Chapter One
January, 2012
Khushi looked up and frowned at the dark clouds gathered in the sky. Not again! There was a grim certainty in their blacky appearance—a promise of an unforgiving downpour.
Khushi detested rain.
It turned the streets into treacherous quagmires, making even the simplest task an ordeal. It was foolish of her to have left her umbrella behind, as though daring fate to add another calamity to what already felt like an unrelenting series of misfortunes in her life.
A sigh escaped her lips, heavy with resignation.
Was this to be yet another day that unraveled like an ill-stitched seam, one misstep leading inexorably to another? Of late, such days had come to define her existence.
"Too early for such grim thoughts, Khushi," she told herself softly, fastening her cardigan against the chilly air of early January in Delhi.
Then she brushed away errant strands of hair from her face,her gaze sweeping the empty street, looking for a rickshaw to avoid getting caught in the rain. Nothing appeared in sight.
As she stood there, resigned to waiting, a boy of about thirteen years old approached her with the eager persistence of those who have known hardship from birth. Clutching a sheaf of newspapers, he thrust one towards her, imploring her to purchase one.
Khushi shook her head. She had no interest in reading yet another account of the what was going wrong in the world. But the boy, undeterred, presented an English paper with an urgency that pricked her curiosity. Her eyes fell upon the front page, and there, staring back at her, jiwas a face she could never mistake.
Arnav!
Her breath hitched, and time seemed to halt. The headline beneath the portrait proclaimed, “Raizada Legacy Renewed.”
Khushi looked at the words that were an answer to the thousands of questions she had asked herself and to the universe in the last seven years.
Arnav was here in Delhi. Adopted and raised by Arvind Singh Raizada; the magnate behind Raizada Textiles. The article chronicled Arvind Singh Raizada's meteoric rise—from the humble proprietor of a modest shop in Kolkata to the architect of a sprawling empire. And now, his heir, Arnav, was poised to propel the family name to new heights with the launch of a luxury fashion brand, AR Apparels.
Khushi scarcely absorbed the details. Her mind spinning wildly, reliving the memories, emotions and questions long since buried. Her reverie was broken only by the boy’s insistent tug at her sleeve, reminding her of the five rupees owed. She fumbled in her purse, handed him the coin, and turned her attention once more to the photograph.
There he was, his countenance stern, his expression a testament to determination and ambition. Yet, it was those eyes—those familiar, light-brown eyes—that pierced her, beckoned her.
A sudden drop of water smudged the ink, and Khushi blinked, startled.
Was it the first raindrop from the clouds above or the tears brimming in her own eyes? It mattered little, for within moments the clouds began pouring down furiously.
The newspaper, fragile and ill-suited for such an assault, quickly began disintegrating in her hands. She clutched at the soggy remains, desperate to preserve the image, but it was a futile attempt.
She stared for a long minute at the wet newspaper that was now barely holding itself together, while the rain pelted her.
At last, she losed a shaky breath and cast the ruined paper into a nearby dustbin. The act felt like a betrayal, as though discarding the newspaper severed the connection she had only just rediscovered. The wind slapped her face in a sharp rebuke, and she recoiled, shivering both from the cold and the intensity of her emotions.
She told herself that Arnav was no longer the boy she had once known; her companion beneath the banyan tree in that orphanage in Lucknow.
He had become Arnav Singh Raizada—a man of stature. Far, distant and inaccessible!
And from what she read in the paper, he had grown up into a wealthy family, bestowed with not only opportunities but with love and nurturing as well. It was enough, she decided, to know that he had found happiness.
"Congratulations, Arnav," she whispered to the storm, before quickening her pace, the rain masking the tears that coursed silently down her cheeks.
*Two Years Later*
She was sitting on a sofa in front of the TV, absently flipping through the channels, seeking neither news nor entertainment but merely a distraction from her cluttered thoughts.
And then, suddenly, there he was again!
Those familiar brown eyes reappearing on her screen. She froze mid-motion, captivated by the face that was live, moving and talking unlike the picture she had seen in a rain-soaked newspaper.
Her hand stilled as she observed that he looked different now. He appeared more composed than the man she had glimpsed in that fateful newspaper photograph. His demeanor was polished, his movements deliberate and his words calculated with precision. He spoke of AR Apparels, now rebranded as 'ARA' with a confidence that bordered on command, outlining plans for international expansion. The logo of his brand gleamed behind him, a testament to his success.
