Hi all,
This very short first part is something that was stuck in my brain as I wanted to try to explain Nachiket's perspective once again. I realize the title is super corny but I think it is also hopeful in this context. Will try to finish on a happier note soon, thanks for your patience :)
**Updated and complete for ease of reading**
When they had first gotten married, he had been fascinated by Ragini's hands. How they fit just so in his, the implicit trust she placed in him simultaneously humbling and empowering. How her velvet skin masked the strength of the fingers that worked tirelessly against his temples after a long day.
On their wedding night her hands had been carefully adorned with an elaborately winding pattern of mehndi, the rich color blooming against her fair skin. He knew that hidden somewhere among the swirls was his name. It was only years later he realized that she continued to hold his world in her hands long after the color had faded.
The pungent fragrance invariably brought back memories of their earliest days and nights together. Her touch, hesitant at first, had filled all his senses until his awareness had narrowed to the tickle of her long hair draped over his skin and her warm huffs against his collarbone. She was everywhere and yet he wanted more, not satisfied until he recognized the scent of mehndi on his own skin. Though she was still reserved with her words he had secretly reveled in the possessiveness of her hands that had so ardently marked him as hers.
This time around so much was different, not the least of which were the circumstances that had brought them together. No longer were they tied to one another out of devotion to each other - instead it was through a sense of responsibility towards their children. Still, he studied her hands that had spent years soothing those children through cuts and scrapes and long sleepless nights visited by fevers. They were simply decorated and he had a feeling he would no longer be able to find his name etched on her skin.
And yet, they still fit in his grasp so perfectly as they faced each other as not-so-newlyweds that, between her lowered gaze and his hammering heartbeat, he forgot for a moment that none of it was real.
---
It was a mantra he repeated to himself in the days and weeks that followed. His foolish heart wanted to rejoice at every kind word and warm glance she deigned to bestow on him. But his mind refused to comply, dredging up old war wounds from volleys thrown in the heat of battle. It was a never-ending struggle in her presence.
With the children she blushed and smiled at their teasing as if they were truly just married. He had not seen her at such ease since the morning he appeared at her doorstep, paper in hand. In the moments before she had stiffened at his voice his eyes had greedily drunk her in, her limbs stretching lazily as she ran a hand through her unkempt hair, sleep still tugging her eyes closed much like he would tug her back to bed on those idle Sunday mornings. Even when they had rekindled their relationship, the threat of damage to their new and fragile bond had kept her on edge. But now, after they had falsely committed themselves in front of their entire family? Her smiles were wide enough to reveal the dimples he had once tried to forget at the bottom of a bottle. He wanted to shake her, ask her how it was so easy.
He had forgotten how expressive her eyes could be, deep brown pools of emotion that he had at one time blissfully drowned in. Even now they spoke to him, unable to conceal the hope that stole across her face (it was as if the sun rose and set in those fleeting seconds) before retiring once again to the shadows. He knew the sense of resignation that followed was in fact a small mercy (it's not real).
But every time his words dimmed the light in her eyes, his heart ached just a little bit more.
The evenings rarely brought relief despite their charade being put to rest. Some nights his exhaustion would allow sleep to overtake him without fuss. Many nights he found himself acutely aware of the space between their pillows and just how easy it would be close the distance. He had meant his promise to respect her boundaries. But his best intentions were nowhere to be found when she slipped under the sheets smelling faintly of the perfume he had watched her dab on that morning, all the while wishing he could follow the trail of her fingers with his mouth.
The soft light illuminated the long slope of her shoulders and the curves wrapped in the covers. Somehow the familiarity with what lay under those layers made it worse, knowing the response he could draw out of her if he touched her just so. It was a dangerous train of thought, dangling on a precipice with no hope of stopping if it tipped far enough over the edge. She had assured him once on their first night - he would still be able to uphold his pledge to Nivedita with a clear conscience even though they had taken vows as husband and wife.
Against the quiet of the night, restlessness thrummed in his veins. He contemplated all the ways he could break a promise, and in each of them she was a willing participant, eyes fluttering closed and muscles taut around him.
By the time the sun creeped into the sky he could no longer distinguish between his truths and his fantasies. Somehow through the days and hours they had become one and the same.
--
There were of course appearances to be kept up, despite their distance behind closed doors. The invitations poured in, their relationship the newest curiosity in their circles (Pam especially was insistent on maintaining a healthy social life). It was another way to sell the lie they now wore like a second skin.
So they dressed the part (blue was his new favorite color) and she pretended not to notice how his eyes would linger over the dip of her shoulder blades and travel down, down her spine. The sudden rustle of her bangles always gave her away, her hands trying to call attention away from the color suffusing her cheeks. He knew it wasn't fair - but then, neither was her beauty, undiminished after all these years.
His hand would take its rightful place at the small of her back and she would roll her eyes at his juvenile attempts at humor, a smile tugging at her lips as they found themselves reacquainted with friends and foes alike.
He read her distress in the arch of her chin and how she would pull his sleeves in the opposite direction as they approached those who had abandoned her soon after he had. But he would not be deterred, and, knowing his actions could not make up for years of stigma, held her close as his fingers found the soft skin of her waist and his lips whispered in ear, coaxing her telltale blush. She would eventually pull away from him, eyes glittering dangerously at the hushed promises they both knew he wouldn't be able to keep. As the nights stretched on, he began running out of reasons not to follow through on every promise he had ever made to her.
So one of those nights, he kissed her.
They came home to an empty apartment, the family off to a concert hours away. She sighed in relief as her heels came off. He shed his jacket somewhere in the vicinity of a closet. She leaned on him as they stumbled into their room and he made his way to the bathroom so that she could have the bedroom to change.
When he stepped out again she was struggling with the clasp of her necklace, their wedding ring glinting in the lamp light. "Chodh ho Ragini," he said, pulling her to him and deftly unhooking the offending link.
"Dus minute pehle nahin aa sakte the?" she sighed, stretching her cramping fingers. He took her hands in his and began to slowly massage her knuckles.
"Phir tum mujhe besharam kehti." He raised an eyebrow and pretended to leer at the gaping neckline of her robe.
She laughed despite herself and reached one hand up to cradle his cheek. "Waise bhi you're all talk. Mujhe koi fikar nahin." Ragini patted his cheek in mock sympathy.
He stopped her, fingers encircling her wrist, and felt her pulse respond under the delicate skin. Her smile faded and her gaze dropped as her eyelids grew heavy.
"Waise bhi..." He brought her captive hand to his lips and kissed her palm. She closed her eyes. "Tumhe chinta to karni chahiye."
"Kyun?" It was more a breath than a question.
He tipped her chin up, needing her to see the truth in his eyes. "You're impossible to resist, Mrs. Khanna."
She tried to pull away but he tightened his grip and was captivated by the rise and fall of her chest. "Aur tum kaun ho? Superman?"
"Just a man." he placed her hand over his heart. "Who misses his wife very much."
She gingerly pressed her fingers over the soft cotton of his shirt and he was certain her hesitation would break him.
"Main yahin to thi." Her voice was small. "Waiting for you."
He knew it was true. Somehow he had always known but refused to face it, too wrapped up in his own grievances.
"I'm here now." Her eyes shone up at him and he felt himself fall in deeper.
It was a promise, but he bowed his head towards her and offered himself as if in prayer. Her response was sweeter than anything he could have asked for from the heavens.
THE END
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