IPKKND FF: KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane Thread 2: EPISODE 052-082 - Page 22

KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 064)

LOVE HAS AN UNTOLD POWER TO SEPARATE; it separates those under its spell from those who look upon them. Anjali's eyes moistened with deep joy as she observed her brother smiling down into Khushi's startled yet delighted face. You are brilliant! he had shouted, his face beaming. She had never seen her Chotte with such an expression of open praise and delight---for anybody. That he loved Khushi beyond words had long ceased to be a secret, but that he also admired her---this somehow gilded their love. And in that moment, Anjali Raizada understood a new thing about love: love was not an intense static feeling; it was an ever-widening circle of happy discovery. She brushed away a tear that rolled down her cheek, and became aware that while she had been watching, she herself had been watched.

With an almost imperceptible lift of his eyebrow, Yash Malhotra conveyed to her that he understood what she felt; that malice-free envy that comes from being in the presence of lovers like Khushi and Arnav.

Even Little Khushi was infected.

A natural wish to be included within that perimeter of love caused her to jump off her chair and run to Khushi. She begged to sit on her lap. Of course, Khushi accommodated her. The child settled cozily in her arms and from that convenient seat, she watched Arnav with a steady and curious eye.

Khushi did not ask, but Anjali insisted Arnav explain what triggered his behaviour. Her brother refused, of course---but when she pressed, he muttered something about Khushi's uncanny ability to see the forest for the trees.

"Over attention to detail is not a criticism often directed at Khush," Yash said. "I know because I was often charged with helping her get through daily homework."

Khushi coloured. "Yash was wonderfully patient with me. I was a terrible student," she admitted, sheepishly. "It was always expected that you would enter medicine, but I felt that your true passion was teaching," she remarked to Yash.

"Perhaps," Yash shrugged.

"I am not surprised to learn that," Anjali felt moved to say. "Fatherhood is a form of teaching; and you are an exceptional father." Her voice must have held something deeper than casual praise, as all three adults looked at her expectantly. She sought to bridge the silence and said, "one has only to spend a few moments with Little Khushi to see that."

"What role does her mother play?"

This question, directed to Yash, came from Arnav. Khushi placed her hand on Arnav's forearm and indicated with her eyes that Little Khushi was listening.

The topic went no further, but Anjali saw that her brother and the man next to her exchanged a long meaningful look.

By Jalebi Jane

KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 065)

WE HAVE TO WONDER, SISTERS, whether Yash Malhotra would have remained mute on the topic of Little Khushi's mother had he known that nothing was more detestable to Arnav Singh Raizada than a man unwilling to concede his lifestyle. Whatever a man's decisions, whatever a man's actions---Arnav respected the one who did it openly; the one who disclosed it without defence nor shame. But did any Raizada have a right to ask Yash any question? Arnav would say that it was his absolute right to know the personal history of any individual who enjoyed a closeness to his wife. Moreover, it was clear that his sister had grown excessively close to the doctor's child. Arnav was concerned how it would impact her if the child's mother should resent the relationship between Anjali and Little Khushi. His sister, soon to be a mother herself, had enough complication in her own life---why borrow from elsewhere?

Never mind, Arnav decided. What the Doctor would not reveal, the Detective would discover. Arnav would take his decision thereafter.

And if there was not already enough misgivings brewing in Arnav's mind, shortly thereafter, the Doctor stood up and said, "time for me to say goodnight." It was as though he feared that unwelcome topics would arise the longer he remained at the table.

His daughter immediately raised her arms up and said, "no, Daddy!"

Yash lifted her out of Khushi's arms---"thanks, Khush"---and said to the child, "no, Monkey, I'm going home. You can come with me or stay here for another night---which will it be?" Little Khushi screwed up her face and kept her audience waiting. "Quickly now---make up your mind. Here or home?" her father asked.

She looked at her father and at Anjali and decided. "Daddy, you stay here."

He shook his head. "No. You stay. Enjoy yourself. Tomorrow afternoon, I'll pick you up and you can come home with me. Ok?"

"No, I want you to stay here tonight!" the girl pleaded.

"Khushi---" her father began.

She hung her head, dejected, "I know. No-debate." The words no-debate were strung together and said in such a way which told the others that Little Khushi had heard these words many-many-many times before, and knew that it represented the end of the conversation.

To distract the child, Anjali said, "darling, don't forget to give your father his surprise."

