Twist Of Fate Chapter8 Pg 118 27/07 NEW! - Page 43

Chapter#5| Echoes From The Past

"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever."
Alfred Tennyson

---

There was barely an apology of a sun, the thin vortex still weak and faint. In the flickering, filtered sunlight, the shopkeepers rubbed the drowse from their eyes and peered at Khushi in astonishment. Strolling across the various displays of cloth materials, she indicated a certain piece with her hand, as one of the tall boys, climbed up to take it out. It was a beautiful shade of red, filigree embroidery adorning the whole material.

The shopkeepers gawking at her, all knew Khushi Bhabhi very well. Never had she once purchased anything that was even remotely close to the color red. She used to buy all colors, ranging from green to black, for her, and her daughter. But never red.

So when one of the men cut out a few meters of the red material for her, watching her as she opened her cloth pouch and laid out some fifty rupee notes, he couldn't stop himself from asking. "Bhabhi, some special occasion? Someone special...?" The forlorn man's puny eyes regarded her face, with a small smile, as he watched her face heat up as she snapped at him. "Just pack it Dada, I hope the money is all right," Khushi glared at him, hastily picking up the small packet and scuttling out of the shop.

---

Khushi halted her faltering footsteps, letting her knees buckle over a large weathered boulder facing the calm Dhalipur Lake of the town. She watched a small rowing craft move off on its journey across the quaint lake, leaving her to the mercies of the cutting winds that seemed to pierce through flesh and bone, to freeze the marrow. Pulling her light shawl more closely over herself, she closed her eyes, letting the chill, ebb away her undulating chain of thoughts.

She looked down at her lap, staring hard at the little packet that had the red material, and the other paper packet having pouches of coffee beans and sachets of Sugar-Free. If he would be there for a few weeks, he would have coffee, only, and then his diabetes.., Khushi thought affectionately, but moments later, she mentally berated herself, reminding herself that she was angry. Or at least, that she was supposed to be angry with the man who had willfully removed her from his life, his immediate vicinity.

Yet, despite everything, every time she saw that face, every drop of her supposed anger vanished, getting diluted somewhere in the pooling love, that threatened to spill from her eyes.

Khushi still wanted him to hold her, envelop her in his strong arms, and ask her to come back with him.

And if nothing worked out, she would still try. This time, for Aashna.

---

Khushi slowly opened the door that never failed to make a deep creaking sound, as she entered the room given to Arnav, with traipsed footsteps edging closer to the wooden bed. Soft streaks of yellow light seeped through the curtains, getting mixed with the dull grey of the room, dappling his face, highlighting the contours of the hard jaw and the aristocratic nose. His hair fell over his face, and Khushi's fingers inadvertently lingered over his forehead, combing through his hair, she then bent just a little, the light yellow of her chiffon pallu, skimmed over his neck, as she placed a fleeting kiss on his forehead that removed the small frown effectively.

She stood there for a few ambling seconds, admiring and scrutinizing his face, before turning around and moving towards the store cupboard, searching for the new sack of petticoats she had bought a few weeks ago. Khushi's hands rummaged over piles of Aashna's jeans, her old school-uniforms, till after exactly five minutes or so, her fingers stilled.

Khushi recognized the familiar sensation that crept up her senses every time; Arnav was standing too close to her. And she knew, then, that he was standing right behind her, a breath away, and sending unexplained, yet very familiar shivers down her body.

She admitted to herself wantonly, that she had missed this. Missed the aberrant beating of her heart, the tingles flowing through her whole body, which had not failed to make her feel alive, even after so many years.

But he was awake, could he have known, that she had ki...Khushi thought , but his voice stilled her.

"I'm sorry if my sudden visit is of any inconvenience to you, I can...you know...check into a hotel...," Arnav stammered incoherently.

Khushi didn't respond. In fact, as if she knew what irked him years ago, would irk him even then, she put her hands to use once again, looking for things that didn't exist, at least not for her.

After about half a minute, he spoke again. And Khushi sensed victory, when she felt a little annoyance seep up his words, though she noted that his patience level had increased admirably over the years.

"I am talking to you, I'm sorry if my sudden arrival has...are you even listening?" Arnav had started out, with patience, but by the end of the malformed sentence, and after having faced her back for about three whole minutes, he was slowly loosing every ounce of control.

And as if he had been waiting to just do this for the past years, his mastered hands gripped her arms tightly, fingers digging into her flesh, turning her around with tangible strength.

But the second, their eyes collided, a stormy clash of burning shades of brown, her sense of victory and his annoyance floated away into thin air. Multitude of emotions clung into the electrified air, making Arnav want to, at that very moment, to just sweep her away in his arms, and just hold her close, and never, never let go.

"It's of no inconvenience, however, there is no water supply in the taps of my washroom, and Aashna has to get ready for school, NK has..."

"You can use the one in this room Khushi," Arnav cut through her fumbling cluster of words.

They both were however visited once again by sweet memories of the past, when they both had fought like lousy kids, over the prospect of using the washroom first. Brief, yet immensely satisfying touches over the damned door knob of the washroom, sending simmering sparks through them, yet not being able to stop their tirade of admonishing words said in bouts of reeling irritation.

