ArHi OS: Regrets

|-=-|

"Dammit Khushi, pick up the phone," he growled at the inanimate device.

His hand slammed the wheel as the call went to voicemail again. Hitting the brakes as he arrived in his driveway, he stalked towards the front door, muttering under his breath as he went. His anger mounted as the door stayed closed, forcing him to search out the keys he'd moments ago tossed into his bag. A curse left his lips as he slipped into the dark house, tripping over the Oriental rug which lay stretched out in its usual place.

"Khushi," he screamed into the still foyer, "would you please grow up?"

His anger refused to cease as he was greeted by the stark silence resonating through the house, no tinkle of anklets or annoyance laced words greeting his arrival as usual. Grumbling he inched his way to the wall, flicking the switches that flooded the great hall with light. His eyes quickly scanned the open room and the minimal hallways leading away from it, gritting his teeth as she refused to appear from the shadows.

Flinging the dark briefcase onto the nearby couch he made he headed to his room. "Khushi," he called out, "for the last time, I'm not in the mood so stop hiding."

He descended the stairs soon after, forehead furrowing in annoyance laced with worry as he realized she still hadn't appeared. He called her name again, making his way through the house once more to check, calling out about his hunger pangs in case that sent her running to him like usual.

Nothing.

He racked his mind, inching towards the dining room in hopes of food, had she mentioned anything about staying out late? No, he would remember stuff like that. So this was just her way of getting back for this morning, real mature, he thought bitterly as he poked around in the kitchen.

Aggravated, he swept a container of her cookies off the counter; there wasn't a damn edible thing in this house! He roared out her name, angry at the dependence he held upon the woman, his wife.

Fine, if he had to fend for himself, fine. He had survived just fine before her existence, he could do this easily. He cursed her mentally again as he rummaged through the fridge. Desperately, he pulled out the rice he so loathed, making a face as he headed towards the microwave he'd barely used since they'd bought it a year ago.

He startled suddenly as the phone began squealing again, eyes rolling as her name flashed on the screen. "Seriously," he began, "this is the limit. You and I both know that you knew I was in a meeting so-"

"Sir?"

He halted mid step at the male voice, "who is this," he asked hotly, "why do you have my wife's phone?"

"Mr. Governor-"

"Excuse me?"

"You are, it says... Laad Governor?"

Arnav rolled his eyes; this woman would drive him mad, "Arnav, Arnav Singh Raizada. And you have my wife's phone, where is she?"

"I-" the voice said hesitantly, "I'm sorry sir."