Anjali had instant results. Little Khushi's eyes lit up. She wriggled out of her father's arms and disappeared, then returned with a container which contained four cupcakes. Cupcakes she had baked with the cook, and decorated herself with sprinkles. More sprinkles than cake, to be perfectly honest. He accepted the box and kissed her.

When Yash opened the box to admire them as was required, he frowned and asked, "four?"

"I ate one," Little Khushi confessed.

Khushi stepped in, taking the girl's hand and said, "come. Let's get you ready for bed."

As they moved past him, Arnav stopped Khushi and whispered in her ear, "come to my office when you're done."

Khushi stopped, immediately understanding him. "Your office? You can't make the TV lounge your office! Where will I watch my tv-serial?"

"Khushi---no debate," he returned with a smirk, and walked away.

"I'LL PICK UP KHUSHI TOMORROW AT TWO---is that convenient?" Yash asked Anjali Raizada. They were outside, at his vehicle. Anjali had offered to show him out and to his surprise she had remained to linger in conversation. He leaned against the car door. She stood, not far from him. Her pallu fluttered in the evening breeze.

She did not address his question, but instead said, "I'm sorry about Chotte." She smiled slightly and added, "I wish I could say that he doesn't mean to be so direct, but that would teach you to expect better from him. He truly is---though I love him!---intentionally tactless."

Yash Malhotra wasn't paying full attention to her words. When she said Chotte he lost interest and his focus had shifted to the softness of her full lips as her words spilled out. Plump was the word for them. Well-padded was another. Fleshy. Pillowy. Yes, pillowy was the perfect word. So distracted was he by her beautiful mouth that he didn't realize that he had stopped at four words. A deviation from the law of five by Dr. Malhotra? This must be serious, indeed.

"Dr Malhotra?" she prompted.

"Miss Raizada, don't you think you've made enough apologies to me this evening?" he asked, alluding to the absurd apology she had begun the evening with. If he hadn't realized that she was cloaking her fear in formality, he would have laughed out loud. What had she said? My moods are unstable lately causing me to behave in unpredictable ways. The funniest bit was when she assured him with all seriousness that it would never happen again. He was tempted to test her mettle here and now. He continued, "Did you hear that? I just called you Miss Raizada. That must please you." Yash saw her eyes lower bashfully. "But, you know, Miss Raizada---don't deceive yourself." Her eyes popped up to meet his, a question born in them. He said, "It is not what we call each other that matters. It is what exists beneath the words. Haven't you noticed that Khush calls your brother Laad Governor? Those may be the words she speaks, but that is not what he hears from her lips."

Was Yash Malhotra aware that he had drawn a parallel between them and the established lovers? If he wasn't then, he certainly was soon after. But Yash was anything but timid.

"I'm going to do what I do with Little Khushi: I'm going to give you two options," he said.

She looked affronted, and said, "I'm not a child!"

"I assure you I need no reminding of that," he clarified with innuendo in his tone. "I give her two options because it is my established belief that a man should never cause a female to feel trapped. It is the honourable thing to always offer a way out."

Anjali seemed to receive his explanation with some humour. She laughed softly and asked, "Go on, then. I'm curious. What are my two options?" But as he was about to speak, she halted him, "Wait! Should I not receive five options? Isn't that also your established belief?"

It pleased him to see her formality recede and her playfulness emerge. She was incredibly appealing when her eyes danced in that teasing mode. He was overwhelmingly tempted to take her into his arms. Instead, he replied, "this is an exception to that rule."

She scoffed. "I don't think you understand the meaning of the word rule. Too many exceptions and the rule is destroyed. Your under-one-roof rule was amended by the one-night clause, and now here we are at the second night---"

"---Will you shut up?" he interrupted her.

She silently nodded she would, with mock-seriousness.

He said, "Options. Either you immediately begin to call me Yash---not Yashji, not Dr Malhotra---just Yash, or---"

"Or?" she repeated dramatically, smiling widely.

"Or you will have to call me Dr Malhotra forever. For the extent of our relationship. There will be no return to Yash if you choose Dr Malhotra now."

She shrugged carelessly. "So? I have no difficulty calling you Dr Malhotra."

