SV SS: Echoes of Love = UPD PG 46 (16/10-09)

Sagar and Vidya

The heavy stone he kicked hit a larger rock, bounced back, tagging him hard on the ankle. Lifting his ankle to rub the spot and hopping on one foot he muttered words he normally wouldn't. In the next breath he was blaming it on her! "Damn her! This wouldn't be happening if she refused. Why couldn't just she refuse?" he thought, furious to the core. "Nahi, she had to sacrifice herself. And me! Leave it to Papa to find the last old-fashioned girl, his tone snotty and aggravated, in India." He rolled his eyes and grimaced tightly when he recalled how she bowed down, acquiesced without even a gasp or a murmur, when her Chacha told her she will marry a complete stranger. "She's all, "I will die before I dishonor the family", behengi" he said in a very snippy falsetto voice. Then looked quickly to see if there was anyone around to hear him. This too caused an angry groan. "Now, I'm talking to myself, out loud! All because of, gritting his teeth hard, her! Hey Bhagwan you hate me so much? Arrey, why me?!" he exclaimed gruffly, raking his fingers through his thick dark hair, then smoothing it back into place out of habit.

His darkly brown eyes, usually full of humor and mischief, were almost black with anger and frustration. But even with anger tightening his jaw, stiffening his shoulders and pulling down the corners of his very sexy mouth, his masculine appeal was undeniable. His body fit and athletic, his shoulders wide, his stomach flat and tight, his arms and legs lean and muscled. All of which were displayed very nicely in a fitted, tailored white shirt and tight faded jeans. Several girls walking by him, stared longingly at him. He had them sighing forlornly when he didn't even notice them. This too was unusual. Any other day he would have smiled invitingly and flirted outrageously. But today he was sunk in a pit of misery. Some of his own making. But most of the blame for his misery, he placed squarely on her shoulders. Fair or not, that was how he was feeling at the moment. His Father had been warning for the last year that if he had not chosen a bride by the time he was twenty-five, he would do it for him! He hadn't believed him. He had always been able to get around his Dad. But not this time. Besides, he was a grown man! Not some boy in knee pants to be dictated too! Right!? "What the hell is Dad thinking? She's just ... a dumb village girl. She's only nineteen! Not even a woman!" bafflement coating his voice.

He jammed his hands in his pockets roughly, slicing his knuckle on the sharp edge of his keyring, forgetting he shoved it in there earlier. "Damn!" he said as he sucked at the bleeding cut. "Is that your plan Bhagwan, get me to bruise myself black and blue to remind me of my duty?" he sighed heavily. Knuckle still in his mouth, he saw her coming toward him. "My God, she is beautiful" he thought dazedly. He couldn't deny it. Those luscious curves and angles of her body, skin that looked as soft as expensive silk, big expressive dark brown eyes. Long shiny thick hair, the color of ripe blackberries, that fell over her shoulder to her slender waist. And a lush delectable mouth that most men would probably fight, and die for, just to have a taste of. "But it doesn't make one damn bit of difference!" he said fiercely under his breath. Almost as if to convince himself as he rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension starting to build there. He didn't want to get married, and he especially didn't want to get married to a stranger, a baby.

He pulled the knuckle from his mouth, a dry swallow scraping down his throat as that "baby" walked towards him. One corner of that luscious mouth was forming a wobbly tentative smile, as she approached him. The sway of her supple hips holding him mesmerized for a moment. Surprising both of them, she took his hand gently into hers. She dabbed carefully at the cut with the end of her pallu. "God, he even smells as good as he looks" she thought dreamily. "I was right, her skin is as soft as expensive silk" he mused. He wanted to reach out and touch her hair, to see if it was a satiny as it looked. His hand way ahead of his brain as it hovered, fingers stretched out over the top of her head. He curled his fingers tightly into his palm, digging in his nails and yanked his injured hand out of her grasp. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he muttered softly. Appalled by the tingle racing over his scalp and the swirl of unwanted desire flaring hotly in his gut, just from the soft touch of her hand on his.

She was shy, almost compulsively so. Chacha and Chachi had kept her secluded, never permitting her to go far from the house. Basically a prisoner, a lowly servant in her own home. Never permitted to go to school, she was very self-conscious of her lack of education. Though she had taught herself to read and write, she kept that knowledge to herself. Unsure of why, just knowing instinctively that she shouldn't share that information with Chacha and Chachi.

Feeling bemused and out of sorts, she kept her head lowered when he yanked his hand from hers. Her velvety brown eyes wide with embarrassment, her cheeks flushing rosily. She had never touched a boy, a man, she corrected mentally, so freely, so easily. But she had felt a compulsion to be close to him. To take care of his hurts, no matter how small. And she admitted to herself, with a furious hot blush, to see if he really looked as good close up as he had from behind the tree in the front courtyard, when he had arrived with his Father. Chacha and Chachi had banished her to the back garden when they heard the car pull up to the house. But she had stolen around front and hidden behind the tree.

"Better!" she thought with a sigh. "He's so ... beautiful!" she whispered. She almost jumped when she had felt the hard flutter of her heart in her chest and an odd jittery awareness in her belly. She bit the inside of her cheek, an old habit, amazed at the errant thought. But she was totally bewildered when her entire body had suffused with heat just being close to him, and touching his hand. She sighed sadly, heavily, watching him walk away to sit under an ancient banyan tree, slouching dejectedly against the huge trunk. Slowly, as if afraid to disturb him, she walked over to him. He knew she was in front of him, when he saw her bare toes peeking out from under the hem of her sari. He looked up into those sad chocolate eyes with regret, surprised to see the same regret mirrored in hers. In unison they said "Vidya", "Sagar."