Arhi FF |Mohabat Door Jaane Na De| *Complete!* #1 - Page 24

Chapter Ten

They had fallen asleep by the poolside.

Arnav's arms were still twined around Khushi's waist, his head resting on her lap. Khushi had leaned off to the side, and rested against the arm of the deckchair. Her hands rested lightly on him, where his shoulder sloped down to his back. Arnav did not remember afterwards when she had placed her hands on him, whether to comfort him, to ease away his pain, or whether it had been involuntary, perhaps done in her subconscious. Whatever it was, Arnav did not think too deeply into it; he did not want to dissect the perfection of that moment by breaking it apart trying to analyse it.

The first conscious thought in Arnav's head had been the feel of those hands on him. The touch had sent lightning fast jolts of electricity through him, setting him ablaze. Caught unawares by the intensity of what her touch could do to him, Arnav had lifted his head, somewhat disconcerted, to look at that angelic face, her cheeks streaked with the dried trail of tears. The sapphire studded light that shimmered off the surface of the water made her innocent sleeping face appear almost ethereal in its beauty, and Arnav's aching heart throbbed a little harder.

He had lifted her easily into his arms, marvelling at how natural it felt to carry her, how she moulded into him as though made for him. He had tucked her into bed with tenderness that could just as easily have been reverence, before climbing in himself, pausing only to unceremoniously kick off his shoes. He did not even bother to change out of his formals; the mere thought of spending a second away from her was unbearable.

Now, he gazed upon that beloved face, luminescent with its own innate glow, as he held her close to him like he had last night. If he had felt peaceful then, stretched out on the floor, then today he felt nothing short of being in paradise. He sighed in contentment as he wondered at how drastically his life had turned around.

Arnav Singh Raizada would have been scandalised at the very thought of succumbing to tears as completely as he had this evening. He would have considered that as a horrible admittance of defeat, and for a man for whom winning was everything, not only was that unacceptable, it was nothing short of heresy.

And yet, he could not regret those tears now. He did not feel even the slightest hint of vulnerability at how complete his surrender to his own feelings had been. It felt, instead, as though after so many days of dredging the rift between himself and Khushi deeper, that moment, where they both allowed the floodgate restraining their deepest sentiments to come flowing out, had symbolised a togetherness, a unity, that merely being near her physically could never have achieved. They were at one in that moment, their grief, their anguish merging together as a single entity.

When your heart feels something, you should say it...his Di's advice lingered about him like a diaphanous cloak, light and airy, feathery. Bhavna ... Khushi had said to him, urged him to feel, on that fateful day when he and Khushi had joined forces in an unthinkable alliance to get his family to acquiesce to Payal and Akash's marriage. Although then he felt he had triumphed by ultimately wielding his money and position in the face of Mamiji's veto, he knew now that such a victory was a hollow one. No amount of money, influence, power could win him his Khushi. No matter how much planning had gone into swaying her towards him again, it was in the end when he had followed his instincts, listened to the clamour of his heart over the dictates of his mind, that he had managed to overcome one of the biggest obstacles keeping him apart from his happiness.

At least now she knows I believe her.

In his heart of hearts, he knew it was not enough, knew that there was a lot more to do, to make up for, before he could redeem himself in her eyes. But at least now she did not have to depend on an ephemeral, dilapidated wall liable to crack whenever she felt her life drift in a direction beyond her control, where she could not predict, could not lay down, the steps it would take. At least now, his actions, his words, what they implied, what they symbolised, would not force her to fortify herself even more securely, but would rather welcome her to explore new possibilities, dream brighter, better dreams. Now he could safely intensify his attack, reduce to dust each of her misgivings one by one, before the chasm between them was no more.

He knew that that simply the knowledge that he believed her was not enough to rebuild her trust in him. If anything, and the thought made him grimace, it would breed more obstacles in his way. She would resent him, would get angry, she might even hate him. Gulping to force down the agony of that thought, Arnav thought a little wryly that she would be completely justified if she hated him. Yes, he had apologised, but that did not mean she would forgive. It fact, he knew, almost hoped, that she would not forgive him, not so easily at least. He would have to show her, prove to, that he trusted her, that she could trust in him. He would have to get his just rewards for breaking her so completely as he had.

