Note: I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this one. I'm not sure if I managed to hit what I wanted to, but I'm posting it anyway. I hope you enjoy it!
The white jeep sputtered up to the large haveli, the shining white paint stained with dark splotches from the mud kicked up by the wheels. As the dust settled, he stepped out of the jeep, walking over to the other side to open it for his wife.
Her long hair was pulled back right above her ears, pinned with a turquoise clip with shining silver accents that glinted in the sunlight. The clip was just the right size for his hand, he recalled, as he felt the urge to reach out and let the strands of hair free from their confines.
He had bought it for her while he had taken her sightseeing in Jaipur. Singh Sir and his overly romantic wife Gitanjali Madam, who Rudra looked upon as a mother, had insisted upon paying for their pyaari gudiya to go see Jaipur. He had opened his mouth to protest, about to cite her safety concerns, but he was quickly silenced with one glare from Gitanjali Madam.
It wasn't that he didn't want to go. It was that he didn't think he could control his own desires any further if he was forced to spend more time with her.
He had known when he had first rescued her that their attraction was potent, feeling the tips of his fingers burn when they brushed against her waist as he tackled her to the ground, protecting her from the licking flames of the fire.
But he had never expected it to be this strong.
The night of the party, he had walked towards her without consideration of his half finished sentence directed at Aman. He could not draw his eyes away once they had found her, tracing every single line of her body with burning passion. By the time the night was over, his hands had skimmed every possible curve of her body, and his eyes knew her figure better than his own.
He had been tipsy, yes, but he still felt himself hardening at the mere thought of her pressed against him that night, curling her body into his and moulding it against himself in all the right places. She had shifted constantly, attempting to find the perfect nook to squeeze herself into. The tips of her fingers had played with his senses the entire night, wrapping themselves around his own again and again.
No other woman had held so much power over him as she did, and she wasn't even aware of it. It was one of the reasons he had pushed her away so insistently, accusing her of seducing him. He didn't like losing control of himself, feeling his insides turn to jelly at the sight of her back when she had refused to show her face to him, carefully sliding against the rough, brick tiles as she shielded her face from his probing eyes.
She was supposed to be losing control at his broody gazes. He had seen her eyes flit up and down his uniformed body when he walked in, seen her appreciative gaze when he dressed up for the ball. But she remained oblivious to the flames that threatened to engulf them, oblivious to the idea of passion.
Whenever he tried to exert control over her, he found himself on the defensive instead, desperately grasping at the last strings he had over the spiralling situation. She had seduced him, completely had him running behind her like an attached, young puppy, barking after anyone who even dared look at its master. And the worst part, was that she had done it without even trying.
Paro's innocence and overly trusting nature had him automatically assume the role of her protector. He took to standing in front of her whenever they went somewhere, his long fingers wrapped securely around her wrist to shield her from the roving, lustful glances of the men at the market.
They strolled through the Jaipur streets, with him carefully guarding her and snarling at any man who even turned his body towards her. He had attempted to keep his eyes from her face, knowing he would be lost if he had, but he couldn't stop himself at the sight of pure wonderment and joy in her eyes, drinking in every part of the chaotic atmosphere around her.
She had insisted upon stopping at a small, touristy stall, reaching appreciatively towards the various trinkets scattered around. He had immediately seen her eyes fall to the turquoise clip, her expressive eyes traveling over every inch of it.
"How much is it?" The vendor barely looked up from his position in the cool shade on a comfy stool, casually sipping on hot, ginger tea as he watched the people flock around him.
"Ek hazaar." His voice was bored and disinterested, ignoring the shocked gasp from Paro.
"Ek hazaar? In the gaon next to Biripur, I could get this for pennies! You're ripping off all the people here. Don't you feel ashamed?" He didn't look up, reaching for the packet of crispy Parle-G biscuits sitting by his side and lazily dipping it into his tea.
"Madam, if you can get it in your gaon, why don't you get it there? Why are you troubling me with your lectures? You village girls-" She had opened her mouth to protest in the soft, gentle way only she could, but before she could say anything, he had laced his fingers between hers and dragged her away, yelling at her about how they had now lost the tour group.
He didn't want her to be privy to the insults she was sure to get thrown at her by the man, calling her a naive gaon ki chori who knew nothing about how the real world worked.
Later that night, he had slipped out when Gitanjali Madam had whisked her away to play dress up, reaching the stall once more. He silently handed over the thousand rupees, ignoring the fact that it was ridiculously overpriced for a good so insignificant. On his way back, he picked up some imli as well, knowing it would bring a smile to her face and take away the fleeting glimpses of homesickness he had seen.
