Ok!! It didn't want to be a drabble!! I don't know what it is!
I decided it had to be before this MMS thing, and before KC and all the bits with Pragya considering herself in love with him. So I went back to the October 8th episode, at the end of the Navaratri party, on the night where Daadi tells Abhi to take care of Pragya because she got injured due to the firecrackers, but then when Pragya wakes up she insists on going to Arora house to meet her mother.
When she comes back, she's not in a mood to share her problems, but Abhi goads her into telling all. Then she asks him for help, but he refuses and makes a lot of mean jokes about the whole situation, saying that he enjoys her being in trouble 😡
The scene ends with him sitting her down on the bed and going to tell Aaliya, and then the next day they show a morning scene where Pragya comes in from the balcony and Abhi drops the dumbbell to tease her. Then while she's putting away her bed stuff, he makes a phone call saying that he wants to cancel all his shows because he's gonna go watch the hall being torn down, and then they have an argument. She angrily insists that she'll find a way to help her family, and then at the end of scene he whispers to himself "that's the spirit."
So my story is a different view of what could have happened in that episode...Abhi gets too distracted to fight in the morning, but otherwise it's all the same 😛
The ending is nonsensical because I couldn't figure out how to end it! 😆
Cozy
an AbhiGya ficlet by -mina-
"But why are you standing here like a doll?" Abhi said with an asinine smile. He sat Pragya down and said, "You just sit here. I'll go tell Aaliya the good news, and in the mean time, you keep keep crying. And hey, listen - best of luck?" He gave her an obnoxious wink and then cheerfully left the room, starting to whistle under his breath.
Pragya watched him go in disbelief, as for a moment her despair overwhelmed her other thoughts. But then the first wave of disappointment at his refusal to help faded, and she remembered that she had better things to do than sit around and cry because her idiot of a non-husband wanted to watch her suffer.
She got up and headed to the closet, relieved to finally be undressing at the end of a long and draining day. She'd loved the gorgeous outfit Daadi had given her for Navratri when she first put it on, but after eight hours, she couldn't wait to take it off.
Her feet still hurt from the incident with the firecrackers, and every part of her was stiff with tension due to her fruitless trip home to discuss the hall situation with her mother. All things considered, she hadn't felt this tired and achy in ages, and all she had on her mind now was getting into something comfortable.
Out of habit, she reached for one of the lightweight suits she usually wore to bed. The pink one was in the wash but the white one was right at hand, and she was just about to pick it up when she realized that she really didn't want to wear it.
Tonight was not a night for sleeping in a salwar suit. Tonight was the kind of night that required her oldest oversize tee and her favourite soft flannels. She needed the comfort of those cozy, well-worn clothes against her fatigued skin. And she would be able to get to sleep faster if she was more comfortable, so really there was nothing to think about.
Except, of course there was. She hadn't worn her old style of sleep clothes at all since she'd gotten married. It had felt completely inappropriate to wear such ratty, casual things in those first few days, when she was overwhelmed by the simple fact of suddenly sharing a room with a husband who was still really a stranger to her. Then it had just become habit; the difficult dynamic between them made it so that she never felt one-hundred percent comfortable around him, at least not on a physical level. You just couldn't wear those kinds of clothes in front of someone who completely misunderstood your character and enjoyed mocking your "lack of style", even if you didn't really care what they said.
In fact she'd started to take comfort in the idea of her cotton suits as a kind of uniform. It helped her play the role of Abhi's half-hated Chashmish, as opposed to showing her genuine vulnerability as Pragya.
But tonight, she didn't care anymore. She was too tired and heartsick to feel awkward around him. After the way he'd made fun of this awful situation with the hall, there really wasn't anything he could say about her that could make her feel bad. So she'd just wear what she was comfortable in, because she was done with worrying about how he'd react.
It was true that at the back of her mind there had always been a sort of concern for modesty. She was her mother's daughter, after all, and even after it became crystal clear to her that Abhi would never look at her in that way, she was conscious of a need to stay properly dressed in front of him. There was propriety to be observed because he was her husband, and propriety to be observed because he was a man, and both sets of conventions excluded the kind of thing she'd worn to bed when the only person who'd see her was her sister.