It occurred to him, as he absent-mindedly brushed aside a strand of hair across her face, marvelling at how delicate her skin was, that if anything, Khushi would now attribute everything he had done since last night, all the words he had spoken to her, to his guilt, his attempts to make up for his past mistakes. She would not be entirely wrong in thinking that, he mused, although it was hardly anything to be pleased about. Then he sighed, and edged closer to Khushi again. He would just have to work twice as hard to persuade her, not only of the fact that he was truly remorseful for his actions, but also that whatever he did, would do from this point on, would not simply be his way of apology. They would be a matter of life and death, because they would decide whether he got to keep his little ray of sunshine for the rest of his life.

He had to show her what she meant to him. He had to show her that she was the reason he continued to breathe.

And at any rate, he reasoned with himself, pulling the duvet a little more securely around Khushi, he was certain that dealing with her resentment, her fury, her disbelief, would be far easier than trying to cross over the boundary she had put up out of fear of facing the nothingness her world had become. He could slowly strip those sentiments down to the ground, could badger them down with his own persistence, before finally being able to show her where she belonged in his life. To show her that she had claimed a position that until yesterday had belonged only to his sister. But today, Arnav had allowed his mask to slip in front her, had abandoned it almost entirely, and it was Arnav and not that mask that Khushi had cried for.

As sleep began to summon him again, Arnav suddenly felt grateful, although not entirely sure who he was being grateful to. He flashed back to earlier that morning, when Hari Prakash had called to inform him that he had removed the mattress Khushi kept rolled up inside one of the cupboards in his room, just before he had inadvertently revealed that his morning cup of coffee had Khushi's signature on it. He had felt that was a carefully calculated, neatly executed move, only to wonder afterwards what on earth he was going to say to Khushi to get her to claim her place on the bed. He was sure that had she discovered that her mattress was gone, she would either interpret it as him throwing her out of the room (which from her point of view would not be all that unlikely), or, which was the more frightening prospect, would sink even deeper inside herself as she refused to comprehend what it meant. But, by some immense stroke of luck, circumstances had crafted themselves in such a way that Khushi found her way where she belonged, not only with the knowledge that he had realised his mistake, but also without the painful preamble of trying to understand what had changed so drastically within one evening to cause a one-eighty degree reversal in his behaviour.

So once again heart had won over mind, and instinct had scored a significant victory where tireless planning had failed completely.

A faint pang of some blunt feeling bothered Arnav as he swam in and out consciousness, with a vague conviction that he had some explaining to do soon, some explaining which in a whirlpool of emotion neither had deemed necessary. It came with the slightest of suggestions of unease, of uncertainty.

But the only thought Arnav was aware of before finally drifting into the comforting avenues of slumber was that he was looking forward to his next conversation with his wife. Looking forward to her waking up in his arms, to seeing her first thing in the morning. Aware of the fact that he was somehow sure he would be- well- having fun.

***

It took Khushi a while before she was fully aware of her bearings.

As she regained consciousness, she felt a whole multitude of sensations she had not been in touch with for a while: warmth, contentment, restful and rested. It was only when she attempted to stretch, informing her sleeping muscles that it was time get up and about, that her limbs came into contact with something quite warm and solid, which, she just realised, had enclosed her in its hold completely.

Her eyes snapped open in shock. A scream died on her lips as she stared, wide-eyed, into the face of none other than the man holding her in a sleep-induced embrace. And as usual, her thoughts went into overdrive, pelting over one another as they rushed for priority, leaving Khushi even more flustered and confused than before. As reality sank its way firmly through her sleep-induced bewilderment, Khushi suddenly realised that not only had she somehow wound up asleep in Arnav's arms (again??!), but they also happened to be in bed, in his bed, under his duvet. Things did not get any better for her when she noted, her entire being rattled with the discovery, that the two of them were practically sharing one pillow in one corner of the massive king-sized bed.

Unable to handle the impact of the shock, Khushi sat up bolt upright.

Or at least tried to, because no sooner had her upper body lifted itself an inch off the bed, she was yanked back by an arm that folded itself more securely around her waist, so that she landed, hair falling across her face and interfering with her view, on Arnav's chest. Of all places.

'No', he mumbled sleepily, as he jerked at her arm again, making her head land on the crook of his neck.