He was treated to the most brilliant smile he had received yet the next morning, gratitude and delight shining in her eyes as she pulled out his presents. She had immediately gone over to the mirror, pulling her still damp hair into the neat, tidy hairstyle he was so familiar with.
Just as she was reaching up, he strode up behind her, removing her hands from her hair and ignoring her shocked gasp of protest. He held her firmly in place, reaching for the thick, glossy strands himself and savoring the feel of them threading between his fingers. He deftly pinned them between the clasp of the clip, enjoying the way it stood out against the black wave.
When he looked up into the mirror, her eyes were trained on him, her pout fallen open in shock at his gestures. He was standing unreasonably close, his front pressed against her soft backside. Her waist was tantalizingly exposed, the light breeze sweeping in from the window and brushing away the carefully pinned dupatta. He felt the familiar pangs of desire swirl once again in his stomach, his gut clenching as he stepped away.
Damn it.
His eyes had followed the turquoise, shimmering clip all morning, watching as she slipped from room to room, avoiding his presence. The minute she sensed him, she would quickly make an excuse and run away like her damned butterfly friend, disappearing before he could even register what was happening.
He had noticed something was wrong as soon as they had arrived at the haveli. Kakisa had made her usual scathing remarks, but that was nothing new, and he knew Paro could handle herself against her. It was after Maithili's teasing comments that she had changed, turning a bright red and running from the room the minute she had a chance.
"Kya Paro, kaisa tha thaara honeymoon?" She had turned a becoming pink, her eyes bashfully tilted downwards.
"Honeymoon nahi, Jija. Major Saab had to attend, it was work related." Maithili's eyes had sparkled with mirth, not-so-subtly nudging the younger woman and giggling as she made her next comment.
"Can I expect a niece or a nephew sometime soon, or will I be kept waiting?" Paro's eyes had flown open, drifting over to him for a split second. Upon meeting his gaze, she had quickly looked away, blushing deeply and making an excuse about putting her clothes away.
He had barely seen her since, only catching glimpses of her flying ghagra as she swept from room to room with purposeful movements. He had stepped out for a while to return to work and take back his badges, feeling immensely satisfied at the familiar click of his gun into the holster and the sharp, shiny army boots he always wore. His stars were pinned neatly onto his broad shoulders, and he smiled into the interrogation room mirror, relishing the feeling of having his life back.
He pushed open the door to the haveli, looking for the woman who had done everything for him to get his job back. He had treated her like hell, but she had thrown herself into the fire just so that he could regain his livelihood. His guilt weighed him down, and he longed to catch a glimpse of her to put his mind at ease. He was about to take off his jacket and place it on the hook when someone crashed into him from behind.
He felt the hot tea burning him, running down his back as he yelped in surprise. He could feel the stinging burn and the rapid reddening of the injury as he whirled around to face the offender.
He looked down into the terrified eyes of his wife, her entire body trembling in fear as she held the handle of the tattered cup in her delicate hands, tea splashing all over the floor. He could see the beginnings of a deep cut pierce her fingers as she gripped the handle tightly, closing her eyes and stepping back slowly, moving away from him.
He reached out and pulled her roughly towards him, his fingers tightening around her slender wrist and pulling the sharp, jagged piece out of her hands. She looked away, her face turned away from him as she squirmed in his grasp.
"Stop moving, Paro!" His voice was thick and gritty as he attempted to assess the damage to her skin, firmly twisting her hand towards him. He heard her swallow and looked up to see giant, clear tears filling her eyes, spilling over and running down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please don't be angry. I didn't mean to, I swear. I know you hate it when your clothes get wet. I'm so sorry. I'm sor-" He cut her off, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief and wrapping it around the wound.
"Dard ho raha hai?" She shook her head uncertainly, licking her lips nervously as she continued to shift uncomfortably.
"Jhoot mat bolna Paro."
"H-haan." She stammered, her gaze landing everywhere but him. He nodded tightly as he continued to dress the wound, telling her in no uncertain terms that she was to see him later for antiseptic.
She ran the minute he let her go, turning into a blur as she sprinted away from him. As he watched her go, he was left in the doorway, pondering her strange behavior.
They were by no means a normal couple, but he had accepted her as a part of his life after all she had done for him. They had grown closer in Jaipur, sleeping next to each other on the bed. She would allow him to indulge his protective instincts, cowering close to him without him even warning her. Their hands would brush against the cups of their morning tea, and a comfortable silence often surrounded them instead of the usual tension.
