January 1993
Bombay
Her face was covered in a thick layer of soot, only broken by the streaks of tears running down her cheeks. Her thick, dark hair was matted, the plait it had once been in long since gone.
She was clutching a thin dupatta that was torn to shreds, the hospital gown sliding slightly down her shoulders. Her arm was wrapped in a scrap of fabric, the blood seeping through the flimsy cloth. He could see the dark purple of bruises denting her skin, reflecting a beating.
He shook his head. She was one of hundreds pouring in, innocent victims of radical mobs.
Would this senseless violence never stop?
Her chest heaved with unstoppable sobs as the nurse gently sat her down on the bed, murmuring soft condolences to the devastated woman.
The sounds of the screaming of the mobs outside were a dull murmur in the background, the crackling of fire vaguely in the distance.
He was to keep her here for observation- and would hear yet another heartbreaking tale of the brutal violence.
The start of the New Year wasn't supposed to be this gruesome.
He stepped into the room and bent down near her, preparing himself to address yet another victim.
People had been streaming in with everything from third degree burns to stabbing wounds, caught in the crossfire of the mobs.
He was almost thankful for the eerie calm up here, away from the chaos of the ER.
He reached forward, placing a warm hand on her back in an attempt to soothe her. He knew it meant nothing to this woman who had lost everything, her home burned completely to the ground, her family killed.
She was the only one that had survived.
She stiffened immediately at his touch, shrinking away. Her hands fell away from her face, the soot staining her palms.
For a moment, he was struck by her beauty.
He could see the flecks of green in her eyes, the redness from the crying not taking away from their depth. In another time, he knew they would have been filled with joy, sparkling with delight. Not this... emptiness, this anguish.
He shook his head, glancing down at the paper.
Khushi.
Her name was Khushi.
She looked at him mistrustfully, as he moved closer, pulling the charred remains of her dupatta tightly around herself.
"Dr. Raizada. I'm sorry for your-"
"No, you aren't."
He started, completely taken aback by her outburst. Her eyes flashed with hurt and anger, her voice steady yet completely broken.
"You're not sorry. You have to do this. Express your condolences. Tell me how you wish it wasn't this way. You'll treat my injuries, tell me about how much you care, maybe secretly throw some money in my hands for sympathy's sake and hope that'll be enough to buy myself a new dress to replace the one that was torn by a mob trying to murder me."
He stood there silently, listening to her pour her devastation out, the trauma incomprehensible.
"What do you understand about what I've been through? Nothing. I watched my house being set on fire solely for my religion, my elderly parents inside. I couldn't do anything. Do you hear me? I couldn't do anything. I- I survived. But I... I couldn't save them. I should have been able to save them. But I didn't. I was forced to watch, to hear their screams fade away as my house crumbled. I... I..."
Silent sobs wracked her body, tears streaming down her face as she rocked back and forth on the bed. He wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words, the sheer gravity of her pain rendering him speechless.
He couldn't say anything without making it seem as if he was trivializing her story, her anguish, and all that she had lost.
So he stepped closer, gently wrapping his arms around her. She resisted, her entire body held carefully away from him. He kept his arms there, and she slowly began to curl into him, her tears staining his stiff white jacket as she cried.
To the two of them, the sounds of the horrors outside faded away for those minutes.
They didn't even notice when his tears began to mingle with hers.
*********
He paused at the door of the small house, watching silently as she bent down towards the rug in prayer, her eyes closed, her long hair covered by a dupatta. He leaned against the frame, his eyes focused only on her.
It had been six months since the riots, six months since he had first met Khushi in the cold environment of the hospital. The memories of the horrific days hadn't faded, tensions still ran high in the city.
But there was an uncomfortable calm, the streets quiet after all of the violence. It was as if people were walking on eggshells, hoping and praying that the tentative peace wouldn't shatter.
All it took was one angry person, one reckless act to fuel the dying flames up again.
He hadn't missed the furious glares that her neighbors gave him, the harsh whispers directed at him. They accused him of being one of them, one of the people that had torn their community apart.
To them, he was his religion.
She walked over to him, asking him softly to come in. Her dupatta had slid down, revealing her long, silky hair. Her eyes now held hope, the anguish replaced by quiet determination.
She shut the door behind him, before walking over to the sink to fill a pot up with water for chai.
"You shouldn't be doing that. Your arm..."
She turned towards him, amusement in her eyes.
"It has been six months, Dr. Raizada. My arm is perfectly fine."
He felt the familiar tingle of a flush, and silently thanked the layer of stubble that would mask it.
"How many times have I told you to call me Arnav?"