Khushi's blood pressure had already soared, and she now thanked Devi Maiyya profusely for the fact that they were going to the hospital again today; at the rate at which her heart was overspeeding, she was convinced that it would not be long before it would veer out of control. At least at the hospital she would get prompt medical attention, she assured herself, because she was in no doubt that her dhak dhak, resounding loudly off the walls of the bedroom, had attained a pitch and magnitude not completely healthy for the human body.

She struggled repeatedly, and futilely as it transpired, to break free of his hold, but he would not budge. His grip was nothing short of being iron-strong; Khushi quickly shook her head to dismiss the observations popping up in her head unawares, noting how her body was reacting where it was in contact with his, how being moulded into his arms made her want to do nothing more but relapse into dreamland, how little currents of electricity were revitalising each one of her nerves to fever-pitch. She was not helped by the fact that the other half of her mind, the part which was trying to come up with a logical explanation of how she had ended up in this situation, was doing nothing more than coming up with short snatches of arguments and brief flashes of memories, both doing more to agitate than to calm her down.

Abandoning all attempts to think, which were not really helping her errant heartbeat, Khushi managed, with supreme effort, to find her voice.

'I- I-' she cleared her throat nervously, shaking her hair out of her eyes, 'I mean- you- I mean-'

'Khushi.' She felt her voice abandon her completely again, as he interrupted her. Round-eyed, she looked into his face; his eyes were still closed, but his jaw was stern. Even in his state of semi-consciousness, there was no mistaking the firmness in his voice; he sounded like he was admonishing a little child.

Feeling her heartbeat pick up again, Khushi hemmed timidly and then tried again.

'I have to-'

She was effectively silenced when Arnav suddenly heaved to one side, tipping her over so that she was now on her back on the bed, with half of his body resting on her, his arms winding themselves around her, trapping her in place. Khushi's entire body went into lock-down. She could not move, nor could she think, nor did she breathe. It was only her dhak dhak, her ever-stubborn dhak dhak, which continued to ricochet restlessly about her ribcage. She was saved from having to jolt her own self back into motion however, because Arnav muttered into the pillow.

'It's still dark. Go back to sleep'.

Simultaneously, the locomotives of her thoughts sped off in different directions, without a clue to where they were destined to stop. Khushi felt her head spin as she tried to sort through the mess to find something cognizable, while a small little voice tried to inform her that Arnav was not asleep. Khushi shook her head again, this time trying to convince herself that Arnav was not fully conscious, and had no idea what he was doing.

'But I have to go', she noted, traumatised, that her voice was little more than a squeak, 'I have to shower, and do the morning prayers, and set breakfast-'

If she hadn't been so baffled by the chaos she had opened her eyes to, she could have sworn that Arnav grunted disconsolately. But before she could linger on that thought for too long, his arms around her slackened ever so slightly, while he turned his head to look at her. She realised, holding her breath, that their eyes were mere inches apart as they both lay there in a tangle of limbs.

'Fine', he agreed gruffly, his eyes boring into hers in no uncertain manner, 'But on one condition.'

Khushi waited breathlessly for him to continue.

'You're going to bring me my coffee yourself this morning'.

No sooner had Arnav removed his arm than Khushi had leapt out of bed with uncanny speed. Before he could even sit up properly, she had managed to salvage some clothes from the small inconspicuous trunk tucked away in a corner where she kept her things, and dashed out of the door in the direction of the guestroom.

Sleepily rubbing his eyes, glancing at the clock and groaning to see how unnecessarily early it was, Arnav noted the innocuous trunk in the corner and decided he needed to do something about it.

***

An hour later, Khushi sat on one corner of the bed in the guestroom, fiercely towel-drying her hair. As she swept her wet locks over one shoulder, tilting her head and leaning to one side so that she could wring the remaining droplets out with her towel, Khushi felt herself sigh.

Despite the havoc of this morning, which had resulted in Khushi spending a good half hour under the assault of ice cold water, she had had the opportunity to sit down and to think. To sort through individual strands of reasoning, to separate them and categorise them neatly for future reference.

And what she had discovered afterwards was a curious blend of feelings she could not put her finger to. She remembered what Anjaliji had once told her, the day of her parents' barsi. She had recounted how her mother, Arnav's mother (your mother-in-law, the voice Khushi tended to ignore offered) used to say that when one is hurting, one should cry out to one's heart's content. It made you feel lighter. Khushi closed her eyes as the towel slipped out of her hands and landed on her thigh.