Khushi’s heart swelled with pride and joy, though it was tempered by an ache she could not understand.
How far he had come, she thought, and how wide the distance now seemed between them.
Tears welled unbidden in her eyes—not of sorrow, but of happiness for the boy she had once known. He had always been ambitious. And his dreams had found their wings. She could not be happier.
With a trembling hand, she switched off the television. Despite the happiness she felt for him, a melancholy gnawed at her insides which she could neither understand nor wanted to understand.
She could not bear to listen more and be reminded of the friendship that was long lost. He is a different person now. Just like she is.They have grown up and apart.
After offering that fabricated consolation to herself, she stood up from the sofa to gather her books and notes from the table but her hand was grabbed by rough and harsh fingers.
She trembled on the inside but dared to look up at the set of black eyes where fury was dancing.
"Still besotted with him, are you?" The words uttered by Shyam were dipped in crass meaning and her face heated with both embarassment and indignation.
"What are you talking about, Shyamji?" She let out the words, trying to keep her manner respectable out of concern for herself. His temper was foul. The scar on the inner side of her left wrist was the proof. He had broken the glass bangles she was wearing by the sheer force of his fingers simply because they were gifted by a male college friend. A piece had pierced inside her skin and left a mark: both on her skin and in her heart.
"Pretending now, Khushiji? You think I did not see him on the TV? And your teary eyes? Looks like he made tonnes of money. Your own fiance must appear too unappealing in front of all that glitter of gold, right? Is that why you are unable to find time to settle upon a date?"
Insulting and accusing words poured of his mouth and Khushi winced when his fingers moved up and began tightening around her arms.
"My final year exams just got over, Shyamji. I need to study for the Masters entrance exam", she answered, keeping her gaze and her tone down.
"You need another degree now? I do not remember us discussing this before. Is it a ploy to hold off the wedding for another two years?" He released her arms and stepped back. She could see faint fingermarks on her upper arm.
"No" she replied after a beat. It is a ploy to get a good degree, get a job, become financially independent and then run the hell away from you. The words remained stuffed in her mouth.
"Good. Because this Masters thing is not going to work.You can give your entrance exams if you want to pass the time but after that we are getting married. I have told Amma to speak to a Pundit and get the date fixed. We get married and you be the good daughter-in-law your Buaji would have wanted you to be" He said, his voice taking a cool but condescending manner.
She did not nod or reply, now unfazed by the mention of her deceased Buaji.
"We paid all her medical bills. We bore your responsibility too, Khushiji. Do not forget that. My family has been here for you. And that is not going to change. I am responsible for you and I am going to take care of you" His words shifted in tone when met by her silence.
She nodded knowing that he will keep talking if she does not respond.
"Good. Amma will be coming to meet you soon. She will take you shopping", he said and she nodded again.
When he did not move or leave, Khushi looked up to match his gaze and shivered inside. He was staring at her and his eyes had dilated. This was rare but whenever that look appeared in his eyes, Khushi felt her skin crawling.
"We will be husband and wife soon" he spoke, sounding as if in a daze. Khushi realised he was saying that more to himself than to her. As if it was a way of delaying himself from taking what he has been eyeing for too long. She wanted to run away from those lustful eyes.
"I have to cook food now, Shyamji. Namaste" she said, hoping that would get him moving.
He lingered for a few more seconds, his gaze running around before settling back on her.
"Namaste, Khushiji. I wil see you soon" He said and she followed after him until he was out of the door and then she locked it from the inside.
Nothing but heavy silence filled her head and the house as she walked back to the sofa and sat down in it.
Her Buaji's kind and loving face swam in her vision. The woman who had found her more than a year after Arnav had left the orphanage. With her, Khushi had settled in Kanpur. But, as her fate would have it, her Buaji too had passed away within a couple of years, leaving her an orphan again.
Thinking of her Buaji, Khushi curled on the sofa and let her tears flow freely.
*Two months Later*
She stared blankly at the wall in front of her, unable to feel anything. In front of her, there was a flurry of activities, as men in uniform went about their work. She focused on the walls where the plaster was chipping and the ceilings where mould had started to grow because of the dampness. There was a strong smell of tea and cigarettes in the air. It was the first time she was inside a police station.