"Think carefully, Anjali. Extend your mind to all possible future encounters between us. Is it so impossible for you to foresee a time when you may wish to address me more---intimately." As he said intimately, he pushed away from the car door and bridged the distance between them. He leaned towards her. The soft scent of her personal fragrance flooded his senses. The mingling of a woman's own scent with her soaps and creams and perfumes---that generated a fragrance that was as unique as a thumbprint. "Tell you what---sleep on it! When we meet tomorrow at two, I will know our future from the manner in which you address me."

KHUSHI ENTERED THE TV LOUNGE and saw that her husband had made himself even more established in the room. Papers and files on every surface. She tried reverse psychology. "I thought the book room would be a nice place for you to work. It overlooks the garden---but, if you are determined to work out of this dark pokey room---" her words trailed off.

"Fine. Have them shift all this to the book room tomorrow," he indicated his things. Then with an evil glint, he added, "including the television."

"Kya? What good is a TV lounge without a television?"

He pushed her firmly down on the sofa and leaned over, his hands on the cushions on either side. "Khushi, I think it's high time you admit that you are addicted to that tv-serial. I have a suspicion that you have convinced yourself that you are the heroine!"

"What rubbish! I enjoy the serial. That's all. It's entertaining. A harmless diversion."

"Yeah, right," he said, with heavy disbelief in his tone. "I saw how your eyes filled with tears when you and Mami were watching it last weekend. When the hero walks away from the heroine at the airport---you looked as though I had left you."

Khushi couldn't deny that she was addicted to that particular tv-serial. But she would not admit it to Arnav. "I'm not addicted---." She then halted. "Wait a minute! You also left me at the airport earlier this week. In the same exact manner as that arrogant business man left his poor beautiful wife. You told me to go; he told her goodbye. I have a suspicion that you have convinced yourself that you are the hero!"

By Jalebi Jane

KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 066)

"DON'T DELUDE YOURSELF," Khushi said to Arnav, ducking under his arm and escaping his trap. "You are nothing like the hero of my tv-serial," she added cheekily, putting the desk between them.

"I'm glad to hear it," Arnav scoffed.

"He's so---so---" Khushi sighed, dreamily.

"---Effeminate? Is that the word you are reaching you?"

"The exact opposite. He's everything a man ought to be."

"He's a narcissist with a bad wardrobe," Arnav expanded, with a laugh. "But I'm not surprised you're attracted to this whats-his-name matinee idol. You also admire Yash Malhotra, after all."

He gave a smug victorious smile. She was preparing a few scorching words to retaliate when he caught her off-guard. He faked to the right and then came at her from the left, swooped her into his arms and fell back on the sofa. She was now cradled in his lap. Arnav's hand cupped the back of her head, and when her mouth parted to protest, he forced a kiss. Khushi resisted---but this was Arnav---a flesh and blood man; her husband; her lover---no matinee idol---she could only resist for a fraction of a second. She fisted her hands into his hair, and parted her mouth further to invite his tongue to taste her. He invaded her mouth, branding her, and then immediately broke the kiss to mark her neck and decolletage with tiny bites.

Khushi sighed with pleasure, her eyes closed, her head fell back. Arnav's hand fondled her breasts---not stopping there. He was soon caressing her tummy; she felt his hand tug at her saree pleats. It was this tug which reminded her how public their venue was.

"The door! Anyone can walk in---!"

The words were no sooner out of her mouth when they heard footsteps in the hall.

She gave her husband an unceremonious push. A low growl of frustration emerged from somewhere within his chest. Khushi climbed to the farthest corner of the sofa, and she instantly draped her pallu over her unravelled saree pleats.

Arnav stood and firmly closed the door to the lounge. "We won't be disturbed now," he stated.

"No." She held her palm out as a feeble deflection.

"Yes, Khushi." He kissed her palm, and was guiding her hand---

But in this instant, Khushi took a stand, and pulled her hand away. "There's no lock. Di may come in. Remember the ice cream incident?"

"Di's probably reading a bedtime story to Nurse."

"Khushi is fast asleep. Di went to show Yash out. She may return any minute."

"What? Why? Dr Malhotra found his way into the house; how difficult can it be to find his way out?" Arnav remarked.

Khushi pointed out to her husband that he was to blame. "Di probably walked him out so she could apologize for your behaviour."

Arnav, with his hands on his hips, said without apology, "It irks me that he is so secretive. What is he hiding? He should be open---"

"Oh, really?!" Khushi said, echoing one of Arnav's oft-used phrases. "This is rich. You have a reputation of being one of the most secretive businessmen in all of India. The adjective enigmatic or elusive precedes your name every time you are mentioned by the Press."