It did make her feel lighter. Khushi felt lighter than air right now, sitting alone in the guestroom with its curtains still drawn, the first rays of the new day peeking into the room in slivers of muted light. She had spent many mornings in this room, each time hounded out of her mind by the threat of what it would show her. But today, Khushi felt- uplifted. As though the cast iron manacles which had chained her to the ground had been split open, giving her the chance to fly again. As though she was no longer standing precariously at a precipice, where one wrong move would plunge her into the very heart of despair.

Khushi felt hope rekindle in her heart once more.

He knows. He knows I wasn't lying.

But how? She frowned as she absently picked up the towel again, gently massaging the tips of the wet strands of her hair. She hadn't asked him. But what happened last night- the way both of them had exposed their souls to each other- had not warranted an explanation. Khushi was afraid to dwell on that too much though; there had been so much said last night, without actual words, that she was not sure she could withstand trying to process them and what they meant without tipping herself over.

And yet, she could not deny that the ever-present sea, which used to gush forward to her barren shore, threatening to crash onto her and sweep her away into its stormy confines, had now receded. She could now see the beach, the sand which had been whirled up in the torrent resting where it belonged, a little worn, perhaps, but at home and at rest...

With broken pieces of this and that strewn across the length of the shore...

This time the towel slipped completely out of her grip and fell limply at her feet. Khushi frowned.

He believed her. Why? Why now? Why not then?

And everything he had been doing since yesterday...

Had been to make up for it?

It was as though someone was letting air into one end of a balloon while allowing it to leak out the other. She felt like a buoy, bobbing up and down in the surface of the water, never at rest, never stable.

Before she could ponder into the matter further though, Payal walked briskly into the room.

'Sanka Devi' she called out, in a perfect imitation of Buaji, so much so that Khushi jumped in shock. Payal laughed and tousled up her hair affectionately. 'What are you doing here?' she asked, walking over to the curtains and drawing them apart. The sudden burst of sunshine which spilled into the room caused Khushi to turn her head away.

'Nothing Jiji,' she tried to stall, to come up with a valid excuse; she hadn't counted on being found here, 'I just...uh...shower here from time to time so that I don't delay-' Something invisible yet very solid lodged itself in her throat, and she couldn't complete her sentence. She couldn't say his name.

'Oh,  I see', Payal came back and sat opposite Khushi, picking up the towel laying forgotten on the floor. She looked intently at Khushi for a minute before smiling lightly.

Khushi, thankful for the distraction, looked at her sister quizzically. 'Why are you smiling?'

'Because', Payal answered quietly, raising a hand to Khushi's check affectionately, 'you look happy.'

Khushi blinked a few times to let that one get through to her.

Payal sighed, 'I was so worried you know. The circumstances under which you got married...and I really wasn't sure, you know, about Arna- I mean Jethji...Akashji tried to reassure me, but still...' Khushi mechanically turned and gazed off into the distance. She could not correct her sister at this point. Not when a huge part of the whole deal had been to save her wedding in the first place.

'...but still, I'm glad to know he cares for you', Payal quipped animatedly, causing Khushi to frown and turn back to her. Payal poked her gently on the forehead, 'But you're a silly girl too, you know. Why did you have to keep your things in a trunk? You could just have asked where to keep your clothes and things...'

At this stage, Khushi was completely lost, without a clue as to where the discussion was going, or even where it was coming from. But before she could ask, Payal had continued,

'But he noticed, you know. And came to me this morning, and requested politely that I pack your things into his cupboard. Really sweet he was too; said he didn't want to disturb me, that he would do it himself, but he felt it would be a sort of- invasion of privacy.'

Khushi sat staring blankly at her sister while she continued to talk away.

He had let Jiji touch his things.

He had let Jiji put her things among his.

He had been about to do it himself.

Khushi was suddenly fervently grateful for his foresight. There was one particular thing among her possessions that she could not risk for him to see. One particular little black box. A little black box containing several rings of decorative glass.

Next to her mother's anklets, they were her most prized possessions.

Please leave your likes and comments:) While I go study like a good girl:p