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All credit for this post goes to Rae and Varsha...I would probably not even be writing this if it weren't for them :P
OK...I'm updating this chapter as I write it, so it's gonna be in three chunks, not all the same size. Please read it as one chapter, ok?
Yes, I know I was going to post in chunks, but it seemed a little weird to me to have a chapter split up like that. So I fused it all in one chunk.
Also, I would like to request that everyone who read the first chunk of this posted yesterday read the whole thing from the beginning...I've edited as I went along, and it's intended to be one chapter, not different parts or anything. Sorry for the inconvenience :( It's my fault- I just got impatient and messed up. Sorry :(
Chapter Forty Two
Khushi could feel the muscles of her jaw ache under the strain of the enormous smile planted firmly across her face.
And nothing she could do would diminish it.
Not that she saw a reason to.
And nor did she see a reason to understand.
Understand why she was running. Understand why she found herself sailing through the air, the exhilaration of movement erasing thought as she luxuriated in the sensation of wind whistling against her ears, sweeping through her hair, the long, loose tresses, her saree's pallu swimming behind her. She did not need to understand the freedom of movement, the freedom of space, air parting seamlessly before her to let her fly wherever she wanted, giving her the choice to fly wherever she wanted...her feet racing without any idea of direction or destination, in time to her enthusiastically pounding heart, pumping warm, adrenaline-laced blood throughout her body, making her feel alive, more alive than she had felt in days, weeks...running blindly for no other reason except that she could...
No more enclosed by the walls of a seemingly never-ending corridor, stretching before her, shrouded in shadows, drab, cobwebbed...it had lightened over time, the grime cleared away, windows thrown open to give glimpses of life beyond, light streaming back in to illuminate the door at the end...the door towards which she had headed, hesitantly at first, and then more surely...until she had gathered the courage to push the door open and rush out into the arms of destiny...
'Khushi Singh Raizada!'
And despite the fact that Khushi's feet had only seconds ago been trying to outstrip time, she found herself suddenly hitting the brakes, so abruptly that she wobbled precariously on the spot for a moment before wheeling around, her surroundings blurring in her haste.
Wheeling around in time to the sound of a car door slamming shut...wheeling around to find destiny scaling round to the front of his humungous white steed at a trot, the low purr of the engine mingling with the crunch of dried leaves underfoot.
And in spite of the heady exhilaration that had by no means left her, in spite of the deafening commotion of her madly rocketing heartbeat, her heavy panting as her mind caught up with the aftermath of the exertion her body had just gone through...in spite of it all Khushi felt something mellow at the sight of him. Felt the overexcited, hyperactive trains of her thought, eager to dash off in every direction without the fear of colliding into each other, content themselves with a slower, more reasonable pace.
And as she watched destiny, her Prince Charming in front of what would, in a fairy tale, be his snow-white, majestic horse, she was aware, even at this distance, of the amusement in his tilted smirk, his quirked eyebrows, the way he took a step back and slipped a hand into his pocket, lifting the other one up to eye level.
'You forgot your ring, Mrs. Raizada...' she heard him call, heard that velvety caress, heard it even over the ear-splitting pandemonium her heartbeat and her strained breathing were making. Could hear the affection that wrapped itself like an embrace, warm and feathery and gentle, about her name, the name that she had because of him, the name that she had accepted and acknowledged moments ago...proof to the relationship, timeless and priceless, that they had forged, proof that was as irrefutable as the ring, her ring, that he was holding up for her...
Standing unmoving before his car, waiting for her response...time had stilled as Khushi marvelled at how things that had seemed immutable were turning out to be only too changeable. Marvelled at how the ASR that had dragged her into marriage that was no less than eternal damnation, thrusting her into a prison she could never hope to escape, was now standing back, giving her space, giving her freedom, giving her the choice instead of imposing his will on her, as had been his habit, no matter how crucial what he wanted was...giving her wishes priority over his...allowing her to run free instead of tethering her down, staying away with only the hope that she would fly back to him as consolation...
Khushi found herself running again, and this time in the opposite direction.
Arnav would not have dared to believe his eyes until he felt the impact of the figure in red that had been sailing gracefully down the street mere moments ago slam into his body.