Arnav had his reply ready. "I'm private; not secretive. There is a difference. A considerable difference."

Khushi, not a woman to miss out on an opportunity, thanked her Devi Maiyya for this fortuitous opening. She asked Arnav, in the manner of a journalist interviewing him, "In that case, Mr Raizada, can you tell the nation what Mr Chopra is doing here in Lucknow? Tell me what that whoop at dinner was all about. Tell me why you are no longer concerned about the photos appearing in the media. Tell me where matters stand with Angelica. Go on."

Khushi saw something resembling hesitation cross Arnav's eyes---but he walked to the desk, and with a small key he unlocked a drawer and removed from it a file folder. He joined her on the sofa, sitting an an angle facing her. She mirrored him.

There was a grimness around his mouth, and Khushi felt that sensation that women and wives have felt for millennia---a creeping awareness that in the next few moments she would learn something that would break her heart, but knowing she would have to hear it all the same.

Arnav placed an envelope in her hands, and said, "Yesterday afternoon, before leaving Goa, I instructed Mr Chopra to track the photographer and buy him out. Here are those photographs."

Khushi's hands trembled. She looked at the envelope as though it would bite her if her eyes left it.

Her husband continued. "Last night you suggested that Angelica may have staged the pool scene. You were correct. Mr Chopra confirmed that the photographer was hired by Angelica to take pictures of her and myself---pictures which would suggest a sexual relationship."

"Oh no," the two tiny words slipped out of her mouth. It was a mere whisper, but Arnav heard them. His eyes held hers.

He added, "She has a set of these photos. But she had no intention to release them to the media." To her unspoken question, he replied, "I suspect they are insurance; she plans to use them to influence me at some point."

"Why did she then warn you about the photographer before you left Goa?"

He shrugged. "Maybe she feared that her assistant may drop a word in the wrong ear. It's a classic technique---admit something before you are confronted."

Khushi pieced up the patchwork speculations into a united whole. "She has something in her possession that she expects will force your hand in her favour. You think I've guessed correctly. What I said at dinner. That she wants to sell Angel. And now that you are a partner in the business, you may disagree and prevent her."

"If she had tried to sell Angel before I injected money into the business, it would have fetched a fraction of what it will now be worth. To placate her father and boost the value of the company, she accepted my investment. But she knows that I acquire companies to build them---not to dismantle them. She knows I would not agree to sell the company. I would buy her out first."

Khushi's eyes fell back on the envelope. "Hence these photographs. Force the sale or force a buy-out."

"Precisely. Are you going to look at them, Khushi?" he asked. His voice considerably low.

"In a moment," she replied, biting the corner of her mouth.

Arnav then cleared his throat and said, "There is something I decided to keep from you yesterday." Khushi's heart sank as her eyes lifted. He said, "Angelica propositioned me the afternoon I arrived in Goa."

Khushi knew that her mind had heard the words, but her heart refused to understand them. "She asked you to---?"

"Yes. I suspect that the photographer had been hired to capture us in bed, but because I refused, she had to manufacture the pool scene."

Nobody would blame Khushi Singh Raizada for asking her next question. "You said no'?"

"Of course, Khushi!"

She believed him; that was not the problem, but---

Khushi came to her feet, and having forgotten that her pleats were undone, her saree buckled at her feet. She took a step but almost tripped. Arnav's hand shot out and caught her. She removed his hand from her forearm and tore off her saree, leaving it as a rich mess on the floor between them. She stood in a blouse and petticoat and all her magnificent jewellery, and faced him, her eyes aching with the pressure of unshed tears.

"No woman invites a man to her bed, unless she is absolutely sure that she will not be refused." Yes, Sisters, these were her words.

Arnav's brows gathered. "What are you implying?"

Khushi knew what she was suggesting but she had known Arnav long enough to know that careless accusations would not serve either of them. However, no woman would have been able to be political in this moment.

She said it: "Something about your conduct told her it was acceptable to approach you. That she might have a chance."

He was silenced. The hurt in his eyes was no less than the pain in her heart. He then spoke, "I'm going to ignore that you said that."

"Don't ignore it. Don't ignore me! If you had nothing to hide, why did you not tell me everything last night? Why did you keep this significant detail from me?"

"Perhaps I knew you would react this way."

