ArHi FF || Serendipity #5 || CH 59 Pg 136 (JAN 16TH 2017) (new update) - Page 41

It was 3:00 in the morning and multimillionaire Arnav Singh Raizada was riding the subway, attracting more than a few curious stares from bystanders. Apparently the regular, homeless folks who took to the subway for shelter at night were not accustomed to Armani suits on their turf.

Destination was unknown. Purpose indefinite.

He had abandoned his customary "practical businessman" acumen for the night, and had refused to think or plan or consider the more sensible options. Because, well, the man simply needed out.

He needed to be alone so he could rethink the past six years... so he could uncage his thoughts and allow them to wander entirely free.

"ASR, we rented a car for a reason!" Aman had gawked dazedly. "The chauffeur is going to make 300 f**king dollars for playing Temple Run all night!" The logic had, however, fallen on deaf ears; Arnav was past the point of employing even the most basic common sense.

But as he sat upon the cold plastic seat, watching the graffiti on the walls whiz by like a neon mirage, he thought of Khushi.

He thought of the woman who had been confined to sleeping in the pouring rain, with bruised wrists and sunken eyes. He thought of that woman's tears and pain; how her once zealous passion to live with fervor had withered away before him. Hollow bones. Broken bangles. Black, grey and beige.

But then... then he thought of a strong, independent woman who dared to raise her daughters fearlessly. He thought of the woman clad in the most brightest red, who sighed as she stole private moments in her husband's arms. He thought of her eyes, which burned and flashed with a rekindled spirit.

He loved those eyes.

"Excuse me, sir. We're going to have to ask you to leave. This is the final stop and the train is going out of service."

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Arnav entered a dark, uninviting apartment later that morning. Tossing his keys carelessly onto the floor, he loosened his tie and removed his jacket, unwilling to flip the switch and face the cutting glare of reality. He wasn't quite ready to take the plunge. The exhaustion of the day finally began to sink in, and his knees dropped to the ground. Despite the fatigue, he couldn't sleep --- the image of a smiling Khushi surrounded by an orbit of glowing dias refusing to leave his memory.

"I wasn't pining with your payal against my chest"

"If you don't want to accept it as a gift, then think of it as a tip"

"You'll marry me tonight Khushi, or I'll ruin your sister's life"

" No one wants to listen to how brilliantly Bradley Fisher f*cked you last night"

"I'm your husband. Do you understand that?"

His head began to spin and his breaths quickened, dogged tears beginning to spill from their tightly bound confinement. The thought of her hazel eyes had ensnared him -- clouded with tears, spitting with fire, laughing with joy and burning with anger. But all they had ever revealed for him in the past month had been hatred --- bottomless, scorching and unconcealed hatred. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, desperately trying to shift the train of his thoughts.

"I owe you no answers. And you have no right to question me."

"Khushi IS my wife NOW."

"I called her Di despite of what I think of you"

"That's what you do in a marriage. You trust the other person. You support them."

She loves me, his conscious battled weakly. She always has.

"People don't magically transform, you disgusting piece of shit"

"She's changed into what she's wanted to be."

"If a voice is ignored or belittled, the relationship leads to failure. Much like ours did."

"Stay the fu*k away from my family"

The memories grew sharper as the poison of their past seeped into his pathetic charade of love, and soon enough, her words were thundering in the air. They weighed against his shoulders till his entire body convulsed in tremors, no longer strong enough to carry the burden. Arnav slammed him hands over his ears, pushing his palms deeper against his skin in an attempt to drown the noise.

"What happened between us doesn't mean a thing to me"

"Charlie, Mr. Raizada. My name is Charlie."

"I'm done with convincing you to believe me. I've long since come to the conclusion that my attempts are futile."

And then, he detonated.

He screamed until his lungs felt sore, but could not drown away the voice of reason. He screamed because he did not want to give up on the woman he loved, but knew he could never win. He screamed because the tears singed and burned, but the fantasy no longer numbed the pain. He screamed for lost hope, for unrequited love.

And finally, when the light blared and Anjali came into focus, holding their mother's bangles against her chest, his tears ceased and the room fell silent.

"Ch... chotte?"

He stared at his sister, allowing the heat to dissipate and leave more comforting warmth in its wake. The light bounced off the diamonds encrusted around the bangle's edges, dancing a myriad of bright hues in every color.

Those had been Khushi's bangles. His mother had left them for her.

They had adorned her wrists from the very moment he had carried her home -- the gold remaining resiliently beautiful as its beholder wasted away. The gaudy patterns and bright colors slowly began to disappear, as did her long hair and silver payal -- but those bangles had chimed in Shantivan until Khushi had disappeared from it.

In fact, the last he had seen them had been inside his cupboard --- with a note thanking him for granting her freedom.

Freedom.

Arnav felt Anjali's arms gently wrap around him, her long fingers soothing through his untamed hair. Exhausted and frightened, he let his head fall against her, pacing his breaths with the rise and fall of her chest.

"Chotte, if you truly love her... then you'll let her go. Khushi isn't your quirky assistant anymore; she's a wife and a mother of two girls. She's built herself a life that doesn't involve you anymore"

Arnav thought of the photos scattered around her office -- snapshots of Kinara, Shagun and Tarang building the happiest moments of her life. Not a single picture of their past had been included. No Payal. No Nani. No Bua Ji or Anjali. Nobody.

"But I'll... I'll die without her," he managed to whisper, allowing the tears to soak through his sister's blouse. He could sense her beginning to cry as well, as she leaned her head on top of his own.

"Loving a woman doesn't mean having her beside you, Chotte. It means being beside her, despite it."

Anjali cradled his face against her palms, coercing him to look into her eyes. Her brother had not looked that vulnerable in over twenty years --- since the day their mother had put a bullet in her mouth. His eyes were transparent and unnervingly clear, freed of crazed guilt and infatuation. "Do you love this woman?" she whispered, flinching as his body slightly tremored. "Do you truly love her?"

Arnav's eyes fluttered shut and the memories reeled behind closed lids --- when the days that passed were easier, innocent and far more pleasant. When life was filled with the sweetness of jalebis and the brightness of her pompoms. When their skin tingled from gentle touches and heartbeats quickened from stolen glances. When her laughter brought him joy and her presence brought him long forgotten peace.

He had been crazy about her, but too foolish, too proud to understand.

But... did he still love her? Did he love the woman who was strong and resilient? Who loved fiercely and faithfully? Who was cultured and brilliant, unafraid and liberated? Did he... did he still love Khushi?

At the thought of bright hazel eyes, he knew. He always had.

"I do. I love her more than anything."

"Then prove it. Prove it to her. To yourself."

The night passed as the burden of six, long years was relieved. Arnav cried until he felt weightless --- a crying that could not be diluted by a brave deed or a kind word, but only by someone holding him as his shoulders shook and tears ran down his face.

And as the sun broke the night and allowed the warmth of new beginnings to arise, Arnav slept in the most peaceful slumber since he'd first realized that he loved her.

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CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: C O M P R O M I S E

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