1 | ArHi FF Resistance | COMPLETE - Page 11

6 months prior

London, England

"Mr. Raizada! Very well done with your handling of the Blackwells. I am impressed."

Arnav turned around at the booming voice, a large, well built man in an impeccably tailored suit walking towards him. His face was slightly red as he puffed on the pipe, ambling towards Arnav.

The hint of pride in his voice brought a satisfied smile to Arnav's face as he reached out to shake hands with his boss.

"Thank you, Sir. I am delighted it worked out in our favor."

"You will, of course, join us for drinks tonight?"

"I would never turn down a drink. God knows I could use a stiff one, after that deal."

The men shared a chuckle, and Arnav walked out of the room, loosening the dark tie around his neck. He unbuttoned a few on the crisp, white shirt as he swung his jacket over his arm.

He had worked hard to get here, to reach the inner circles of what was once Britain's most successful business. It had not been easy, especially as a foreigner.

Even getting the job had been a struggle, but with Britishers taking up positions in the army, they had no choice but to give the position to Arnav.

He had struggled to win the respect of everyone, who considered him inferior. He hadn't missed the turned up nose when he walked into the room, or the way he was assigned to menial tasks despite his more than adequate accolades.

It had taken him almost two years to win the look of pride in his boss' eyes, to earn the respect of the men he worked with. The company had been going bankrupt, and his intuitive sense for business had eventually won over racial barriers. The war had taken a deep toll on the city, with many houses and businesses lying in shambles.

Arnav had come in and single handedly turned the entire operation around, expanding trade and working across seas to continue operations despite troubled times.

Instead of bankruptcy, the business was well on its way to recovery, and it was proof of his success.

Arnav fingered the picture in his wallet of his family, lingering over the image his parents.

He missed them, desperately. He had pleaded with them to join him in England, where he had gone to study further, but his parents had steadfastly refused. His father had insisted that they remain in India at least until Anju got married.

He hadn't seen them in over five years, only communicating via the rare phone call and weekly telegrams. His mother had been apprehensive about sending him abroad, worrying over his treatment as a foreigner. It had taken weeks of convincing that this experience would be greatly beneficial for him, enabling him to achieve an unprecedented status.

Today, he could tell her that his skills had won them over, that he had been accepted into society as one of their own.

Arnav could taste the success, feel it in his being. He couldn't stop the wide smile that spread across his face as he walked toward the telegram office, excited to tell his parents about the new deal.

"Morning Arnav- here to receive your weekly telegram?"

"Always, George. What do the parents have to say this time?"

He took the slip of paper, scanning it quickly. His fingers tightened, crumpling the paper into a ball as a worried crease appeared between his brows.

"Arnaav, what's wrong? Everything okay?"

He turned a worried gaze to George, smiling tightly.

"No, George. I'll need to get home as soon as possible."

George reached over the counter, placing a kindly, worn hand on Arnav's shoulder. His tobacco laced teeth smiled reassuringly, and Arnav lifted the paper to send a quick message back.

I'm coming to India. Love, Arnav.

He walked back to his apartment in a mechanical trance, quickly grabbing a suitcase and throwing things in.

A toothbrush. Some suits. His files.

He shook his head, trying to focus, but found that his mind was not in England.

It was back in India, with his family.

Sighing heavily, he rubbed at his throbbing forehead. Just this morning, it had seemed like everything was finally settling in.

He had reached new heights at work, and had finally made a name for himself among the British. They no longer considered him to be Indian- he was English, just like them. He had worked hard to master the accent, eating only English food so he could learn to appreciate it.

He had grown up in India, but his fondness for the country had long since faded. India was undeveloped and stuck in the old ways. If he had stayed there, he never would have gotten this far. The country was far too corrupt for its own good. Familial connections and bribes were needed to get anywhere.

Not that it was an issue for Arnav, since he was the son of one of the most influential people in India.

But it was the principle of the matter. He hated the way nothing ever got done on time. He hated the backwards mentality, the traditions rooted in arbitrary ideals. Everyone was trying to bring down each other, with no sense of unity.