She didn't anything, but he could see the small smile playing at the edge of her lips. He felt the burst of satisfaction at seeing the beginnings of a rare smile, his eyes lingering on her face.
He didn't miss the way her hand shook slightly as she reached for the lighter, and immediately stepped forward, quickly lighting the flame. He could feel her flinch beside him, despite her desperate effort not to show her weakness.
Her eyes flashed with irritation as she placed the pot on the flame warily, stepping back almost immediately. She didn't look at him as she spoke, her eyes focused on the ginger she was grating.
"What was the need to do that?"
"Khushi..."
"No. What will I do when you're not there? Who will light the gas for me? I have to do it myself when you are not around."
"I'll always be around."
His voice was quiet, but she didn't miss it, his eyes trained on her. The sincerity in them unnerved her, silently asking her to trust him.
She chose to ignore his statement, the way the warmth spread throughout her entire body. She could feel the soft blush intensify at his words, her heart thudding in her chest.
Hope.
No.
She couldn't let herself feel that foreign emotion again, lest it be snatched away from her once more.
She couldn't deny the depth of her feelings for this man in front of her, who had persistently knocked at her door every single day at 5 PM sharp.
It had started as a checkup on how she was doing.
They had accidentally met up at the market just a week after she had been discharged, and had asked about her injuries.
She was supposed to have come to the hospital, but she had been putting it off.
He had forced her to schedule an appointment for the very next day, and after that, he had come to check up on her, the visits morphing from weekly to three times a week to daily.
They both knew that it wasn't about her health anymore- it never really had been.
He had helped her set up the small sweets shop next to her apartment against her protests, convincing her that he wasn't doing this for free.
He would make her pay him back later, he had said, insisting that he wasn't throwing money into her hands.
She had sworn to keep him out of her life, to tell him it wasn't necessary for him to be around once she was healthy again. But days had turned into weeks, and weeks into months.
And now... she wasn't sure if she even could be without him again.
She recalled the day when he hadn't shown up at 5 PM. She had watched in worry as the clock ticked slowly to 6 PM, to 7 PM, until she had fallen asleep on her couch waiting for him.
The next day, he had shown up, apologizing profusely and saying something had come up at the hospital. She had been furious, slamming the door in his face and telling him to get lost.
The leaden weight had settled in her stomach almost immediately, and she had resisted the urge to open the door for him.
She had opened it half an hour later, expecting him to be gone. Instead, she saw him sitting outside her doorstep, waiting for her.
He had looked up at her with an apologetic smile, promising to call her next time, asking for forgiveness so sincerely that she simply couldn't say no.
She had realized then that he had come to matter to her much, much more than she had ever intended.
Didn't you see Khushi? How she shamelessly lets that Hindu doctor into her house, even after her parents were killed by them? What would they think of her now?
She sucked in a breath, the voices of her neighbors ringing in her ears.
She couldn't let this go on any further.
There was no way it could end well, for either of them.
It was best that they moved on.
She handed him the chai with two Parle-G biscuits placed neatly next to the cup. He gave her a warm smile that made her heart jump, his eyes drinking her in as if he was seeing her for the first time.
"Thank you."
"How many times have I told you not to say thank you?"
He laughed, a deep, low rumble in his throat. She felt herself smiling as well, a shy blush staining her cheeks.
He caught her eye, and the laughter died away as the air thickened with unsaid words, with unasked questions.
His gaze traced the contours of her face, the slope of her nose, her slightly parted lips that-
He tore his eyes away, lingering on the strand of hair that had fallen into her face.
Without a second thought, he reached forward, slowly pushing it back behind her ear. His fingers brushed against her skin, and he watched as the reddish hue deepened to scarlet. His hand cupped her face, gently urging her to meet his gaze.
He was stunned by the conflicted emotions in her eyes, which were filled with tears. He brushed away the one that spilled over with his thumb, his heart clenching as she took in a shuddering breath.
"We can't do this, Arnav."
He looked up sharply, noting that her eyes were carefully averted from his.
"I have to learn to live on my own. I can't depend on you for everything. It has been six months. We have to move on."
He was quiet for a long time, regarding her thoughtfully.
"Did someone say something to you, Khushi?"
She froze, her face draining of color.
"No. I just think... that this can only end in... problems for both of us. It's best that we end it here."
"End what, exactly?"
"This! This... thing between us."
She gestured widely, struggling to define their vague relationship. Arnav was quiet for a moment, before he spoke, his eyes glimmering with repressed anger.
"You mean the feelings we clearly have for each other?"
"It doesn't matter. It won't work."
"Why?"