There could be no doubting that the pliant softness, the warmth, scented with the perfume of freshly-picked jasmine, was very, very real, knocking the breath out of him, the force of her embrace as she leapt a little to latch her arms about his neck making him stagger backwards before being steadied by the bonnet of his car. Instantaneously, without requiring the nudge of thought, his arms sprang up and locked securely about her waist, holding her steady to himself, her weight leaning on him as he found himself bending backwards slightly to support her.
She was hugging him.
She was hugging him.
She was hugging him.
She just ran all the way up a street...to hug him. Hug him.
Arnav, for a large part of his life, had not been a sentimental person. Gestures of familiarity, gestures of affection, gestures of love and warmth meant next to nothing, unless they came from Di, or were directed for her. Apart from that one exception, Arnav did not take lightly anyone's attempts to invade into his personal space, stake a claim on him by touch, by any other show of camaraderie, which all too often would be just that- a show, a performance choreographed to win his favour so that he could be used for someone else's ends. No, these gestures had meant nothing to him. He was not sentimental enough to seek a meaning in them, keeping himself aloof and above the trappings of emotions he considered no more than pitfalls in the path to success.
And yet, there was only one thought making the rounds in his head, as restlessly, as rapidly, as enthusiastically as a host of pigeons, giddy with the joy of flight, sweeping in broad spirals within his mind.
This was the first time she was hugging him.
A real hug. A hug that they both wanted, both needed.
Hugging him not for comfort, not for solace, not for security, as she had in that hospital.
True, the memory of their last hug, when he had felt her timorous response to his embrace only last night, as he scooped her into his arms to demonstrate his dhak dhak, the music of a heart that beat solely for her as they stood lost in each other by the poolside, was still fresh, branded permanently into the smooth slate of his mind's eye.
True, that one embrace had marked a radical turning point in their relationship, marked the first time she had willingly, voluntarily reciprocated his relentless attempts to pull her closer, literally and otherwise.
But he had been taking the initiative that time.
And this time...today...for the first time...she had.
He heard her gasp, gasp loudly in surprise as she found herself hoisted off the ground as he tightened his hold around her. He had been too afraid to believe that someday this day would come, too scared to hope for something he knew he did not deserve, something he could not ask for but wanted more than anything in this world...
And today his wife had come running straight into his arms, not because he had been coercing her to, not because of any condition, not because of a playful trick played at her expense...not for any specific, solitary reason that he could think of.
And she had come running into his arms anyway.
And only an idiot of the first calibre would let an opportunity like that pass.
And Arnav Singh Raizada may have become a sentimental fool, but he was no idiot.
'Ar-Arnavji!' Khushi squealed in alarm, her arms fastening more securely about his neck as she felt him unexpectedly push himself off the bonnet, before revolving dizzyingly fast on the spot, until a rather disoriented Khushi found herself lowered carefully onto the bonnet, staring dumbfounded into her husband's searching eyes, now a few inches below her, looking earnestly up at her.
Before gasping again in shock as she felt his arms, which had so far been holding her stable, snake their way like thick, wrought iron shackles about her waist and yanking her into an almost smothering embrace.
With the side of his head resting against her heart.
Listening to her dhak dhak pummelling breath and thought and sense out of her body.
Anjali could feel the eyes of the driver shooting furtive, curious glances at the rear-view mirror. She squirmed a little, her unease, her doubt, her complete lack of confidence magnifying as she found herself questioning, for the umpteenth time, the wisdom behind what she had set out to do.
After all, the car she had summoned an hour earlier, informing the driver in crisp, brisk tones where she intended to go and when, had been parked just around the bend from her destination for the last fifteen minutes.
Because Anjali was yet to emerge from the spasms of uncertainty that attacked her, a part of her brain screeching raucously that there was no way things were going to go as she had intended.
Perhaps it was due to the strange impatience that had crawled up and possessed her being, the urge to shake off the dormancy in which she had allowed herself to ferment while holding on to the feeble and fading remnants of a fictitious life, a past. Perhaps it was her ill-advised haste to do something, to rectify the mistakes she had made by allowing herself to wallow in inactivity, in denial, to make up for lost time.
Whatever it was, Anjali's decision had been made in the spur of the moment, and she had gladly seized at the semi-formulated course of action her brain presented to her before waiting to refine it, before waiting to fine-tune the looser ends.
