Arhi FF |Mohabat Door Jaane Na De| *Complete!* #2 - Page 45

Originally posted by: AngelTeen

Res :D

First of all - Sorry again for the despicably late editing. I dont like Res' myself so this is true horrible.

Hi :) Ok, I should be the one apologising for taking this long to get round to replying :s I'm really sorry...net is an issue for me right now, but that's not an excuse. Reeeally sorry :(

Anyway, I shalll get on with it.

Chapter 26

Ah. Ze trust is developing. Me liking it a lot.

Beautiful chapter as always and I love the monologues...but if I may a suggestion...maybe you could space it out a bit more...becomes a little too dense to read sometimes. :)

Aw I'm glad you liked it...especially with all the monologues, since this particular chapter is not one I was happy with, but to lazy to do anything about. And thanks for the suggestion- constructive criticism is always welcome, and always appreciated, otherwise I can never improve :) thank u!

And Khushi realizing that Arnav believed her about Anjali without a word and making him tea was just awesome and Arnav realizing he needs to take it slow and steady...yay! :)

Sigh, I'm glad u like the slow and steady...I know that some people must be getting impatient with the snail's pace at which the romance is moving- but honestly, with the history these two share, I can't really imagine them falling into each others' arms...ok, maybe in the show I can, but not here :P

And then...

"Khushi turned to make a run for it. But of course, her husband was too quick for her. His hand reached out, softly caught hold of her wrist. It fleetingly crossed her mind how, since last night (the blaze of current between heart and mind flared in dissent at the memory- a starlit night, and some starlit promises), he had ceased his signature clasping of her wrists in a grip as tight as iron cuffs, manacles clutching, digging into her flesh, bruising her.

The tenderness with which he had started to handle her made a lump grow painfully in her throat."

Wow. And the kiss. She didnt run away or attack him - verbally or otherwise! YAY! :)

Great job!

Thanks so much! really, I can't tell you how happy- like sincerely happy- it makes me when reading your comments! Coz I can only imagine the time and the effort it took to actually read all that again (I know I get carried away and start rambling and usually too lazy to proofread), and actually quote all those parts here...the fact that you actually did- I'm so happy I might cry. No joke.

Chapter 27

"The distance between them had not vanished. But at least it had diminished. At least she was closer within his reach now. At least she was no longer running away."

Excuse me while I dance to a soft romantic SRK number. <3

Lol I was probably listening to one when that bit came to my head :p

"Arnav had been too busy examining the play of light on Khushi's flawless skin. The light captured by the water droplets chasing one another against the glass flitted across her face, like a thousand little gemstones. As she crossed her arms in vexation though, he gave himself a shake, and managed to say 'Thanks.'

Khushi's arms dropped to her sides as confusion replaced annoyance. 'Thanks?'

'For saying Di. You know, instead of Anjaliji.'"

Such small gestures really make his day, dont they...?

And with the current track and Arnav actually thinking like this a little bit...why are you making me cry? *pouts*

Sigh, after everything he's done to her since they got married- actually, on second thoughts, since they met- I guess the type of arnav we see on the show, and the arnav in here, would actually treasure any small gesture at all...coz he probably feels he doesn't have the right to ask for, or even deserve, anything more. Only I don't really agree with that, which is why my friend claims I have turned him into 'a little devil' on a 'rampage' - I hope you won't cry now, coz I can't stop rofling whenever I hear that :P

"Khushi felt something sharper than any jagged piece of glass cut straight through her, and pain unlike anything she had ever felt before seized her."

Deep sigh. 

And because I cant quote the whole chapter, please know I am feeling light yet choked right now.

He said it and how. And she listened and how. Beautiful, just beautiful.

Aw thank u!!! All that time I spent glued to my lappy and all the blasting I received from my mum for the same is now so worth it!! 