It was one of the reasons he admired the British- they had taken a dysfunctional country, and had pulled it together in a cohesive way. He had moved to England, and had come to value the efficiency of their system.

And now... he would have to go back.

*********

Delhi, India

Arnav stepped onto Indian soil for the first time in nearly five years, hit by a gust of humid air. He winced, reaching into the pocket of his suit to pull out a handkerchief, wiping the sweat already beading on his forehead.

He winced as he got into the rickety bus, holding on tightly as it squeaked to the main terminal. Grabbing his bags quickly, Arnav walked out, pushing himself through the thick crowd.

He grimaced, hating all of the people swarming around him. He could smell their sweat, their sticky skin pressing up against him as they reached for the bar of metal to steady themselves.

Where had all of these people even come from?

It was never like this in England. He longed for the cool climate and calm of his apartment, groaning as the horns honked loudly.

He flagged one of the shiny black taxis down, sliding into the worn velvet seats and quickly rolling down the windows. He muttered the address to the driver, before sinking back into the seats.

He gazed out of the window, taking in the chaotic streets and noise. His eyes rested on the litter on the sides of the road. He wrinkled his nose up as a particularly disgusting scent hit him, swallowing the nauseating feeling.

He had always wanted to get out of India, away from it all. His dreams had always been bigger, broader than what he felt India could provide him. He didn't want to come back, but after reading the telegram, he couldn't stay in England.

And now, looking at the state of this country, he found himself wishing he could go back to England.

The taxi pulled up to a large house in one of Delhi's poshest neighborhoods, and Arnav stepped out of the car, stuffing a wad of cash into the shocked driver's hands.

He pushed open the door, stepping into the place he hadn't been in over five years.

The smell was immediate, hitting him in the nose as soon as he walked in. The smell of his favorite subji, one his mother made just for him- and a food he simply couldn't replicate in England.

Closing his eyes, he relished the scent of the masala wafting through the house, inhaling deeply. He felt his mouth water, and he realized just how much he had missed his mother's cooking in the past years.

"Chote?"

He glanced down to see Sakshi Raizada standing in front of him, her petite figure looking up at him tenderly. He could see the worry behind her smile, and realized that she had more lines around her mouth than he remembered. Her eyes were tired, and he leaned into her touch as she cupped his face gently.

He leaned down, pulling her into a hug. Her small frame was familiar, and he immediately felt the stress beginning to seep away.

He couldn't deny that he had missed his mother.

"Haan Ma, I just came. How's Papa?"

She stiffened slightly, before shaking her head gently.

"Come in first, beta. You must be hungry. I'll just keep some chai for-"

"Ma, how is Papa?"

She sighed heavily, motioning to Om Prakash to take Arnav's bag.

"Yeh... Chote ke kamre mein rak dijiye, Om Prakash. (Keep this in Chote's room, Om Prakash)."

He followed his mom silently into the kitchen, his worry increasing with every step. He noticed her slight limp, the way she dragged her body to the living room.

This wasn't the mother he remembered from five years ago.

Arnav suddenly felt a piercing guilt shoot through him. Despite his loyalty towards his adopted country, Arnav's love for his family was indisputable.

"Bhai!"

A blur of orange slammed into him, long strands of hair whipping into his face as Arnav felt the arms of his younger sister squeeze him tightly.

"Anju? What the hell, when did you get so... old?"

"Chote! Language!"

He ignored his mother, pulling back to look into Anjali's face.

Her long hair was twisted neatly, the thick braid resting on her shoulder. She was wearing a vibrant orange sari, the neat pleats brushing her ankles with every step. Her dark eyes were lined with kohl, looking up at him with adoration.

There was not anything particularly different about her appearance, save for the trousers being replaced by the sari and the extra swipe of kohl.

But Arnav could sense that there was a new maturity about his younger sister, one that she had developed in the years he had been gone. It was to be expected, after all. Anjali was almost 22, and he had no doubt that his parents would be looking to get her married. She was already on the older side.

There was a distance, and despite her warm greeting, Arnav felt as if she was holding herself back from him. Her smile was almost guarded, as she took a step back, regarding him carefully. He could feel that she was uncertain, unsure as to how she should act around him.

"Bhai, I've always been this way. You've just been gone."