And it was only when Anjali was already in the car and speeding towards Laxmi Nagar that it occurred to her, with that curious, queasy sensation of something awkward and heavy sinking slowly into the bottom of her stomach, that she had overlooked something crucial.
And one of the major hurdles that she had overlooked had been the people. She had decided to go to Laxmi Nagar to see one person, talk to one person. But in her rush to find a confidante, to lighten the load that had been weighing down her heart like an anchor ploughing into the ocean-floor, Anjali had completely forgotten that there were four other people who would be present at Buaji's house today- four other people before whom she could not afford to reveal the darkness she carried around with her like a shadow, an ominous shadow that was a reflection of the other, hidden, side of her, the side that was not always smiling, always positive, always happy...
But Khushi was an exception.
Yes, yes, Khushi was an exception...she could tell Khushi...Anjali swallowed hard several times, trying to push down the tears of pure panic, tears of helplessness that had begun to sting beneath her eyes, the ache creeping up her cheek bones as she struggled to keep her face expressionless. It was a comforting thought, one she badly needed to cling to, the single silver lining against an otherwise stormy night's sky. No matter how badly she rebuked herself for rashly leaping into the breach, that was one decision she could not beat herself up for, and nor did she feel the need to.
Because Anjali was convinced that if there was anyone who could help her now, help her find a way out, help battle that shadow that trailed behind her, growing blacker and bigger with every passing moment, it was Khushi. That was the name that had popped into her mind the minute she had decided to part from her secret...and that was the minute when Anjali understood fully how close she had grown to Khushi in a short space of time.
It was in that crucial minute that Anjali had thought back to the haunting half-existence she had lived, in those haunting three weeks during which she had allowed her mind to drift into suspension, leaving thinking and feeling behind, letting herself simply exist in a warped state of semi-reality, in a warped attempt to keep from toppling down over the dilapidated rope bridge she was stuck in the middle of, by ceasing all attempts to move, all attempts to cross over to the other side.
In that minute she had realised that there was one constant companion who had never left her side, who had helped her fragile sanity remain rooted to the world she belonged in. She had infused at least some degree of normalcy in Anjali's life, whether it was by constantly bickering with her about medicines, whether it was by continuously harping about the things she should or should not be doing during her pregnancy, whether it was by dashing off at the slightest of her whims to bring back something savoury, or something sour, or something sweet, whenever she had craved it, whether it was by simply sitting by her, talking to her, about mundane things like the weather, about colours, about the hassle of shopping in Delhi or the difficulty finding authentic Lucknowi sweets without a huge paycheque.
Khushi had reminded her of the reality existing beyond the turmoil she tried to keep bolted behind closed doors, the world that she needed to live for, fight for, that was worth fighting for, stand her ground without succumbing to that cowardly desire to give up and accept defeat. She had grown to become a friend, a sister...someone Anjali could rely on, someone who cared for her out of genuine affection, not pity...someone who had no reason to keep an eye on her like a watchful mother bird, but did anyway...just like her brother.
Except, Anjali thought, with a little twinge of guilt, except...she could not tell her brother. Anjali might have overcome the first pangs of indecision, but that did not mean that she was any less afraid. She could only imagine how Chote would react if he found out- found out that his Di, for whom he would do anything, risk anything, anyone, his Di whom he trusted above everyone else, worshipped for the best part of his life...his Di had kept such a deadly secret from him, one which had threatened, and perhaps still threatened, her life.
He would feel betrayed. He would feel that his Di did not believe in him, did not trust him. He would feel the single column of support on which he had rebuilt their broken lives, the support that always was and always would be his older sister, had crumbled.
And that would only be the beginning.
Anjali did not dare imagine, was far too terrified to imagine, what would happen if he realised that the only man he had trusted other than himself to look after her, the stranger he had allowed into the family he had kept tightly knit to himself, sheltered by his giant, protective wings, had tried to take his Di away from him.
Was far too terrified to picture his wrath. Chote's temper...Anjali shuddered. Chote's temper could destroy. Chote's temper could incinerate. And Chote's temper made him reckless, made him irrational, thoughtless, wild.
If Chote found out...there was no telling what he would do.