"That's not an acceptable reason," she said. She felt---oh, she knew that he had not been with her---but she hated that she had asked him. She hated what the asking implied. "I hate that she believed she had a chance," she said and turned away from him flattening her palms on the desk.

"She didn't have a chance," he said. He took her shoulders, but she couldn't relax into him. "Nobody does. You are it for me, Khushi. You are everything. Everything I need. Everything I want. I think and dream only of you. How can I convince you of it?"

She shrugged out of his grip; he allowed it. "I'm going upstairs. Please don't---"

Please don't follow me. That is what she couldn't bring herself to complete.

He met her eyes, and he asked, "Don't follow? Do you think I would let you walk away because you ask me to?"

She didn't wait to reply. She lifted her petticoat and ran out of the room. As she raced up the stairs, his earlier words echoed in her heart: It's a classic technique---admit something before you are confronted.

By Jalebi Jane

KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 067)

THIS WAS FACT: Anjali Raizada had been completely taken by an unscrupulous, fraudulent bigamist. So naturally she had asked herself---several thousand times---had Shyam been exceptionally skilled at deceit and subterfuge or had she been monumentally blind and stupid? There was no one consistent answer. She couldn't trust herself; she couldn't risk trusting others. However, there is something about a woman's heart---call it resilience, call it hope---that will always want to love and be loved. Anjali could repeatedly smother her desires and crush her longings, but she was not unaffected by Yash Malhotra's regard for her.

Yes, she was aware that it was only a physical attraction that blazed between them. She was not that foolish to believe that it was more than carnal. But as she prepared for bed, her heart did dare to ask her mind whether a purely sexual relationship between consenting adults was inherently wrong.

Couldn't that be sincere also?

Being in Arnav and Khushi's presence, it was impossible to not yearn for what they shared. That palpable chemistry that simmered between them. It was there in every glance, in every casual touch. Anjali was not made for envy, but their happiness made more pronounced the voids that she saw in her own future. Ever since last night, when she had responded to Yash's kiss, one thought had persisted: I want to live the full life of a woman. To admit this much even to her own inner mind was significantly radical. Those who knew Anjali would probably fall off their chairs if they could read her mind and see that her thoughts were not about settling into a quiet life of single-mother-quasi-widowhood. Her thoughts were on how her body hummed of never-before-felt-aliveness when Yash was near.

She slipped under the blanket, and adjusted the blanket around Little Khushi. She smiled taking in the child's sleeping face. Even in dreamland, Little Khushi was tenacious. She had a thumb in her mouth, and her four fingers were mercilessly gripping a furry purple elephant. There was something so delightful in how she looked; those who knew the girl's high animal spirits would also respond to this picture. On impulse, Anjali snapped a photo with her phone---and before she could think and over-think, she sent the picture to Yash's phone with the caption: Monkey with Elephant. Anjali had barely placed her phone down on the bedside table, when it alerted her of a reply.

His reply read: Adorable! Thank you. She was returning the phone back to the bedside table when yet another message flashed: Waiting...

She replied: ?

He wrote: Pic of you.

Anjali couldn't help smiling at his temerity. She felt playful and replied: In your dreams.

He messaged: Go on. Make my night.

She looked around the bed and saw Khushi's raggedy doll lying in a heap, the one with matted hair and one arm missing. She took a photo of it and sent it.

Immediately his reply came: Coward. Live a little.

His words stopped her. In fact, they angered her. How dare he? What right did he have to judge her guardedness? She put the phone aside and sunk deeper under the sheets. She wished that tears would come. She might then feel relief from this inner restlessness that had tormented her since last night. She rolled on her side, facing Little Khushi, and absent-mindedly stroked the child's hair.

Why did Yash goad her? What did he want of her?

She rolled back, sat up and grabbed the phone. She punched at the keys.

She wrote: Who do you think you are? It was one of those many rhetorical questions that existed in the Hindi language. The person asking never expected an answer.

But Yash did reply.

He wrote: I am the man for you.

Anjali read the words with disbelief.

Then with fear.

Then finally with anger.

She tossed the phone aside; the wished-for tears came. She had enough of a mother's heart to weep silently, so as to not wake the child resting blissfully next to her.