The pain he has given her. He had to explain it and he did. And she forgave him, didnt she because thats who she is. She wont say it now maybe but I know she forgave him. I know she did. *smiles with misty eyes*

Yup, exactly- that is who she is...our KKGSR is one forgiving soul, even though she may not think she is...her heart has always been with her laad governor, no matter what else her dimaag tries to tell her...and someday she'll be able to believe it, and say it...and when that day comes, I hope I manage to write it without rambling and going off at tangents and without little brothers giving me a lesson about pokemon😕 

As I said before, her accepting the kangans, to me, signifies her willing to give him and them a second chance.

Beautifully done. More than words, the actions spoke and for Khushi that was amazing because she is the talker while Arnav stays silent but here the roles have changed. :)

I'm really glad u liked this! Coz tbh, this was one of those pivotal chapters, and to hear such reassuring feedback from a fellow writer means the world to me! this is getting old, but thanks so much🤗 Esp. as I'm always terrified that I stray from their characters when trying to develop them- so I'm truly grateful u liked it!!

Chapter 28

'Words of his mother. Her mother-in-law.

Joining their hands together."

That there sums up the whole thing doesnt it? His mother, her ideals, her dreams for her son will hold him and Khushi together because her letter explains Arnav like an open book and Khushi will draw strength from it. 

Honestly, I loved it when the letter first cropped up in the show...I could so picture a mother-figure giving Khushi that advice, describing her son as a surly but sensitive child- which is what he is, in a way...so I'm really glad u see it the way I was trying to portray it...Khushi understanding who her husband really is, hearing it from someone who'd know best :)

The whole letter reading was great, specially the last bit.

That part was not easy for me to write at all- so again thanks!

And then her asking Payal...yay! :)

I've realised that whenever I write about Payal, I keep going back to the sister she used to be back when the girls first came to delhi...quietly supportive, a voice of reason, someone to go to for advice...I miss that Payal, coz she would really have been a support the Khushi in the show needs...which is probably why I felt this scene just had to be written. So glad u liked!

And Arnav's convo with Anjali...much needed. Bye  bye Shyamu! Muahahahaha! ;) :D

Lol- as for that little snake- nowadays I can't imagine any scene with him in it without being tempted to break a few bones...turning sadistic by the day *smh* 

Chapter 29

Arnav is going to do something to get them properly married, isnt he?

Well, I can't give that away yet, can I? :p But he'll be up to things which, when I thought of it, made me smile a maniacal smile that probably convinced a few more people that I've lost my head

*Twirls around*

Such a light update for the first time! YAY! :)

And the kiss...Eeeps! <3

Lol, you know, that kiss scene wasn't initially planned...I was 'inspired', I guess, after re-watching all the awesome scenes from before the wedding- my personal way of fighting the depression coz of the stuff they were showing back then :P And I when I showed it to a friend for approval, she said 'Does your mother know what you've been up to?' So yeah, that was a gamble😆

*Shall edit this soon again. :)

Take your time, I don't mind at all! I'm amazed I'm still online...at my grandma's place for the summer, and the net here is terrible :( But my conscience wouldn't rest til I replied to this wonderful wonderful comment, which, coming from a writer like yourself, is truly humbling...I'm still partly in shock that you would actually take the time to write all that...thanks sooo very much :) 

Sigh. I'm sorry- I know this one has been a long time coming...but I'm currently using a VERY unreliable net connection which is a bit temperamental and goes off on its own. And I'm not the most patient person on earth :s Aaand...well, I've been wrestling with a writer's bloc and had practically no motivation to write. Probably has something to do with being surrounded by family and things to do, like being dragged out to shop for floor tiles, of all things :P So this one went through a lot of trimming, slashing and abuse and now I don't know what to make of it :( So I'm counting on you guys to let me know :) And tomorrow I'm launching a campaign for better internet, so please wish me luck so I can log on more often :P

Chapter Thirty Three

The minute he felt her willowy arms reach behind him, linking loosely against his back, he felt his breath vanish without a trace.