But upon their return to the haveli, she had clammed up, running away from him. She wasn't the exuberant titli he had come to know, but a timid, scared child instead.
He thought over her actions in the last five minutes as he pulled off his shirt, glancing back in the mirror at his bare, toned back. The large splotch of his burn stood out against his bronzed skin, turning a sensitive red as it neared the center. As he observed the burn, he realized what was bothering her.
She was afraid.
She was scared that he would revert to the man he had been before Jaipur, the unforgiving beast that had made it his mission to torture her, to allow her to burn in his flames.
But her actions in front of the social worker had forced him to reevaluate his perspective on her, to soften his stance towards her. He couldn't continue accusing her of deeds he knew she hadn't done. He had lost all incentive to hate her, with not even one, flimsy reason left behind. She had beaten all of it, forced him to understand the misunderstandings that seemed to loom like a wall over them. He had no real reason to subject her to his anger anymore. And the thought unsettled him.
She had too much control over him, she was too stubborn. He couldn't fight her the way he normally fought. She left him no option but to give in, simply by disproving everything he held against her.
They had left for Jaipur immediately after, not giving the carefully placed truce to settle in.
She had assumed it was a facade put on for his boss and loving wife, one that would fall away upon their arrival at home.
He cursed profusely underneath his breath, realizing he would have to fix the situation. He had realized in Jaipur that fighting his growing emotions would only drive him to hurt her, bringing those dreaded tears back into her eyes. And the sight of those, hurt him more than they hurt her.
He remembered her drunken confession that she did not like him brushing her off, that she wanted him to take her because he wanted to, not because he was on some odd protective mission.
And at some level, he knew he wanted her with him too. He didn't fully understand why she had such a profound effect on him, or why he wanted her to be in his sight at all times. He didn't understand why the tightening of his gut was accompanied by pleasant, fluttering feelings, or why he felt the need to shield her from everything bad in the world, even if he turned around and inflicted it on her himself.
It was better coming from him than it would be coming from a stranger, someone who would not hesitate before plunging a dagger into her tender skin, he justified to himself. He didn't understand why panic would arise when he couldn't see her, safe and sound as she fluttered about the haveli, her anklets tinkling charmingly as she bounced around.
But he did understand that he would not be able to sleep if she wasn't in his arms, her floral scent enveloping him with his arm dead under her weight. He knew that he needed to protect her, to make sure she was happy. He understood that she meant something to him, even if he didn't know exactly what that was.
And that gave him back some of the control he so desperately desired, put the strings back in his own, deft fingers and gave him a sense of comfort.
She walked in later than usual that night, her steps measured as she walked towards the mat kept behind their cupboard. He sat on the bed, observing her as she reached for it, grabbing a pillow along with it.
The mat rustled as she unrolled it onto the floor, straightening out at the foot of the bed. She placed a blanket meticulously at one end of the mat, fluffing up her pillow and placing it on the opposing side.
She was about to collapse down onto the mat in exhaustion, fully ready to succumb to the fatigue plaguing her body, when she heard his soft voice behind her.
"Paro, you won't sleep on the bed?" She looked determinedly ahead, steeling her traitorous heart.
"Woh, aap- I'll sleep here." She saw his head bob thoughtfully, his fingers playing with the edge of the soft blanket on his bed.
"And if the mice come back tonight?"
"I'll... I'll tell them to leave." She was firm in her statement, and she could hear him trying to restrain his laughter as he looked at her, amusement tinging the husky notes of his voice. She strained to hear his quiet chuckles, enjoying the sound as it filled her ears.
She expected his next statement to be laced with the cutting sarcasm she was so familiar with, expecting him to comment on her close relationship with the mice she both feared and protected.
"Come to our bed, Paro." She whipped around at the soft, almost pleading tone in his voice, her confused hazel gaze meeting his own molten one. They sat there for a moment, staring steadily into each other's eyes, desperately attempting to pull out the hidden, weighted meanings behind their words.
His eyes beckoned her, requesting her with unprecedented gentleness to join him in their bed. She swallowed, looking away for a brief moment.
Then, she walked over, leaving the carefully placed pillow and mat lying abandoned on the floor.
She slipped into his arms, underneath the warm cover of the worn blanket. She nestled herself into him, curving her body to fit his and adjusting it to find just the right place.
Just as her eyes were about to fall shut, she reached over and dragged his arm underneath her head, lacing her fingers between his own. She could feel his small smile on her back. She tightened her grip, and pulled him closer still.
The last thing she remembered before she allowed her eyes to droop was a barely there, fleeting kiss on the lobe of her ear.
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Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