And Anjali did not want to take that risk. She did not want her brother gambling away everything he had managed to gain, the happiness that had been left behind in their past somewhere, the contentment of being newly married, the belief he had managed to garner again in the goodness of the human heart, only to have to face the same deception and betrayal that their father had meted out to their mother, precipitating the tragedy of their family, was now being meted out to his sister.
Anjali sat up in her seat, the resolve hardening metallically in her eyes. She motioned one hand peremptorily, causing the driving, who had been staring at her with a flummoxed look stamped across his face, jump a little before he started the engine, trying to cover his embarrassment at being caught as he manoeuvred the vehicle round the corner.
Anjali was going to tell Khushi. If she believed in anything at this point, she believed that Khushi would be able to listen to her story with a clear head, would be able to halve the horrible burden that was crushing her slowly beneath its abominable weight. How she would deal with the rest of the Guptas, what she would tell them...she would think about it when she got there.
And then, perhaps, after she found someone to speak to, someone who would lend her a shoulder to lean on, would take her hand and guide her through the mayhem of her life, would help her mull over it and think clear-headedly to find a solution, an escape, a way out...then perhaps, between the two of them, they could explain to Chote.
Then perhaps, the nightmare would come to an end.
Dhak dhak. Dhak dhak. Dhak dhak.
Two heartbeats fusing into one, a beautiful, thrumming crescendo that rinsed through his body, making his blood catch fire, every nerve attuned to her, to her heartbeat, to the fact that its animated, ardent dance was for him, for him alone...
'Khushi...' he murmured slowly, savouring the sweetness of her name against his tongue as he raised himself, his head tucking itself into her snowy soft nape, eliciting a 'Oh!' of surprise from her, one arm having circled her waist thoroughly, binding her to him, while the other, like a helpless marionette controlled by the crippling longing his heart throbbed with roamed leisurely up her spine.
And he felt every single tremor chasing one another through his body, felt himself biting hard into his lower lip, unthinkingly bending slightly backwards so that Khushi's weight would rest more fully against him, pulling her off the bonnet almost as he did so. There could be nothing comparable to that feeling- the feeling of having her velvety suppleness pressing into the firm, hard bow of his body, fitting into his form like the clasp of a carefully designed necklace. Nothing comparable to her welcoming warmth melting against him, enveloping him in its boundless tenderness as she, after a few moments of holding herself stiffly, as though unsure what to do, let herself mould into him, relaxing against him...
He could stay like this...stay like this forever...
'Do you like it, Khushi?' he found himself whispering, relishing in the feel of the cool, silken locks of her untied hair falling across his face, teasing him with their flowery aroma, their scent, light and fresh and airy, not overpowering but so very enthralling, so very mesmerising, 'Do you like the ring?'
And the drums in his chest kicked up its beat a notch as he felt Khushi's face digging into his shoulder, at the mere thought of imagining her flushed face, with its endearingly shy smile, trying to hide itself...
'Arnavji,' her muffled whisper made him shudder slightly, aware of her breath permeating through the fabric of his shirt and brushing against his skin as she spoke against it, 'I...I love it. It's beautiful...'
It was with a rather mortified unwillingness that she allowed Arnavji to disentangle her from himself, her acknowledgement of this reluctance making her blush so hard she had to struggle with herself not to leap straight back into his arms as he lowered her to the ground, to try and hide her only too evident embarrassment. Feeling the heat exuding from her face, she lowered it as much as she could, staring at the carpet of leaves she stood on, appearing very interested suddenly in the embroidery against the borders of her crimson saree. Her hands, itching to find their way back around her husband, knotted themselves together to try and prevent such an eventuality.
But Khushi could no longer deny it. She could no longer deny, did not have any strength, any false defiance left to deny how much she loved being held by him. How much she cherished the moments where he could block out the rest of the world with all its complications and faults and obstacles by simply sweeping her into himself. How his tenderness, his affection, his warmth, his proximity, the feel of his heart drumming up a hectic staccato in tune with hers, all those unknown but thrilling sensations that would set her alight...how everything about him would heal her, heal her hurt, her insecurities, push away her fears for the future, and transport her into another world almost, where the only time that existed was the present, a present that was more beautiful than anything else Khushi could ever hope for...
