet, and her efforts had paid off- they had been able to accumulate enough capital to begin paying off mortgage on their Lucknowi home, and hire a few workers to help around the place. With people to help her parents and aunt, Khushi had been more than willing to lend Di a hand- and it was only when she had grown once again into a constant presence within the walls of Shantivan that he understood why "normal" had seemed inapt for that Khushi-less time in-between.
Because somehow, she'd made her presence in his home, with his family, in his life, the definition of "normal".
He looked at her now, avoiding his stare, which he did not bother trying to disguise. Because really, what was the point? Two years was enough time to disprove every misguided notion he'd ever had about not wanting Khushi around- the changes he had noticed from afar, when she had been far too engaged with his sister and the baby and the needs he himself could not fulfil, had somehow succeeded in making her more alluring, more enchanting, and in the distance that circumstances had placed between them, without petty fights and pointless challenges, this...feeling...it had taken flight.
And he had not been able to hold back.
He did not want to hold back.
And now that she was right here, after all those weeks and months he had spent waiting for a moment he hadn't known he had been waiting for, he would be damned if he let her leave just like that.
Khushi, he should have known, was not about to go down without a fight.
"Now which brother of yours are you trying to get me married to?"
She was really trying to kill him. He was probably holding the highest record for escaping-death-without-being-killed in all of history.
That image of NK with a goofy smile fixed to his face waiting at an altar (why an altar he would never know, since in his fantasies Khushi only ever appeared in traditional bridal wear- not that he would ever admit that to himself, let alone anyone else)- it was going to haunt him into the afterlife.
Which he did not believe in, by the by.
"I don't have any brother to get you married to," Arnav grit out, gaining his feet- perhaps to intimidate her with his greater height, perhaps to take that extra step closer to her, he wasn't sure- and he was just about ready to remind her that NK was not even his own cousin lest she be foolish enough to bring that up when he caught that look again.
That look that was reminiscent of when she'd called him a tailor.
Her Teasing Look.
Coupled with that sly gleam in her eye, that blush against her cheek, and the way her mouth almost curved into a timid smile-
Beautiful.
There was no agreeing with the voice, because the voice was obviously his own and it went without saying that he concurred.
"And since I don't have a brother," Arnav continued brazenly, drawing on the boldness that had once been an integral part of his character and all his interactions with this unbelievable, infuriating, amazing woman, "We'll have to find some other way of going about it."
He was close enough now to place the palm of one hand flat against his snoozing nephew's back, mentally deciding to reward the clueless toddler for his unintentional but much appreciated role in keeping Khushi around long enough for him to reconcile with his own subconscious. Maybe he'd like one of those battery-operated model cars big enough to sit in...
The smile that Khushi couldn't keep suppressed anymore diverted his attention before he could make up his mind.
"So what do you suggest?"
With a lopsided, probably loony-looking grin of his own, Arnav patted Aarav's back and silently promised him a Mami as he leaned a bit closer to the two, ready and willing to indulge in the unique, brand-new, and beautifully befitting Look in those eyes...too divine to be described by mere words, but deep enough to contain all the emotion he had thought he had been nurturing alone.
And within the next one week, Aarav had, under a certain someone's discreet tutelage, successfully (and quite smugly, Di was amused to point out), learnt how to say "Mami."
Comment, please? It'd make me very happy! Truth be told I've been trying hard to write that last MDJND chapter, but it's giving me so much hell I don't know what to do :( Wish me luck with it, please...
I reserve all rights over this work of fiction and request that readers do not reproduce/copy/modify it elsewhere and/or claim credit.
Anupamaa
Hindi TV Shows
41