He knew she meant it in jest, her eyes glinting in amusement as she grinned. But her innocent statement hit Arnav hard, and he smiled tightly, choosing to search the room for his father instead.

His eyes fell on the open door, where his mother was aiding his father as he limped in. There was a poignant silence as he glimpsed his father for the first time in over half a decade, and Arnav had to hold himself from stumbling back in shock.

His figure was frailer than Arnav remembered, and dark circles lined his eyes. He could see the bones through the thin cloth of the dhoti, his elbows sticking out painfully.

He knew his father hadn't been keeping well, an old heart condition flaring up again.

But he hadn't expected it to be this bad.

"Papa? What- what the hell happened?

His father shook his head, sinking into the couch and closing his eyes as he leaned back.

"You won't ask me how I've been the last five years, Arnav?"

"Papa, that's not the point."

"Nothing happened. I'm getting old. Hota hai."

"I didn't know aging came with you looking like you haven't been fed in years. And I know Ma feeds you well."

Ashok Singh Raizada looked away for a moment, staring out of the large window that looked out to their vast private gardens. As the head of the leading pro-British newspaper, the Gazette, and the holder of a vast fortune, Ashok had more influence and money than anyone could even dream of.

Which is why Arnav was surprised that news of this hadn't leaked yet. He would have expected the Indian newspapers to jump on the fact that Ashok Raizada wasn't keeping well, arbitrarily linking it to the declining position of the British in India.

"It's nothing too big."

"Nothing too big? Papa, don't you know how dangerous it is nowadays? This is why I say you should move with me to England. It's cleaner, quieter, and no worries of these "rebels" making senseless demands. India needs to reflect on how much help the British have given them."

There was a flash of something he couldn't place in his father's eyes, but it was gone too quickly for Arnav to figure out what it was. Before he could ask, he was interrupted by sharp voice, shaking in fury.

"Senseless demands? What would you know of our treatment at the hands of the British? You've been gone."

He turned to see a woman standing in the doorway, her hazel eyes glimmering with anger as she glared at him. Wisps of hair fell from her loose braid, framing her flushed face. Her small hands clutched textbooks, a bright, patchwork, handwoven bag resting at her side. She wore a rough, khadi sari that hung around her figure unflatteringly, but it hardly took away from her beauty.

He blinked, staring at the woman in front of him.

Shit.

Arnav swallowed tightly, trying to gather his bearings and tame the sudden pang of desire shooting through him.

He curved his lips into a smirk as he lazily stared at the woman standing in front of him, who was looking at him with a disgusted expression.

"Hello to you too, Ms...?"

He dropped his voice an octave, locking gazes with Khushi. She steadily met his eyes, not showing the least sign of fluster.

"Just Khushi is fine, thank you. You finally decided to make an appearance in your home?"

"India ceased to be my home five years ago. I'm just back for Papa. I'll go back and take them with me as soon as I can."

She cocked her head, her eyes inscrutable as she regarded him coolly.

"You spend five years abroad, and you're already eating out of their hands. Impressive."

He felt fury spark in his veins, her statement angering him like none other. He took a step forward, fully intending to silence her when his mother spoke up from behind, diffusing the situation.

"Khushi bitiya, did you have chai?"

He was startled by the change in her, immediately becoming demure and soft upon addressing his mother.

"Nahi, Sakshi Ma. I have been... busy."

He narrowed his eyes, studying her intently. She was twisting her hands nervously, her eyes carefully avoiding Sakshi's affectionate gaze. Her other hand tightly gripped her bag, and she was leaning back on her heels.

She looked... defensive.

Sakshi ushered her out, and he watched as Anjali followed closely behind her. He didn't miss the poignant glance they shared over Sakshi's head.

It was as if Khushi and Anjali were hiding something.

But what were they hiding?

*********

Note: And that's where I'll leave you for today! Happy, happy Diwali to everyone- I hope it's filled with lots of joy, lots of love, lots of sweets, and lots of this:

I will not PM for this after Chapter Two. Please PM me your email or follow me @ipkchotidesi on Twitter for update notifications.

Thank you so much!

Love always,

Choti.