"Madamji, you should go home now. Sitting here is not going to change anything. Inspector saahab is not available today. He is on leave. Your FIR will be registered when he comes back" a female police staff spoke to her, apparently moved by her situation.
She looked at the woman with helplessness and questions in her eyes before speaking up.
"I do not have a home anymore" As she said the words, tears started pooling in her eyes again, the realisation of the situation settling in.
"This world is like this only, Madamji. If you look around you will see everyone here has bad things happen to them. The police cannot do much. As a woman, I will suggest that you find a place to stay. This matter is going to stretch over months. Do you have a friend?"
The question made her blink. Does she have a friend?
Arnav!
The name rose in her heart but she pushed it deep down. He was hundreds of kilometres away. And it was not just kilometres that seperated them. He was only ghost of a friend. He had bade hergoodbye under a banyan tree on a rainy evening. She cannot go looking for him. Especially now when she was so vulnerable.
"He will not see you as anything more than an opportunist and a greedy gold digger" Shyam's words came back to bite her.
"Do you have friends?" The policeman asked her again.
"Not here in Kanpur. I have college friends in Delhi" she replied. Thinking of Payal and Akash.
"Call them. They can help you. I know a government shelter home for women. In the meantime, you can stay there. Come back to the station in two days. Maybe your FIR can be filed" the woman said.
She nodded at the information and stood up. The woman handed her a card which had the name and address of a shelter home.
"I will make a call to the shelter. They will take you. But, before you go there, go and see a doctor. Those wounds need treatment"
The wounds that she could hardly feel in front of the emotional scars life had dealt her with.
"Yadavji! Drop her to the government hospital. I don't think she can walk on her own so far" the woman called out to a constable.
Khushi barely registered the drive to the hospital, or the antiseptic sting of the doctor’s care. The world outside her grew dim, muffled, as though she were walking underwater. She spoke only when spoken to.
At the end of the day, she found herself in the dormitory of a state-sponsored shelter home. The room was vast and impersonal, rows of iron-framed beds stretching out under flickering tubelights. She lay emotionless on the hard mattress, covering herself with the thin blanket that barely shielded her from the chill that seemed to seep from the very walls. Above her, the ceiling stretched like an indifferent sky, its cracks forming shapes she didn’t have the will to interpret. The faint hum of whispers from other women in the shelter drifted around her, blending with the occasional screeching of metal bed frames. Yet, even in this room crowded with exhaustion and despair, she felt utterly alone.
Her body ached, not only from the wounds hastily bandaged earlier, but from the weight of everything she had suffered so far. Every bruise, every scar whispered the same story—a tale of survival in a world that seemed determined to crush her spirit. And yet, despite the suffocating heaviness in her chest, something stirred within her.
She closed her eyes, the tears still warm against her cheeks, and saw her Buaji’s face in the darkness—smiling, encouraging, believing in her even when she had no belief left for herself. That face had been her anchor, her reason to endure so long. But, she was long gone, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
"I tried, Buaji. I give up now. I know you wanted happiness for me. But it is not possible. They are not the people we thought them to be. Especially him. He is a monster and.." Khushi could not finish her thoughts, choking on her emotions.
The world has been harsh and unforgiving with her, mocking her with one challenge after another. Did it expect her to crumble under the weight of all that has gone wrong or to fight back?
Her fingers curled into fists, clutching the coarse edge of the blanket. No, she thought. She wouldn’t give the world that satisfaction.
Tomorrow. That word took shape in her mind, fragile butsteady, like the first flame of a candle in a dark night. Tomorrow would not belike today. Tomorrow, she will fight. Not for revenge, nor for the approval of those who had belittled her. But, she will fight for herself.
The bed was hard, the night unkind, but as Khushi stared at the cracked ceiling, she felt a quiet resolve bloom within her. With a long, steady breath, she turned to her side, the cold air biting at her skin. It didn’t matter. Tomorrow will come, and when it will, she will be ready to face it.