She was hugging him back.

This one moment that he had craved for, longed for, for who knew how long, now caught him thoroughly off guard, sending his heartbeat, delightedly playing its solo for the one person that had inspired its music, with the side of her face pressed against it, into a more frenzied tempo. Already, it had not been helped by the feel of her supple, achingly soft body folding gently into him. But he had had numerous teasing tastes of what that felt like in the past, always leaving him hungering for more, whether he admitted it to himself or not. Fate, after all, seemed to derive a playful pleasure in always thrusting Khushi into his arms, like a cyclical reminder of the fact that no number of denials would change that that was her rightful place.

This time was different.

True, there was no end to the innumerable times she had landed in his arms, starting from the moment they had first met. And gradually, during those months he had known Khushi, that secretive desire to hold her had crept inconspicuously into the lesser known fissures of his existence and silently taken root, and like ivy clambered up the chambers of his heart, crowding out his denials. And it had only been a few nights ago when he, holding a sleeping Khushi close to his form as they both lay on her mattress, had allowed the ivy to see light, and admitted to himself how badly, be it in his subconscious or otherwise, he had always wanted to feel her against him, always treasured those moments, to convince himself of her existence and his. How direly he had regretted not embracing her in that one moment when she had, willingly, torn through space towards him seeking comfort and security in his arms. How he had been mentally flogged by his shortcomings, moaned silently his remorse that he had been unable to steal away her pain.

And though the rampant drumbeats of his heart, the sudden dearth of air, his body feeling itself char wherever it touched hers, were the same as the telltale signals of every other time Khushi was this close to him (less accidental of late), there was something...different tonight. 

One of those tiny, perpetually screaming voices in the distance that had continued its shrill reproach at the back of his mind, since that day he had failed to draw her into his embrace, had finally fallen silent, robbed of its lament. And that silence, the long awaited solitude, beamed up at him with its heartiest congratulations, happy that he had, at last, brought to culmination a voyage left half-traversed. Peace found him at last.

The windows of his eyes shuttered out the rest of the world and his arms latched her to him more securely, his head automatically drooping lower, parched and begging to drown into the sweet flowery aroma of Khushi.

So this, he concurred, a small smile playing about his lips, is what heaven feels like...so this is bliss.

***

It was odd.

Just like hearing the crack of a whip, but not feeling its lash. Not feeling the pain.

But Khushi knew. She knew that there had been pain, knew that pain ought to be a recent, fresh memory. Knew that she had had only a few days reprieve from an endless vicious cycle of pain and agony and anguish.

Yet, despite that knowledge, which had crystallised into its place, immovable, within the annals of time, Khushi could not feel it any more. Try as she might, as she stood, held in place by a cosy warmth she had this urge to snuggle deeper into, Khushi could not bring herself to remember what had been the only too vivid remembrances of bruises and scars that had penetrated her to her marrow, leaving her destitute in the midst of the debris that once marked her existence. Perhaps it was because this warmth that had enveloped her, this warmth that she had the inexplicable need to own, to gather quickly for herself, that she needed to hold to herself so it would not be whisked away, had drugged her. Drugged her mind, where the neat little locomotives of thought had melted away, just as everything outside Khushi's restful new nook in the world had melted away, leaving behind a shimmering, cheerfully glowing haze.

Yes. Khushi was drugged by a contentment that she did not feel the need to understand. Her undoubtedly wild, undeniably erratic dhak dhak echoed the cadences of the thundering tune her ear was pressed against, each beat resonating through her body, rinsing out and revitalising each aspect of her that bore even the shadow of a wound. She could almost feel them, the testimonies of pain, evaporate, sparing not even a blemish to commemorate the wounds she had been host to. She felt the sinewy limbs encircling her wrap themselves about her even more completely, felt the coarseness of stubble brushing against her ear, felt her scent being drunk in by the face that buried itself into her hair. Her body resting, relaxing, against the outline of him, as though carved specifically for that purpose.