But she was beyond caring about all of that, too. So Pragya left the white suit where it was, and rummaged deep in the ridiculously ornate heirloom trousseau trunk her mother had insisted on sending with her during her bidaai. Underneath piles of saris and a few ridiculous honeymoon outfits that Bulbul and Purvi had slipped in - poor darlings couldn't have known that they were never, ever going to be used - she finally found the one set of pajamas that she herself had added to the trunk two nights before her wedding. She'd felt morose about packing up her life at home, and she'd decided to take this particular pairing of tee shirt and sweatpants more so she could take comfort in having the option of wearing them, not because she actually planned to.
It was soothing just to touch the soft fabrics again. With a happy sigh, she went to the bathroom to finally get changed, looking forward to taking off her makeup and slipping into her old clothes.
***
The next morning Abhi sat on his ottoman, lifting his dumbell to work on his tricep. He'd managed to wake up before Chashmish and her blasted bhajans today, so he was in a grand mood. And of course there was his lingering delight from watching her misery the previous night. How sweet it had been to be able to turn her down when she had the audacity to beg for his help!
Of course a small corner of his mind was busy worrying about what all this would mean for Sarla Aunty and Rockstar Daadi - they didn't deserve to be punished for the wrongs done by Pragya and Bulbul - but he had confidence that something would work out. Bad things didn't happen to good people, after all. The hall would be saved somehow or other - he'd maybe even step in if he had to - but let Chashmish worry about it for awhile, she deserved the stress.
He heard the curtain rustling, and knew Chashmish was about to come in from the balcony. He made a show of not looking at her, but when she was just passing by him he purposely dropped his dumbell in front of her.
He didn't want to trip her or hurt her, he just liked to watch her jump back in shock, which was exactly what she did.
But the shock was on him, because when he looked up at her with the taunt of "Ooops, I did it again!" ready on his lips, what he saw almost shut his mind down.
Chashmish was dressed like a stranger.
Instead of her usual auntyji-type fitted suit, she was wearing a loose long-sleeved tee and some soft-looking sleep pants. Both were a dark grey colour, but they didn't look like matched set.
Abhi blinked and shook his head, thinking that maybe he was imagining things. But when he opened his eyes again, Chashmish was still wearing the homely grey things.
And the free movement under that loose tee as she jumped back from the dumbbell told him about something she
wasn't wearing.
His mouth went dry and his head started to feel woozy and all of a sudden a perfectly delightful morning turned into another episode of utter weirdness. This kind of thing only started happening after Chashmish entered his life, and it was getting to be a concern.
He realized that she was starting to walk past him, giving no further reaction to his provocative dumbbell drop than a quick silent glare, and by reflex he reached out to stop her.
His palm brushed her thigh - which would've been well-protected if she'd been wearing one of her voluminous kameezes - and he snatched his hand back almost as if it burned.
"Arre? What?" she asked in a huff, barely turning to face him and clearly intent on continuing on her way.
"Chashmish," he began automatically, but then he stopped because he had no idea what he was going to say. His mouth apparently had ideas his brain knew nothing about, though, because he found himself continuing, "What are you wearing?"
She glanced down at herself, and a fascinating blush flared up along her neck and into her face. But her tone was cool and steady as she replied, "Clothes, what else?"
Then she did turn and continue into the closet, walking double fast, leaving him to stare after her in confusion and amazement.
Who knew Chashmish could dress so...normally?
And why was his brain so damn interested in that hint of what she
wasn't wearing?
Abhi looked at the dumbbell lying on the floor. He should probably pick it up and put it away and make his escape before Chashmish came back to confuse him with her very existence.
But if he left he wouldn't get to see what she was wearing.
Why did he care about that?
Well...maybe he needed to make sure that Chashmish was still Chashmish? Right. If she came out in her regular clothes, then there was nothing to worry about. But on the off chance that she came out in...say...jeans and a blouse...then he would know that someone had replaced Chashmish with a doppelganger. And if there was a risk of that, he couldn't just leave his family unprotected with a stranger in their midst.
Right, he was the first line of defense against the possible infiltration of uncanny clones into his house.
That was why he needed to stay. And not because he wanted another look at all that grey stuff.
Right.
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