She felt his calloused palm cup the side of her face gently, pressing against her cheek ever so slightly to get her to look up. Khushi relented.
She had given up fighting her destiny.
The destiny that she had come running towards not because there was nowhere else to go, but because she had chosen it for herself. Because she could not live without it.
Because she could not live without him.
She felt her eyelashes flutter uncontrollably as she allowed him to lift her head up slightly until he captured her gaze.
And immediately her breath caught from the tenderness, the unadulterated love, unconditional and endless, that spilled forth from his eyes. It did not take long for her to lose herself to their enigmatic pull, forgetting herself to the extent that it took her a while before she became aware of his hand removing itself from her cheek, of the now empty deep violet case he slipped into his pocket, all the while looking straight into her eyes, his jaw set in its seriousness, brow almost furrowed as though in concentration, as though reading her emotions like a plainly written letter...
It was only when she felt his long, lean fingers wrap firmly about her tinier ones, purposefully lifting it up, that she was jolted back into her senses.
And, blinking rapidly as she tried to clear the heady haze she had been lost in, found herself glancing down at their joined fingers...
And at the ring he held in his other hand.
He felt it.
There was no mistaking it.
He felt her left hand grow almost unnoticeably rigid under his grip, felt the faintest of pulls, as though of reluctance, as he tried to smooth the fingers curled into his hand straight so he could, finally, get engaged to his wife.
And panic exploded like a firecracker inside him, the peace and serenity and joy shattered into smithereens as his enthusiastic heartbeat faltered, dread and inexplicable fear knotting twisted metal cords about his heart, throttling it.
'What- what happened, Khushi?' he heard himself wheeze, voice on the verge of fleeing with the rest of his composure. 'Don't you...don't you like the ring?'
He did not want to think of any other explanation, any other possibility. After she had comforted him in the car, after her playful teasing, just to get him to smile, just to make him let go of his daunting remorse...after she had run away from him only to come running straight back...
Arnav did not want to believe there could still be other explanations, other dreadful possibilities...
'No, no, Arnavji, I love it! Really I do!' Khushi, in her rush to reassure him, almost bumped straight into him, forgetting that there had been only a couple of inches of space separating them to begin with. As had almost become a custom, she lifted both her hands up, her soft palms framing his stumbled cheeks, unworried about their prickling roughness, lifting herself slightly on her toes so he could see the candour of her words in her eyes, which, he had come to learn, were more garrulous than she was.
'When what's wrong, Khushi? Why are you uncertain? Why did you-'
'Arnavji...' Khushi whispered plaintively, almost as though begging him to understand. But Arnav didn't understand, couldn't understand, understand why she averted eyes slightly, why her shoulders seemed to slump...
'I- it's...Arnavji- it...it must be...really...expensive,' she finished in a whoosh.
And Arnav watched her, feeling a little winded, a little as though he had awoken a few minutes back but only just realised that he was no longer asleep.
And Khushi pouted at him a little disconsolately.
Expensive. She was objecting because she thought the ring was too expensive.
It was a curious feeling that overcame Arnav then, a feeling halfway into relief and halfway out of guilt, as though he were trying to jump high only to find himself hurtling into bottomless space.
She objected because the ring was expensive.
And how could he blame her?
After having cheapened her existence time and time again, after taunting her mercilessly when she had first become engaged, to someone else, someone that was not him, taunting her faceless fianc's faceless status...after demeaning her character, after belittling everything she stood for, defacing what he called her false morals, labelling her a gold-digger...
How could he blame her? How could he blame her if she flinched away whenever it came to things she had, perhaps subconsciously, come to see as being outside her league, simply because he, from the first moment he had met her, had not forsaken any opportunity to hammer in that fact to her.
That he, and everything he stood for, was outside her league.
When the truth was something else entirely.
And no matter how many times he apologised, and how many times she forgave him, he could not forget that.
Link to next chapter- Chapter 43
I did not intend to end there. But I'm a bit hard pressed for time- hoping I'll be able to make up for it tomorrow or day after...sorry :(
Please leave your comments...I know this might turn out kind of...rubbishy :s
I reserve all rights over this work of fiction and request that readers do not reproduce/copy/modify it elsewhere and/or claim credit. Thanks :)
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