Yes, she needed this, she wanted this. This serenity, this peace, this contentment, this assurance, this security. This sense of being whole.  

Many nights ago, a story, her story, had been left incomplete, flailing pathetically with no hope of reaching ground, receding into the clutches of nothingness, cut off before it could see fulfilment. And with it a cavernous rift had been ripped into her existence, and she had been on the very brink of falling into its endless, harrowing depths. Her journey had almost been like mounting a gigantic, imposing ferris wheel, the types of which she could remember from early childhood. The types that had always excited her curiosity, had incited a mild resentment towards Bauji or Amma for never letting her ride one. That night, a night when her story was to witness its final chapter, before life changed forever, before she abounded on a new tale, had been no different from ride on that massive wheel- the same mix of anxiety and excitement, of thrill and unease, expectation and apprehension, all melded into one, his enigmatic words replaying in her head again and again, swinging her higher and higher to new extremes of exhilaration, making it impossible for her, her heart, her mind, to remain still.

Mujhe tumse baat karni hai...

How many times that night had she wondered what he wanted to say to her, how many times she had admonished her dhak dhak to quieten when it confidently bellowed what he would have, straining to keep herself from getting carried away. And how many nights since, harassed by elusive sleep and ubiquitous reality, had her self control shattered and she had unwarily, with a wide hollow yawning open within her, the wind whistling against its emptiness, wondered wistfully what he would have said to her, if only her much awaited ride on that ferris wheel, her wheel of fate, had not gone so badly wrong. How things might have been different if that wheel, which had lifted her high, higher, higher, on the wings of an alien elation, had not suddenly ground to a terrifying stop, and left her there, dangling precariously high above the ground, frozen there while time rushed ahead, with no means of escape. With only the choice of leaping off into the empty space below, the choice of forfeiting life rather than be spectator to it slipping vindictively out of her hands. The sudden loneliness, the sudden fear with its icy fingers grappling with her helpless self, the sudden death of light...

All seeming nothing more than a dream, a horrific nightmare, but nevertheless an ephemeral creation of the mind to be discarded, because its place had been taken graciously by a voice that she unknowingly yearned for...

...It matters Khushi, it always has-It matters that you could become someone else's, it matters because I want you to be mine! Only mine, forever Khushi...It matters to me that you exist Khushi...because I can't exist if you don't...

...That's what I would have said to you, Khushi...it wouldn't have been any different if it had been then, now, or later...

Words which in one breath had defaced beyond recognition the face of those same crystallised recollections of a painful past. Words which had completed her incomplete story, plugged the gap, had drawn that chapter to a close and turned a fresh page for a new beginning...the lights had sprung back to life, the music had started to play, her dhak dhak had returned with gusto and the ferris wheel had finally churned into motion, the cycle of its journey concluded, delivering her, safe and sound and whole, into the waiting, welcoming, comforting arms of...

...her husband.

If Khushi had not been so intoxicated, she might, perhaps, have noticed that she was smiling a small, gentle smile.

'Khushi?'

'Hmm?'

'Can I ask you a question now?'

'Yes?' Softly. Readily.

'Did you- do you- the lights, I mean. The star lights on the ceiling...do you like them?'

A small pause. Heartbeats in synchrony.

Dhak dhak. Dhak dhak.

'I love them.'

And they stood there, under the spell of a night that had brought, in its own mysterious ways, several incomplete chronicles full circle.

***

Payal was a spectator on the sidelines, her scrutiny unobtrusive, but eagle eyed. She did not miss that look of contentment that had settled across her Jethji's face as he sauntered leisurely into the dining room, pulled out a chair and quietly seated himself. In fact, that look of contentment was more pronounced than ever- just one tiny smile, and the impassiveness that she was used to seeing on his face had been phenomenally transformed.