YASH MALHOTRA WAS NOT THE ONLY MAN in Lucknow on this night to become further acquainted with that contagion called Woman. Arnav Singh Raizada had long been infected, long enough to now know what it was to live entirely for that woman whom he loved. And to know that deep torment when they were not aligned to one purpose. Khushi was his life. It was not complicated to him; why did she make it so bloody difficult? He picked her saree off the floor and pursued her upstairs. On the landing he passed a member of the household staff who pretended not to notice the saree in his fist. Arnav nodded a silent goodnight and continued to the bedroom. Upon entering the room, he immediately knew that Khushi was not there. Even before he had fully grasped what Khushi meant to him, his sixth sense had always been able to identify Khushi's presence; it was a sensation that he trusted more than his eyes. He didn't check the bathroom or the terrace, but returned to the landing, where he stopped that same servant.

"Have you seen Mrs Raizada?"

"I just saw her go up to the roof, Sir."

Roof! He dismissed the servant and climbed the staircase to the roof, taking two-three steps at a time. As much as he despised Lucknow, as much as he detested Sheesh Mahal, no part of it aroused more pain and loathing than the rooftop.

"Khushi!?" he shouted as he stepped onto the same hostile hated roof, running his fingers frantically through his hair. His voice betrayed his agitation.

He was about to shout again, when he heard her soft reply, "I'm here."

He swung around and saw her leaning forward against the short perimeter wall. He knew that from that vantage point she could see all of the night-lit city below.

It had been a favourite spot for him---once---a very long time ago. A place to fly kites. A place to hide from Anjali's cloying affection. A place to stride about like a conqueror in charge of vast armies. Here he had tended to his first plants. Here he had smoked his first cigarette. Here he had seen his first dead body.

The strongest desire was to seize her. To pull her away from the wall. To carry her off the roof and down the stairs until they reached the bedroom where he would proceed to tell her the dire ramifications on her head if she ever-ever-ever ran away from him again---

But instead, Arnav went to her. He stopped directly behind her and removed his shirt, forcing her silently to wear it.

"I'm not cold," she protested.

"You are standing in a blouse and petticoat, in plain view," he stated by way of reply.

She seemed then to become aware of her state. "It's dark. Nobody can see," she said, but didn't resist as he buttoned the shirt close. He then placed his hands on either side of her, resting them on the top of the wall. Leaning forward his bare front and her clad back met. She took a step nearer the wall. He closed the distance again, the cloud of her fragrance arousing him. He had her effectively trapped.

"I refuse to speak," she said, in a strong decisive tone.

"Fine. I'll speak. You listen," he said.

At his words, she looked over her shoulder at him. "You won't convince me that I'm wrong to feel what I feel," she said.

"You said you wouldn't speak," he said.

She swung around to face him. "I'll only say this: You lied to me and now I don't know what is true," she said.

He corrected, "I did not---" but she began to turn away from him when he caught her shoulders, not gently, and said, "How many times have I told you not to turn away from me when I'm talking?"

Khushi pushed at this bare chest. "When you talked yesterday, I listened with a trusting heart. Yet, you omitted to tell me---"

"---Because I'm afraid of you."

Her eyes widened and she snapped, "Kya?!"

His hands left her shoulders and caught her face. "Khushi, I know you. You can live without me, but I---I cannot live without you. I will lie, cheat, steal---anything to make certain that you remain mine. Next time you catch me lying---no doubt it will happen again and again---rest assured I do it for no other reason than to keep you by my side."

His words came to an end, and by that end, he felt a visible shift in Khushi. She felt softer, warmer to his touch. He knew she would try to resist him still, and he braced himself.

"How could she ask you such a thing? Did you not speak about me? Did you not tell her that we are one? Everyone I meet knows instantly that I belong to you."

He pulled her nearer. "I don't speak about you, Khushi. It is private and sacred to me. I say nothing to anyone about you. I can't bear to share you---even the idea of you---with someone else." Arnav kissed her mouth. She resisted.

"I'm not ready to forgive you," she said, but her voice needed convincing.

"I'll wait until you are. But don't walk away. Don't run away. Don't remove yourself from me."

By Jalebi Jane

Originally posted by: welcomebro

i love the way you are shaping arnav and khushi's character...really impressed...what about your website???????????????????????

Originally posted by: cocoamob

Anjali immediately thought Arnav and Khushi were thinking of her when they discussed downsizing the party celebrations. This made me think that this is so true in life. I think at any given situation, it is always about oneself a person thinks of first and foremost - how it affects them or how they may have caused it. It is a rare few who may put others first.