"Because it won't work, Arnav! We're from two different worlds. Our communities don't get along. They would never accept this. Accept us."
"And this is more important than our feelings?"
She let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing at her forehead.
"It's not that simple."
"Then explain why it's so damn complicated, Khushi."
She turned to him, pain written all over her face. She roughly wiped away the tears, clearly conflicted.
"They killed my parents, Arnav. What would my parents think if they knew? How can I... how can I get into a relationship with..."
She trailed off, noticing the way his entire body had stiffened in anger.
"Yes, I am Hindu. Yes, a bunch of crazy Hindus senselessly murdered your parents, and hundreds of other Muslims. A bunch of crazy Muslims also senselessly murdered hundreds of Hindus. But they're a small bunch giving a bad name to an entire religion- why should we let that dictate our life? Why are we our religion, and not who we are as individuals?"
She could see the disappointment in his expression, the hurt from her words. She hated it, hated the fact that they even had to have this conversation.
"It's not that easy Arnav! What will everyone else say? They'll accuse me of dishonoring the memory of my parents, of betraying them."
"Why does it matter, Khushi?"
"Arnav..."
His jaw tightened, and he stepped closer.
"You know what, Khushi? I don't care anymore. I don't care that people are staring or that they're talking about us. I care about you. I care about the fact that I can't drink any chai but yours. That the thought of seeing your smile gets me through difficult days. That I hate the sight of tears in your eyes. And that I didn't have to come back, but that I can't stop. That no amount of time ever seems to be enough with you. That's what I care about, Khushi."
He whirled around, slamming the door behind him as he left.
*********
Khushi glanced at the clock, checking the time yet again.
5:15 PM
She knew he wouldn't come. He hadn't come in three days, not since their fight.
She hated to admit how empty it felt.
She swore when the lighter refused to light the gas, making the same clicking noise again and again. She roughly turned the knob off, trying to calm her frayed nerves.
She finally lit the gas, heaving a sigh of relief as she moved far away from the burning flame.
"I'll always be around."
She began to strain the tea, watching as the ceramic cup filled all the way to the brim. She looked into the pot, grabbing another cup to strain the rest into.
It filled exactly one more cup.
She felt the sting of tears, and placed the pot down, clutching the counter.
What would her parents think, to see her craving the company of someone so desperately?
It almost hurt, the heavy weight pressing against her chest.
She could hear the laughter from the kids playing outside, the casual banter of her neighbors.
Whatever you do, Khushi, make sure it makes you happy.
Her father's voice echoed in her head, warm and comforting.
Was she happy?
*********
Arnav rubbed at his throbbing temple, cursing profusely as he climbed the stairs to his flat.
It had been a week since their argument, a week since he had seen Khushi. A week since he had had her chai, a week since he had seen her shy smile.
He missed her.
But he couldn't give in. He had to let her come to terms with it, to accept that he meant as much to her as she meant to him.
And if she didn't...
He didn't want to think about that.
He shook his keys out, frustratedly stuffing it into the keyhole.
The damn thing just wouldn't-
He froze, the soft sound of a woman clearing her throat coming from behind him. He could smell the faint lavender, and whipped around to see...
Her.
She was standing there nervously, a bag in her hands, wearing a pale pink salwar. Her hair was thrown over one shoulder, her hazel eyes holding... hope. She smiled tentatively, taking the keys from his frozen hands.
She swiftly unlocked the door, an amused smile on her face as she shut the door behind them.
"You're... here."
"I am."
"Why?"
"Because it is that simple."
He stepped towards her, cupping her face in his hands. He bent down, crushing her lips with his. His hands swept across the thin cotton, the heat of her skin on his palms as he pulled her closer.
Her hands clutched at his jacket, sliding up to the back of his neck as he backed her up against the door, his hands loosening the tie in her hair and dropping it to the ground.
He finally pulled away, kissing her tenderly. She sighed in pleasure, her lips swollen and tingling.
He stepped further away, wariness entering his eyes.
"But what about the fact that I'm..."
She shook her head, cutting him off.
"All that matters to me is that I've been miserable without you, that I keep making two cups of chai instead of one, and that there's no knock on my door at 5 PM."
She paused, swallowing thickly.
"My parents... would be proud that I've found someone who loves me as much as I love him."
She blinked away the tears, and he bent down, pressing his lips to hers in a long, deep kiss. She pulled away, nervously chewing on her bottom lip.
"I don't really have a place to stay right now... would you mind if I stayed here, with you?"
"I don't know, Khushi. I think... I'll need a cup of chai to convince me."
She smiled, leaning in once more as the clock struck 5.
*********
Note: For Ruchi, my princess!
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