Arnav Singh Raizada was a markedly changed man.

Gone was that formidable apathy that could silence his foes and make onlookers quake with fear, gone that impenetrable aura of arrogant coldness. Payal could remember vividly that day when this same man had carried her little sister, unconscious and carrying the trauma she had seen and buried deep within her, never to be dug up again. She recalled surprising herself with the rage that overtook her, the fury drenched words she had flung and hurled at a man she had, from the snippets of outrage and bitterness her sister would occasionally spout, already established in her mind as selfish, uncaring, conceited, spiteful. And her view of him had not been flattered much on that occasion when, after worrying herself sick, she had seen the ashen, fatigued face of her sister, with a tint of terror etched across its pallor, borne home by the same man who had forced her into the face of who knew what tribulations.

But now, looking back, Payal had to admit that there were things back then, which, ensnared in the tangle of fury and worry and tension and resentment, she had overlooked.

Such as the fact that, the whole time that she, with Buaji in tow, had heaved spiteful, tartly biting accusations at the great Arnav Singh Raizada, against whom even lifting a finger would be sacrilege, his eyes had not spared Khushi for even a fraction of the time he was there. He had not spared them- the audience to Khushi's homecoming- one glance from the moment he set foot in that house to the moment he had tenderly lowered her into the bed.

She kept watching, hovering about her vantage point at the head of the table as she wiped dry a set of plates with a checkered dishcloth. Jethji, having shared a few perfunctory words with her mother-in-law, who was sitting a few chairs away and perusing a fashion magazine with unbridled enthusiasm, was twirling his knife about in his fingers, staring absently into space. Still smiling lightly.

Payal lowered her gaze back to the last plate, and lowered it onto the pile before her, but not before flashing a small smile of her own.

The man beneath the mask was so different. Arnav Singh Raizada had greatly, if not completely, redeemed himself in her eyes on that day when he had, astounding her with his unwavering frankness, apologised to her for the breakup of her first marriage. Mechanically she began to move about the table, setting the plates in place…not everyone in his position would have owned up to those things. Few would even admit to the nature of his involvement, if it could even be called that, in the ending of that ill-fated alliance. And even fewer would have expected a man who prided himself for his astuteness to turn about face, march back up to her, and ask forgiveness for a wrong she had never held him responsible for.

He had given her respect. He had shown her, in ways that the rest of her new family with their assortment of fancy gifts and sweet, reassuring words had failed to, that she had become part and parcel of a loving, caring family.

So lost was she in her thoughts that, even though her feet had steered her, in obedience to the reflex instructions from her brain, towards the kitchen, she felt rather winded when she felt a blur of colour slam straight into her.

'Khushi, kya karr rahi hai?' she squealed, grabbing onto the doorframe of the kitchen as she tottered on the spot, taken thoroughly aback by the force of Khushi's unexpected embrace. But before she could recover from the shock, Khushi had bounced a step back, relinquishing her throttlehold on her.

And startled her even more by grinning broadly.

A wide-eyed Payal stared at the glowing, radiant Khushi, a broad smile stretched from ear to ear, a smile the likes of which seemed forever imprinted on her face back in the day, before they were both married, before that plague called Shyam Manohar Jha had stepped into their lives.

'What happened?' she quizzed her younger sister, clutching hold of her arm and manoeuvring her back into the kitchen, half anxious not to be spotted by her finicky mother-in-law and accused of shirking their duties.

'What?' Khushi repeated, bounding out of her hold and rounding the counter before reaching out for a casserole pot and ladling large amounts of a stew from a saucepan still simmering on the stove.

'What do you mean 'what'?' Why were you trying to strangle me as I came in?'

And Khushi looked up at her, pouting, lower lip protruding cutely as she reproachfully replaced the lid on the saucepan.

'Kya, Jiji...now I can't even hug you without being accused of murder!' she huffed.