*Three Years Later*
She stepped out of the auto and paused, her eyes tracing the tall, modern marvel before her. Raizada Heights. The name gleamed in polished letters atop the sleek glass façade, the building standing proud and unwavering against the Delhi skyline. She craned her neck, her heart both racing and sinking, unsure if it was admiration or apprehension she felt. Taking a deep breath, she adjusted the strap of her handbag and stepped forward, the glass doors parting with effortless precision to welcome her into the world she was about to join.
At the reception, she introduced herself with measured politeness, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of nerves. The receptionist, efficient and immaculately dressed, directed her to the elevator, telling her to proceed to the fifth floor.
As she entered the elevator, surrounded by strangers in crisp suits and whispered conversations, her thoughts drifted to the person who had been haunting the edges of her mind since she had received the offer letter from Raizada Textiles. Arnav Singh Raizada. Was it possible that he worked here? Would she see him? And if she did—what could she possibly say? Would he even remember her?
Her grip tightened on her handbag as the elevator ascended, her pulse quickening. “Focus, Khushi,” she told herself, banishing the thoughts with practiced determination. When the doors opened, she was greeted by the glow of a well-lit hallway, lined with glass cubicles and bustling with purposeful activity.
The name Lavanya Kashyap on her offer letter caught her eye again, grounding her momentarily. She was still looking around when a voice broke through her thoughts.
“Khushi Gupta?”
She turned to see a woman peeking out from a sleek glass cabin. She nodded and walked toward her, her smile calm yet polite. Once inside, the blinds were drawn with a push of a button, and the woman—elegant, poised, and intimidatingly polished—took her seat behind a large desk.
Lavanya Kashyap’s gaze was sharp, appraising, but she met it with quiet composure, her soft smile unwavering—a skill she had honed through her academic and professional journey.
“You have only a year's worth of experience,” Lavanya began, her tone crisp, “but your grades and internship reviews are exceptional. Even the letter of recommendation from your previous employer is strongly worded.That is why you were selected.”
She acknowledged this with a slight nod, sensing both the challenge and the opportunity in her words. Lavanya continued, laying out expectations and boundaries with practiced authority.
“This is a workplace, not a social club. Be punctual, be dedicated, and leave your personal life at the door. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, her voice steady, though Lavanya’s words lingered longer than she cared to admit.
She was then introduced to Pam, Lavanya’s assistant, who briskly walked her through the floor toward Rakshit Banerjee’s cabin. Along the way, Pam chattered about company dynamics, casually dropping names like ARA Studio and Arnav Singh Raizada.
Khushi’s heart gave an involuntary jolt at the mention of his name, but she maintained her composure. She told herself it didn’t matter. He was just a name now—a name tied to an empire she was only a small part of.
Inside Rakshit’s cabin, she was greeted warmly and handed her welcome kit, along with a detailed outline of her responsibilities. His approachable demeanor eased her nerves, and the transition into her role felt manageable, if not seamless.
*Six Months Later*
Time passed swiftly, each day consumed by the demanding rhythm of her job. She wittingly threw herself into her work with unwavering dedication, spending long hours at the office and even taking on weekend assignments. The two-bedroom flat she shared with Payal became her sanctuary—a space she decorated with care, each detail reflecting her newfound independence.
At Raizada Textiles, her efforts didn’t go unnoticed. Rakshit was an encouraging mentor, and over time, even Lavanya’s approval became apparent. The praise and the year-end bonus she received felt hard-earned, but they were proof that her relentless focus was paying off.
And yet, amidst her growing sense of accomplishment, a shadow lingered. Arnav Singh Raizada. He remained a distant figure, spoken of in reverent tones during lunch breaks and office chatter. He was a perfectionist, a workaholic, and rarely ventured beyond the sacred ground of ARA Studio.
Most days, she told herself this was a blessing. His absence allowed her to focus, free from the ghosts of their past. But there were moments—quiet, unguarded moments—when she wondered. What would it be like to see him again? Would he still carry traces of the boy she once knew? Or had time and success reshaped him into someone entirely unrecognizable?
These thoughts, however fleeting, were tucked away as soon as they surfaced. She had built a life here, one brick at a time, and she wasn’t about to let memories weaken her resolve.
But life had a way of testing her resolve, of throwing unexpected challenges when she least expected them. The storm that had once torn through her life wasn’t done with her yet.