Then Arnav had almost always tricked Khushi into using the washroom first, though there had been consequences, giving due credit to cockroaches and slippery foam, Khushi's clumsy footwork and water supply pipes.

Therefore, if Khushi was surprised, she didn't show it. She nodded briefly, before scampering away from his room.

---

When much later, Khushi emerged from his washroom, Arnav had been pacing the room, barking orders on his phone. But the moment her turned away from the door of his room, and his eyes landed on Khushi, everything appeased.

A sheer goddess, Arnav would think later, as he watched her walk towards him, adorned in pale green chiffon, a drenched towel hanging from the ends of her dripping strands of hair. A rousing scent of fawn lilies spread around the room, and if Khushi thought that Arnav would move away from the door, to let her walk out, she was highly mistaken.

He stood there like a stupefied statue, barring the raging thoughts in his head. Ensorcelled by the lissome figure, he saw patches of water dampening the snug blouse, and he couldn't help but let his mind think of the forbidden. He wondered, if he would then walk up to her, place his palm on the willowy slope of her throat, encircling it, letting the tiny drops of water moisten his rugged skin, would she lower her eyes, turning away her face, laying bare to his eyes, the porcelain expanse of her shoulders, and inviting him to devour her there and then.

Would she then, clench his elbows tighter, gasping for breath, as he would plant small kisses like tiny seeds, all over her face, her neck, the base of her throat. Would she, quiver in his arms, as he would dip his head into the intoxicating valley of her bosom, inhaling with the vigor of an addict, the aphrodisiac. Would she, he thought helplessly, bury her head into his chest, if he fisted up her dripping wet hair, kissing away, drinking in the ambrosia flavored water. He would wonder much later, that the fragrant mystery of her body was greater than the mystery of life. Would she, he though fervently, glide her fingers through his hair, while he delved into the confines of her delectable lips. Would Khushi ...but before he went any further with his wayward thought, he vigorously shook his head, and abruptly turned, away from her, facing the dull walls of the room.

---

Khushi was angry; reeling with unusual fury when she saw him, purposely turn away from her. She had half a mind to shout at him, but seconds later, after edging closer to him, she realized that she had nothing at all to say. So she silently stepped out of the room without say a word.

About an hour later, after calling the plumber, when she was about to enter the kitchen, she saw a truly magical sight. There at the small teak dining table of her house, sat Aashna, animatedly taking to Arnav. She realized it was no longer a house, but years later she could proudly call it a home.

She gazed at him lovingly, observing the angles of his hand, and the slight movement of his fingers as they tapped on one of Aashna's project sheets. She watched as if in a trance, induced by his achingly long absence from her life, as those long fingers, reached out for the coffee mug. She watched captivated as the delicate lines of his chin rose and fell, in coordination with his effortless flow of words.

Then suddenly she saw him turn his eyes away from Aashna and look directly at her. It was one of those unexplainable moments of eye contact that was immediately overanalyzed and inevitably misread. Khushi turned around and escaped into her kitchen, supporting her body against the icy granite.

Like old times, whenever she sought to turn away from him, and he ardently followed her, this time too, within seconds, she felt him right behind her. The damp air was cut through by his voice, emanating steely curiosity.

"Is Aashna my daughter, Khushi?"

Blatantly straightforward, not the slightest hint of hesitation that would have matched the bubbling anticipation brewing in his mind. But when Arnav felt her shoulders stiffen, the silence between then intensifying with every passing second, he reframed his question, aptly.

"Is Aashna our daughter, Khushi?"

When Khushi finally breathed out a raspy Yes, she saw Arnav come up beside her, resting his hands on the phthalo green granite slab. His left land was placed an inch away from her right hand. She saw, him raise his fingers, uplifting his hand, as if it were too heavy. Khushi closed her eyes, her senses trembling with sweet contemplation. But the touch of his callous skin on her hand never came.

Khushi opened her eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted, hearing the very familiar sound of his retreating footsteps and looking at the empty space beside her.

She was convinced that day, that her very actuality was a completely woven riot of passion and desire.

Always wanting, Always pining. Always yearning, Yet achingly, never truly satisfied.

Little did she realize that, Arnav too would be thinking exactly on that note, at that very moment.

---

But yes, Khushi did realize, that even the incomplete gesture of lifting his hands to want to place it over hers, meant a beautiful sense of reassurance, of companionship, of the fact, that he still loved her.

And that even after the dangerously long, barren patch of all the lost years, she still loved him. Maybe much more, if that was even possible.

If someone would wonder why, why hadn't those feelings, those sensations threatened to be diminished?

It would have been because of anything at all. The passion radiated by his gruff voice, the soft glance of his alluring eyes, or even one of his rare infectious smiles, in which her world would become lost and her reality found.

All that and more, it accumulated in her an avidity for things she didn't understand.

And though she might have dreamt or thought about the meaning of those weighted words in her life, every night Khushi would lie awake on her bed, imagine him there with her and over and over she'd whisper into the air, "I love you".

---