Payal felt a tug of affection for her sister wrench at her.

 'Wahi toh...what exactly happened that you had to hug me like that?'

'Oh, so now I need a reason to hug my own sister? Jiji...ever since you met Jeeju I seem to have become a stranger to you, hai na?'

Khushi giggled as Payal raised an eyebrow at her, crossing her arms in affected indignation, before controlling her hilarity and returning Payal's look with exaggerated innocence.

'Well?' Payal pressed on.

Khushi averted her eyes somewhat then, her hands automatically reaching for her pallu, her fingers fidgeting with the cloth. She bit down on her lip, her wide smile not entirely gone, a distant look blossoming into her eyes. But Payal did not get the chance to fret, for just then, she replied.

'I don't know Jiji...' she murmured lightly, gazing absently into space, before she turned back around and beamed at her, 'I'm just...happy, I guess. Yes...I'm happy.'

Several minutes later, surrounded by the drone of overlapping conversations as she sat at the dining table in the midst of the family enjoying a hearty, if somewhat late, dinner, those were the words that kept replaying in Payal's mind.

Yes...I'm happy.

And Payal was glad. The disquiet had never truly left her when she considered the odd circumstances under which Khushi had gotten married, and nor had she ever managed to gather the pluck to ask. She had questioned herself, time and time again, whether Khushi was truly as happy and content as she claimed to be...or whether, once again, she had thrown herself into a gamble for the sake of someone else. Whenever that unwelcome thought had strayed across her mind, leaving behind a lingering trail of unease, Payal had felt tension knotting within her, causing fear to rear its malicious head and subject her to endless moments of doubt and apprehension. She had seen the cold, almost metallic facade that had slipped across the same face that had laughed so openly during her sangeet, as her Jethji had revolved about a sacred fire, pulling Khushi along with him...yes, pulling. Payal remembered only too well, with a pang of that same sickening sense of misgivings that had pushed her to bombard Khushi with a cavalcade of questions afterwards, how the whole scene had played out before her eyes. Khushi, subdued, a blank look plastered across her usually exuberant face, limp and little more than a puppet traipsing behind the rigid, cold, stony-faced man she was getting married to. Arnav Singh Raizada in his element.

And she had felt frost encrust about her heart, with what felt like massive, numbingly cold glaciers erupting in her stomach, a thousand questions chasing one another within her and rendering her mind menacingly blank, devoid of thought. Khushi assured her time and time again that she had given her consent to this marriage whole-heartedly, that her one complaint might be that she hadn't expected it at such short notice, that she was happy to be married into the same family as her sister and spared the tears of parting. And she had heard Anjali Di's repeated insistence that if only her Chote had not been so impatient they would have carried off the ceremony with far more grandeur, but knowing her brother and his caustic views about marriage it was prudent not to test his resolution till he decided to change his mind.

And ever since, Payal had allowed herself to be convinced. Even while she and Akashji were leaving for their honeymoon, she had been placating herself, reminding herself of these fragmented assurances like a mantra, while guilt at her inactivity had actively gnawed away at her.

So now, with the fresh memory of her sister beaming unreservedly back at her, radiant in her simple joy, evidently happy in ways that were beyond words, Payal was finally able to free herself from that needling, insistent voice that had always persisted in some dark disused alcove within her mind. Khushi was happy. And her husband was happy too. He smiled more often. He spoke more openly. He visited their sick father in the hospital every single day. He kissed her goodbye without caring who was standing before them. He made her smile.

And with surprising adroitness, whatever misgiving Payal had been lugging about with her drained away as rainwater seeps into the ground, without fuss. Pure happiness flooded straight in, warm and soothing. And Payal, somewhat lightheaded from the relief that suddenly swathed her, turned to Di, a half-mischievous smile blooming across her face.

'Di...how about I sleep in your room tonight? As it is, I haven't had a chance to look after you properly this whole time we were away...'