One ordinary afternoon, amidst the quiet hum of her workspace, she received a call from the receptionist. A man was waiting for her in the lobby.
Her heart seized, as though it had been yanked from its rhythm. A strange foreboding settled over her. Could it be him? How could he have found her after all these years?
She made her way to the lobby with measured steps, every inch of her body taut with apprehension. She reminded herself of the strength she had nurtured over the years, the courage that had carried her through storms. But as she stepped into the lobby and her eyes fell on him, all her resolve seemed to crumble.
Sweat broke out on her skin, and her breath caught. How had he found her?
“Khushiji,” he greeted her, his voice carrying that insincere sweetness she knew all too well.
Her fists clenched by her sides as bile rose in her throat.“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice a blend of anger and forced calm.
He smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and spoke as though his words were dipped in honey. “You disappeared on me. Changed your number, your address. How am I supposed to get a hold of you if I need to talk about something, Khushiji"
The saccharine venom of his words made her stomach churn. She closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. When she opened them, her gaze was resolute.
"First, This is my workplace. Second, we have nothing to talk about. Speak to my lawyer," she said, her tone low but firm, laced with the quiet authority she had taught herself to wield.
Shyam’s smile twisted into something more sinister, his voice dropping to a mocking murmur. “Come on, Khushiji! Don't I know whose workplace this is? The name is written on the building. Arnav Singh Raizada? Or his father? Perhaps you think the father’s fortune outshines the adopted son’s.” Shyam stepped closer. His words, sharp and calculated, struck her like tiny, stinging daggers.
She immediately stepped back, turned on her heel, unwilling to waste another breath on him. She knew how filthy his mind and tongue could get.
“Please ask the security to escort this man out,” she said curtly as she approached the receptionist.
Behind her, Shyam’s laugh echoed, chilling and triumphant.“Oh, I’ll leave for now. But you can’t avoid me forever, Khushiji. I know where you work. You will see me again.”
She didn’t turn to watch him leave. Her focus stayed fixed on the receptionist, though her insides churned. She could feel his gaze on her back as he exited, leaving behind a trail of unease and bitterness.
When she returned to her desk, Akash intercepted her in the hallway. One glance at her face and his concern was evident.
“Khushi, what happened? You look shaken.”
For a moment, she hesitated, unsure if she could bring herself to speak about it. But then, the words tumbled out in a low murmur, recounting her encounter with Shyam.
Akash’s jaw tightened, his expression darkening. “What does that piece of trash want now?” he asked, his voice brimming with anger.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice heavy. “He didn’t say anything specific. Just that he knows where I work and that he’ll be back.”
A tense silence fell between them. Akash’s shoulders seemed to stiffen with unspoken thoughts, but he chose to let it drop, instead offering a change of subject.
“I heard ARA Studio is hosting a big party soon—something about celebrating its seven-year anniversary. Even employees from RaizadaTextiles are invited,” he said cautiously, his tone lighter. “Rakshit mentioned it to Ms. Kashyap yesterday.”
The news landed heavily in Khushi’s mind, stirring an unease she hadn’t expected.
“Is it mandatory for everyone to attend?” she asked, trying to sound indifferent.
“I don’t know. That’s probably for Ms. Kashyap or Rakshit to decide,” Akash replied. “I’m planning to go, though. You know how much Payal loves these things.”
She offered a faint smile, imagining her exuberant flatmate already planning outfits in her mind.
“What about you?” Akash asked, his voice careful, as though probing without wanting to intrude.
Khushi shook her head firmly. “If I can avoid it, I will.You know I much prefer my books to parties.”
He gave her a look—one of quiet understanding—but didn’t push further, for which she was grateful. That sort of persistence was Payal’s domain.
“Back to work, then?” he said with a half-smile, signaling the end of the conversation.
“Gladly,” she replied, though her heart felt far from steady.
As she settled back at her desk, she forced herself to focus on her tasks, shutting out the cacophony of thoughts vying for her attention.
Shyam’s reappearance had shaken her, but now another thought gnawed at her edges—the chance to meet Arnav.
It unsettled her in ways she hadn’t anticipated.
_______
For further chapters, kindly follow the story on fanfiction forum: ArShi SS: Lost and Found
Edited by Pearl_Oyster - 4 months ago
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